#Accident Replacement Vehicle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xo100 · 4 months ago

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hii i have this idea. yn and lando dont know each other yet. yn is driving back from work crashes into lando and his mclaren (small accident nothing big) and lando is mad until he sees her and love at first sight haha and offers to help her with insurance and tries to get her number and shes just confused and doesnt know who he is.

Thank youu in advance.

A Minor Collision, A Major Connection - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2796

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The Friday afternoon sky was draped in golden hues as Y/N tiredly made her way back home after a long, grueling day at work. The office had been a madhouse—endless meetings, deadlines creeping up, and not enough coffee to power through it all. The only thing keeping her going was the thought of collapsing onto her couch and losing herself in a Netflix binge.

Her car, a reliable little sedan, buzzed softly as she cruised down the quiet city streets. She sighed, tuning out the low hum of traffic around her. It was just another day, nothing special. That is, until—

BANG!

Y/N’s heart lurched as her car jerked to the side. She slammed on the brakes, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her mind raced through what just happened. Did she hit something? Or worse… someone?

Her pulse spiked as she fumbled to unbuckle her seatbelt and threw open the door. But when she stepped out to inspect the damage, the first thing she saw wasn’t a crumpled bumper or a mangled fender. No, it was a sleek, dark blue sports car, glossy and absurdly out of place against the backdrop of regular vehicles. Her little sedan had smacked into the rear of it.

“Great,” she muttered, pushing a hand through her hair. Her car had bumped into what was probably one of the most expensive cars in the city, if not the country.

And standing beside it, inspecting the minor damage with a furrowed brow and an expression that was a blend of frustration and disbelief, was none other than Lando Norris. Though Y/N had no clue who he was. To her, he was just some annoyed guy standing next to his ruined car.

“What were you even doing?!” the man exclaimed, turning towards her with his arms outstretched in exasperation. His voice held a British lilt, his tone more incredulous than angry.

Y/N froze. “I—I didn’t see you! You came out of nowhere!”

“Out of nowhere?” he echoed, shaking his head as he knelt to inspect his McLaren’s bumper. There was a tiny dent, barely noticeable, but to him, it was as if the whole car had been wrecked. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself.

Y/N bit her lip, anxiety creeping up her spine. Her mind was a mess—how much was this going to cost her? Could insurance even cover damages on a car that expensive? This whole situation was unreal.

But then something strange happened.

The man, still crouched by the car, lifted his head to look at her properly for the first time. His eyes met hers, and his expression softened. He blinked, standing slowly as if he was trying to process something. His initial frustration seemed to melt away, replaced by a bemused sort of interest.

“Uh… Are you okay?” he asked, his tone much gentler now, his earlier irritation completely gone.

Y/N blinked. Wasn’t he supposed to be mad at her? She had just hit his expensive car, after all. Why was he suddenly acting so… concerned?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m just… sorry about your car.”

Lando, however, waved her apology away like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about the car. It’s really not that bad.”

Y/N gave him a skeptical look. “Really? Because it looks like I did a number on it.”

He glanced back at the car, then at her, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, well, it’s just a car. What matters is that you’re alright.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. This guy was acting way too nice for someone whose luxury car had just been rear-ended. She couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about his sudden shift in mood.

“Okay…” she trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. “But still, we should probably exchange insurance info. I don’t know how much this is going to cost to fix.”

Lando’s expression brightened at the mention of exchanging information, and for a split second, Y/N swore she saw a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, insurance,” he replied, reaching for his phone, “but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. I can handle it on my own. Maybe we can just forget about it? I could… help you out.”

Y/N’s confusion deepened. Help her out? Wasn’t it her fault in the first place? Why was he acting like this was no big deal? And why was he looking at her like that, like he was trying to keep her there longer than necessary?

Lando shifted his weight, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t mean to sound weird, but… do you, uh, live around here?”

“Why?” Y/N asked cautiously, narrowing her eyes at him.

Lando chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. He suddenly felt like a nervous schoolboy, which was ridiculous because he was Lando Norris, F1 driver and world-class athlete, yet here he was fumbling over his words.

“Well, I just thought maybe we could grab a coffee or something. You know, after we sort all this out.”

Y/N blinked at him, utterly bewildered. “Wait. You want to get coffee? With me? After I just hit your car?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Why not? Accidents happen. And… I guess I think you’re kind of cute.”

Her eyes widened. Was this guy for real? She’d just crashed into his sports car and now he was trying to flirt with her?

“Uh… I don’t even know your name,” she said slowly, still trying to wrap her head around the situation.

He grinned, sticking out his hand. “I’m Lando. Lando Norris.”

She stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it hesitantly. “Y/N. And, um… nice to meet you?”

Lando’s smile widened, his earlier frustration completely forgotten as he focused entirely on her. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. So, about that coffee…”

“I’m sorry, are you seriously asking me out right now?” she asked, a slight laugh escaping her lips. “After I hit your car?”

Lando shrugged again, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a pretty forgiving guy.”

Y/N shook her head, still half-expecting this whole thing to be some sort of bizarre dream. “Okay, but… you didn’t even get my insurance information yet. Isn’t that why we’re still standing here?”

Lando waved a dismissive hand. “Like I said, it’s really no big deal. I’ll take care of it. Just… let me get your number, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Now she was really suspicious. “My number?”

He grinned sheepishly. “For the insurance, of course.”

Y/N stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with her or if he was actually being serious. She wasn’t sure what was stranger—the fact that he was acting like the accident was nothing or the fact that he seemed more interested in getting her number than fixing his expensive car.

But there was something about him, something oddly charming, even though the whole situation was insane. Maybe it was his easygoing nature or the way he didn’t seem to care about the damage at all. Or maybe it was the way he kept looking at her, like she was the most interesting person he’d met all day.

With a sigh, she reached for her phone. “Fine. But I’m giving you my number strictly for insurance purposes.”

Lando’s grin grew wider, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Strictly insurance purposes. Got it.”

As she handed him her number, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. What had started as a minor accident was quickly turning into the weirdest encounter of her life.

“Alright,” she said, putting her phone away, “I’ve gotta go. But, um, thanks for not being too mad about the car.”

Lando chuckled, leaning casually against his McLaren. “Like I said, it’s just a car. But you�� well, you’re worth more than any car.”

Y/N stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be weirded out by the line. “Uh, okay. Well… take care.”

As she got back into her car, Lando watched her with a grin still on his face. Maybe the accident wasn’t so bad after all. After all, he’d managed to meet someone who had caught his attention in a way no one else had.

And as Y/N drove away, still shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, she couldn’t help but wonder just what she’d gotten herself into.

The weekend had finally arrived, and despite the awkward car crash, Y/N had managed to put it out of her mind. She wasn’t expecting to hear from Lando again. After all, rich guys like him probably had people to take care of things like insurance claims. She figured she’d given him her number for nothing more than a courtesy exchange.

That was, until her phone buzzed the next morning.

She glanced at the screen, eyebrows shooting up at the unknown number. Hesitating for a second, she finally opened the message.

Lando: Hey, it’s Lando. The guy whose car you hit? Not sure if you remember me, but I’ve got some paperwork for insurance and stuff. Thought we could meet up and go over it?

Y/N rolled her eyes, half-amused. It was still weird to her that someone so nonchalant about the accident was bothering to text her. She tapped out a quick response.

Y/N: Yeah, I remember. Where and when?

He replied almost immediately.

Lando: How about that coffee I mentioned? There’s a café in the city, small, chill. We can talk there?

Coffee again? He really wasn’t subtle. Y/N bit her lip, debating. She didn’t have anything to do that afternoon anyway, and she supposed she owed him at least a meeting about the insurance.

So, reluctantly, she agreed.

The café Lando had suggested was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its large windows letting in the warm afternoon sun. Y/N pushed open the door, immediately greeted by the rich scent of roasted coffee beans. She scanned the room, expecting Lando to be hidden away somewhere.

Instead, she saw him immediately.

Sitting casually at a table near the window, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, he waved when he saw her. His face lit up with a boyish grin that made him seem far less intimidating than the guy she’d crashed into just days before.

“Hey,” he greeted as she approached, standing to pull out a chair for her. “You made it.”

“Yeah, well, I figured we should get this insurance stuff sorted,” she replied, sitting down. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her just a bit longer than necessary.

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, the insurance thing…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “You did bring the paperwork, right? That’s why we’re here?”

He looked slightly sheepish, then reached into his bag and pulled out a few documents. “Of course. Got everything right here.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. “Okay, good. Let’s get it over with.”

Lando handed her the papers, but as she scanned them, he leaned back in his chair, watching her with an amused expression. He wasn’t saying anything, but Y/N could practically feel his eyes on her.

Finally, she looked up. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just… you’re very focused. Kind of cute.”

Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? This is the second time you’ve done that.”

Lando shrugged, his grin widening. “Can’t help it. You kind of walked into my life by crashing into my car. Feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Or just bad driving.”

“Or that,” he agreed with a laugh.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his easygoing attitude. There was something about him that made it hard to stay annoyed. He had this infectious charm, the kind that made you forget about everything else. She didn’t know much about him, other than his name and the fact that he clearly had a lot of money, but there was something undeniably likable about him.

Still, she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

“So, Lando,” she began, setting the papers down, “what exactly do you do? Because you’ve got a really fancy car, and you act like a guy who’s used to getting what he wants.”

His grin didn’t falter. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “No clue. Should I?”

Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, I’m a Formula 1 driver. Kind of a big deal in motorsport.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, processing his words. Then she blinked, completely unfazed. “Okay, so… you’re like a racecar driver?”

He laughed at how nonchalantly she said it. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Huh.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “That explains the car.”

“Explains a lot of things,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “Still, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. It’s kind of refreshing, actually.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“Most people know who I am,” he admitted. “It’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t immediately treat me like I’m… you know, famous.”

“Well, lucky for you, I don’t follow racing,” she said with a small smile. “I’m just trying to figure out why a guy like you is wasting time flirting with a girl who wrecked his car.”

Lando leaned forward, his playful expression softening slightly. “Because maybe I like that girl who wrecked my car.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sudden sincerity in his tone. She wasn’t sure what to make of this whole situation. The flirty banter was one thing, but now it felt like there was something more behind his words. Something genuine.

“I don’t get it,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “We’ve barely talked. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Lando replied, his gaze locking with hers. “And I want to get to know more.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling a strange mix of nerves and curiosity. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she agreed to meet him. She thought it would be a quick, awkward conversation about insurance, not… this.

“Lando, I don’t even know if I want to date someone right now,” she admitted, unsure of what else to say.

He nodded, his expression serious. “That’s fair. I’m not asking for anything big. Just… let me take you out sometime. No pressure. If you don’t like it, we’ll call it even, and you never have to see me again.”

Y/N hesitated, searching his face for any sign that he was messing with her. But all she saw was sincerity. He wasn’t being pushy or demanding, just… hopeful.

After a long pause, she finally sighed. “Fine. One date. But if you turn out to be some crazy celebrity playboy, I’m out.”

Lando’s grin returned, brighter than ever. “Deal.”

A week later, Y/N found herself walking into a small, intimate restaurant Lando had chosen for their first date. She was nervous, still unsure about the whole thing, but when she saw him waiting at the entrance with that same goofy grin, her nerves eased a little.

The night went better than she could’ve imagined. Lando wasn’t just some cocky racecar driver—he was funny, down-to-earth, and surprisingly sweet. He asked about her job, her hobbies, her favorite books, and genuinely seemed interested in everything she said. By the end of the night, Y/N realized she was actually having fun.

As they left the restaurant, Lando walked her to her car, the same little sedan that had started this whole mess. He turned to her, hands in his pockets, a slightly shy smile on his face.

“So,” he began, “how was it? Am I still in your good books, or are you planning to never see me again?”

Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “You’re still in the good books.”

“Good to know,” Lando replied, relief evident in his voice. “I guess that means I can ask for another date?”

Y/N bit her lip, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

Lando’s grin was contagious, and before Y/N knew it, she was smiling too.

And just like that, a minor collision had turned into something unexpected. Something more.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! Also hey anon! If you read this, I hope that this is what you had in mind!

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bueckersstuff · 2 months ago

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REMEMBER

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Genre: Childhood friends, separation, amnesia, angst, slow burn, smut, romance.

Description: Dead eyes, pale skin, no memories. Returning to Minnesota convinces your father that it might be for the best. The familiarity of everything, he says, might help. But you have no recollection of living a life here, except for the old basketball court just around the block from your home. And somehow, you find yourself walking aimlessly toward it, wasting your remaining time sitting on the rusted metal bench. No one comes here. Yet, you feel like you're being watched.

Then, one sunset, a vehicle abruptly stops in the distance. A woman with blonde hair steps out. Blue eyes, glowing skin... and suddenly, your brain snaps. Memories.

You almost feel happy, hopeful that you can regain your lost memories. But when you look into her eyes, all you see is hatred.

Chapter 1: Snapshots of Memories

"Are you ready, honey?" Steven, your dad, asks for the nth time today. You’re packing up all your things because you're going back to Minnesota, your hometown. "It's for the best," your dad says. And, with your current state, you're in no position to negotiate.

You haven’t looked in a mirror for the past three years, but one glance at your arms tells you that you've become skinny—like, malnourished-skinny. Gone is your rosy complexion, replaced with deathly pale skin. You could pass as a vampire, minus the fangs. Plus, you feel like a shell, void of any memories. The only memories you have are from three months ago—waking up in a hospital bed, with your dad hysterical and shaking from exhaustion, and maybe from the happiness of you finally waking up.

Apparently, you learned that you were involved in a traumatic car accident. Your mom, Emma, was the driver, and you were in the passenger seat. Sadly, she didn’t make it. After hearing that, you kind of want to hit your head for not recalling anything about your own mother. You feel guilty and weirded out that you can’t even feel sad, hurt, or broken when learning about the loss—because you couldn’t even put a face to the name your dad calls his beloved wife.

"Yes, Dad. Are you?"

And now, three months later, you're leaving and moving states.

Minnesota

You arrived at last. It was a cozy home, with your nice room, and you saw things and trinkets a 12-year-old might own. You're 22 now, you think to yourself. That’s what your dad tells you—he showed you your documents. You're a senior college student, majoring in Civil Engineering. Ironic, considering you're supposed to be so smart, and now you're just… meh.

You went down to the living room and saw your dad unpacking other things, so you told him you were going to head out and check the premises. There was this gnawing feeling inside you when you passed by that old, abandoned basketball court. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was the only thing that felt familiar.

And then it became a habit. Every day, you walked toward the court, your mind empty, then sat there for a couple of hours until the dark started consuming your vision, and you’d know it was time to go home. Your dad noticed your strange behavior but, oddly, didn’t comment on it—he just smiled.

One morning, while eating breakfast with him, you asked:

"Did I play basketball before?" You felt so drawn to it, but not enough to buy a ball and actually play.

"No, you preferred swimming. You liked to excel in areas where physicality and aggression weren’t present. You liked to draw, you could sing, not sure if you danced though, but definitely swimming. That was your therapy," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So, why was I drawn to that place? It’s the only familiar thing here."

"Oh, honey. I did say you didn’t play, but you loved to watch someone who did."

Your heart stopped upon hearing that. I used to watch someone play basketball in that court? Is that it? Was it special?

"Who, Dad?" Your heart was thumping.

"A friend, honey. But I think she’s not around here anymore," your dad said with a sad smile, followed by a sigh.

"Oh." That was all you could say. What a wasted opportunity to regain my memories.

Days passed, and you slowly adjusted to your new life. You read through your past documents, searching for articles that might be crucial to your development. On your free time, of course, the basketball court became your personal meditation place. But ever since that conversation with your dad, coming here felt like you were being watched. You were certain no one was close enough to actually be watching you, except for the passing vehicles on the block. You thought you were just being paranoid.

Until one sunset, a car abruptly stopped in the distance. You turned your head, thinking there might have been an accident because of how loud the screeching of the tires was. But then, you saw a woman with blonde hair step out—blue eyes, glowing skin—and suddenly, you were holding your head because it hurt. Snapshots of memories flooded your brain, all with the same description of the woman, but with no face.

Once the pain subsided, you finally felt hopeful and happy that someone might hold the key to your memories. But when you came face to face with the woman—eye to eye—all you saw was hatred.

Dad, is she the friend?

#paige bueckers #uconn #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader

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chrisevansonly · 1 year ago

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𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

ʚ charles leclerc x female reader

ʚ charles gets the one call he never wanted to get, and despite your worries about his precious pista, he doesn’t care about the car. just you.

ʚ angst, description of injuries (minor), mentions of blood, panic attacks, violence (minor), tears and lots of soft charles

ʚ okay idk why i thought of this idea, but i have and here we are, i know people have been asking for angst, this idk if it qualifies as the angst you’re all looking for but I will work on some other ideas too:)

Time was frozen as you sat in the driver’s seat of what once looked like a Ferrari 488 Pista. Only now you could make out the back of the car, the front of it might as well be in a what not to do when you drive a luxury vehicle catalogue. Your head was ringing and your chest pounding as adrenaline and anxiety pumped through your veins, as much as you’d started to feel pain in a multitude of places, your brain was thinking of only one thing;

Charles is going to be so mad.

To make matters worse, the man who had hit you was now cursing through the tinted window, claiming the accident to be all your fault. Deciding to think about Charles’s potential anger later you picked your phone up and called his number.

Thankfully it didn’t take long,

“Hi baby, are you on your way back”

A pause

“Um…I-I got in an accident Char…”

The line was silent before he spoke up, panic laced in his voice.

“Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’ Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse.”

“Charles, english please my head hurts so bad.”

Normally you’d be able to hold an entire conversation with him in French, but right now it was just too much.

“I’m sorry, where are you baby? Are you hurt bad?”

Sniffling softly, you hummed

“I am down by the marina; my head really hurts. The man who hit me…he-he is yelling loudly at me…can you-oh Charles your poor car….”

“No, don’t even worry about my car baby, you matter more to me, I can’t replace you, but I can replace the car. I’ll be there in ten minutes, keep the doors locked, don’t get out.”

You nodded, only then realizing he couldn’t see you.

“Yes, okay, I’ll wait here…please hurry”

“I will chérie, I promise.”

Just like he’d said, a familiar black Alfa Romeo pulled up next to the crash site, Charles quick to get out and come towards the driver’s side door, only to see the man banging at the window.

“Hey, can you step away from my car?”

The man turned to look at Charles

“Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!”

“Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture”

It was getting harder for Charles to reign in his anger, quickly pushing the man back, giving him a look that at this point in the evening, had him backing away, finally allowing Charles to open the door and see you

“Hey..hey.. I’m here, its okay?”

Charles swore his heart broke as you looked at him with teary eyes, a bruise above your eyebrow, but thankfully you appeared alright otherwise.

“I-I’m so sorry about your car Charlie, he just-he came out of nowhere, and I-I couldn’t-I am so so sorry!”

Holding back the sobs was almost impossible at this point, but Charles was quick to undo your seatbelt, helping you turn towards the door and put your feet on the ground. Once he had you turned toward him, he brought his hands up to hold your face, his thumbs swiping your cheeks.

“My love, listen to me, you are my main priority, you are the love of my life, and this car is just mental and parts, all which can be fixed, but you cannot, and I cannot have another one of you, ever okay?”

Sniffling you nodded

“Okay…”

In the distance you could heard the sirens coming your way, knowing you’d be going to the hospital, it was a given but for now you really just needed Charles, and he wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure.

“Are you hurting badly baby?”

“No, just my head…can you help me up?”

Your boyfriend nodded, holding onto your arms gently as he helped you stand up, before bringing you into his chest, your arms wrapping around him, as he did the same to you.

“I am so glad you’re okay, you have no idea how worried I was…we’ll get you to the hospital and then i’m not leaving your side”

“Promise you won’t?”

Charles smiled as he saw your pinky finger come up, quickly linking his in a pink promise, a tradition you’d both been doing since your third date.

“I promise, i’m not going anywhere”

As the sirens got closer, you leaned further into Charles, knowing no matter what happened, he’d be by your side for as long as you needed him, he’d be there. It didn’t matter if he had a race, media or social events to attend, for you he’d drop them in a heart beat over and over again.

Because he never wanted to get that kind of phone call again.

translations:

-Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’ Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse : What do you mean by 'accident?' What happened? Where are you, are you seriously injured?

-Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!: This stupid bitch destroyed my car!

-Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture: I'm asking you again, get away from my car

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monarchberrysblog · 10 months ago

Text

TOO SWEET

summary: you join a small ride along with Miguel...

content warning: once again, taboo content; proceed with precaution. semi-exhibitionism (miguel fucks the reader in the forest and on his car), brat-taming, rough yet soft dom! miguel, OOC CHARACTER MIGUEL the reader has nipple piercings, unprotective p-in-v (please, do your own research when it comes to stuff like this), cigarette usage, a little TABOO, AGAIN.

word count: +3.2k words

author's notes: thank you to the discord server for the encouragement to keep writing 💜. Y'all are my mini family and I love y'all so much!

PART TWO TO GATITA

Miguel found him a stray cat, you unironically. Once he gave you a lick of attention, you came back for more, the same way a stray cat would whenever a stranger gave it food to eat out of pity. It felt pathetic that you would conjure up any excuse to see him again. Changing your car’s air filter, replacing your windshield wipers, hell, even trying your best to act dumb to simple repairs that you can do on your own. It was almost laughable and pathetic for you to do this, but you couldn’t help it.

The man always made you melt and become sap, like warm honey on a cold kitchen counter—no matter how much you wiped it off with a paper towel, the stick and sweetness lingered behind. But it didn’t take long for Miguel to catch on—the man was intelligent, for God’s sake. It was clear as day as you always took your shitty 1970 Chevy S-10 everywhere, and he would always recognize that iconic blue truck every time you pulled up for a simple repair.

But the innocent visit was about to fall short as the excuses to see him began to fall short. So he decided to change things up, taking you out on a late-night drive.

“M-Miguel!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, clutching onto the glove compartment of the Impala, nearly snapping the fake acrylic nails off your actual nails underneath. “Shhh… You can take it, princesa.” He pats your thigh lovingly before lightly slapping the soft flesh. “Miguel, Miguel!” Your voice fell on deaf ears as you felt the wind knocked out of your lungs.

“Nothing wrong with going a little fast.”

Yep, you've accepted your faith that you were going to die from some freak accident with an extremely hot mechanic next to you. “But it’s so fucking fast!” You screamed out, clawing at the car's dashboard with your nails. Miguel glances over, chuckling at the sight he sees. He could have sworn that if you wanted to, he would have seen some parts of the acrylic break by how strongly you were grasping the dashboard before you. “But we’re barely hitting 100, princess.”

“What?” You whined, not believing his words, as it felt like the Impala was going faster than that. “Don’t worry, we won’t be on the road too long. I need to make a pit stop. Let’s tame that little heart of yours.” Miguel chuckles before taking an exit off the freeway, finally giving you a sense of relief in your veins. “Oh, thank god, thank god…” Your exasperations never failed to bring a smile to Miguel’s face as the Impala pulled up to a nearby gas station.

The white, bright lights at the gas pumps created an ominous aura in the space, but the ambiance of familiarity filled your soul. “C’mon, let’s get something to drink before we arrive at the meet, okay?” With trembling legs similar to those of a baby deer newly born, you stumbled out of the vintage car, clutching onto the vehicle's door. “Okay, I’ll catch up soon…”

Miguel walks ahead, stepping into the gas station while you stagger behind, taking slow, steady steps to the building. “Coming, muneca?” He calls out, holding the door open for you as you stagger in, feeling the cool, icy breeze against your sticky, sweaty skin from the summer heat. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” You mumble, stepping into the gas station to grab a small drink.

After taking a sip of the cold beverage, the sight of the forest slowly came to mind as the corner stores and gas stations slowly began to fade behind you. This late-night drive became nonetheless soothing, nothing but the long road ahead, along with the low ambiance of music and the car’s engine.

His hands grasped your wrists, and you felt his calloused hand engulf your wrist almost. “Please stay still, hermosa.” He croons to you. With his free hand, his touch roamed over your body, occasionally letting his hand caress your curves, soon letting his hand grope your breast gently before rubbing the side of his thumb against your clothed nipple, lightly grazing the sensitive bud. Your back arched slightly, moving your back away from the hood of his car and towards his body. His hand lets go of your breast before tracing your figure slowly. His hand raised your skirt slowly before seeing what awaited him.

The gusset of your underwear decorated a thin, wet line before him. “Seems like you were anticipating for this to happen?” Without letting go of your wrists, his free hand went down to your clothed entrance to trace the soaked, thin line with the pad of his thumb. A soft groan escapes from the back of your throat before his fingers forcefully grasp the gusset and move it to the side. “Do me a favor and don’t move, okay?” He lets your wrist go and gets down on his knees to see your fluttering, aching core. “Be still, okay?” He whispers, raising your skirt more, letting it rest on your stomach. Nodding to his words, you laid back on the low rider and waited anxiously.

The sound of fabric ripping filled the space, causing you to look down. The man ripped your underwear, specifically from the gusset, vertically with precision. At the sound, you propped yourself up on the car's hood and looked down. You can only see his soft, wavy brown hair between your legs, leaving so much to the imagination. “I’ll get you new ones, hermosa. Don’t worry, your pretty little head.”

His middle and ring fingerpad lightly traced the entrance of your folds, gathering the clear slick. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking off the clear arousal you left behind, and scooted you closer to him, dragging you down onto the hood of the car, bringing you down to his lips. “Miguel-” You panicked before his nose bumped into your clit. Your hands grasped his thick, wavy black hair, not following his words or demands. “I told you to stay still for me.” He demands, grabbing onto the back of your knees with a grasp that can be mistaken for alligator clips used to jumpstart a car.

“Sorry…!” The apology fell on deaf ears as you mewled to his tongue, licking a long strip on your entrance, letting the flat of his tongue rest on your clit. “Now, stay still, and don’t leave a mess on the hood of my car.” He gruffs.

“I just got this shit painted, princesa.” He pauses before giving your entrance a test lick before delving into you. You seethed through your teeth, feeling his mouth delve into your entrance. The bridge of his nose occasionally bumped into your clit, creating the perfect amount of friction for you to squirm your hips closer to his nose. “You poor thing…” He mumbled before licking a long strip of your core with a flat tongue. “You want it?” He croons, pulling away from your aching entrance. Your fluttering hole ached for his company again, the same sight he saw for the first time months ago. “C’mere…” He grasped onto the back of your knees, sliding you down the hood of the Chevy before your bare cunt made contact with his clothed erection. The heat from his bulge is almost too irresistible not to grind against his aching package, waiting to be accessible under your hands and control.

You looked up from where you were lying down, and the sight before you was a sight you didn’t want to erase. Miguel kept his grasp on you but grated the aching bulge against you. “Please, please, please.” You lingered on your last plea, reaching down to his belt buckle, poorly attempting to unbuckle. “Hold on for a moment.” His hand gently grasped your wrist and moved it away from his bulge. “Let’s prep you for a moment, okay?” You nod with a breathy sigh and lay back, expecting to feel his tongue, which you don’t mind.

But something else entered, enough for you to roll your eyes back in ecstasy and to scream out, allowing your voice to echo in the forest. “I know, baby, I know…” He quiets, planting soft kisses on your temple, keeping his ring and middle finger around your rapid, wavering walls. The soft grinding motions drew out soft mewls from you, enough to soak his fingers almost immediately.

“Let’s raise this.” With his free hand, he reached to the hem of your shirt and yanked it up with vigorous force. The sight of two silver dumbbells was the first thing he saw before him, showing off the sensitive buds. “I didn’t get to see these last time…” With a careful hand, he caressed the soft mound before directing his attention to the sensitive nub, tracing the pad of his fingers around the areola.

He lowers his head down and takes in a sensitive nub into his mouth, allowing his tongue to trace the silver jewelry along the sensitive nub. “Give me a second…!” You mewled out, feeling his teeth lightly tug at the barbell piercing but letting go. “I’ve heard that saliva is a good stimulant to heal this type of piercing…” He mumbles before suckling onto your nub before his fingers slowly thrust into your aching core, awaiting to be stuffed and abused. “Oh shit,” You paused, taking in a shaky breath, feeling his calloused fingers massage your gummy walls. “Oh shit…” You repeated, soon taking labored breaths. “C’mon, princess…” Miguel whispers as he pulls away from your nipple and moves to the other, keeping his fingers at the same slow pace. “Tell me… tell me that it’s too much…” He croons. “Is it too much, princess?”

“No…” You bluff, feeling like a puddle of sap against his fingers at the slow pace. “No? Let’s pick it up, m’kay?” He innocently asks, slowly increasing the pace and curling his ring and middle finger. “Miguel…” You whimpered, at the brink of finishing all over the hood of his Impala. “Don’t even think about it, princess,” Miguel commands, picking the pace up. A yelp escapes the back of your throat, and you soon feel your legs tremble against his hold. “Please, please, please…” You whine, feeling a bit of anticipation to gush out your release. “Don’t,” He croons. “You better not finish. I finished the paint job on this car.”

You looked up with pleading eyes at the brink of tears. “Please, please, please…” You continue the mantra, knowing you are getting on Miguel’s nerves now. “No.” He demands before the familiar, wet slapping noise fills the space around you. “Is it too much?” He pushes the question again, letting the forest area get overwhelmed with a wet slapping noise. “No.” You repeat, too stubborn for your good. “I refuse to believe that. Look at you.”

He paused his words and kept up with rapid motions. “Milking my fingers, your legs trembling under my hold, I think your body says otherwise.”

“Don’t finish on this car’s hood.” He repeats, keeping the same motion and pulling his fingers out of your aching core.

Miguel’s Perspective

The look on her face is enough to laugh at. Pathetic. The look on her face made it look like she was a stranded kitten left in the rain, wanting to seek shelter in a warm space away from the cool air of the piney forest. But that wasn’t the case. She was laid out on the hood of my car like a dish served on a silver platter, waiting to be devoured and consumed. Her nervous but anticipated look is enough to send me to the edge. The urge to just take off my pants and to make her drunk on lust came to mind immediately, but no, she needs anticipation and patience other than lust.

The sight of her glistening arousal coating my fingers soon drizzled down onto the hood of the Impala. “I told you to hold it in.” I fumed, seeing the glistening arousal pool onto the hood of the car, creating a small puddle. “God, you can’t even do this one thing correctly.”

I yanked her aching core down to my bulge, seeing her glistening arousal coat a thin layer on the denim of my pants. “C’mere…” Her hands rush down to the belt buckle of my pants, moving in a manic manner to free my aching cock free. “It’s yours. You know what to do with it.”

“I don’t…” You replied, playing coy with his words. “I don’t know…” Your hands grasp the band of his boxer, yanking on it playfully. “You know how.” He croons as your hand yanks down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. A low “fuck” escapes him deep from him, and it is enough for you to finish everywhere on the hood of the Impala, literally. The pink mauve-colored tip ached for your attention, showing tiny beads of precum accumulating on the head, with some sliding down his shaft, specifically tracking a prominent vein. “C’mon, you know what to do.” He repeats, wanting you to initiate these events instead.

With a forceful grab, you lead his tip to your aching core and grind it against your aching core. Your core began to kegel against the sensation of his length, feeling it rub against your clit gently. “Don’t tease me,” He insists, bucking his hips, feeling his cock free itself from your grasp. You grasp onto it again, guide his tip into your aching core, and slowly guide him in. “Shit…” You whimper, feeling the familiar pressure push up against your aching core.

“How do you feel bigger than last time?” You whined, slowly sinking into his length. “Take deep breaths for me, m’kay?” He hums, mused by the sight before him. “I know it’s a lot, baby, I know…” You take in deep breaths while he ground the tip against your cervix, to the point where it did hurt a little, but it was pleasurable. “Take your time, it’s okay…” He croons, moving a hand down to your clit, lightly grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. A breathy whimper is the only response he receives from you.

The soft kisses against your temple are enough to ease you as the soft kisses make you giggle underneath him. “That’s enough,” He breathes out, soon grasping your hips with his hands. “Are we okay?” Miguel questions, allowing his thumb to trace the skin on your hips, specifically the stretchmarks painted on your soft skin. “Yeah, I’m okay…”

The slow thrusts slowly came to a steady pace, allowing you to get comfortable with his size. Soft mewls and whimpers escaped from the back of your throat as you laid back on the hood of the car and felt your breasts bounce a bit from the thrusting. The sight of the silver barbells decorating your nipples while your breasts bounced with his tempo displayed the sight for him. “There we go, you’re getting used to me more now…”

The feeling of the virgencita charm from his necklace lightly booped your nose, occasionally touching your lips, staining the golden charm with your lipgloss. “Is this bothering you?” He chuckles, seeing the charm bump against your lips and nose. “No, not at all…” It was a bluff; the sensation of the chain and charm tickled you while you chased the sensation bubbling against your core.

“You’re almost there?” The slight bulge in your stomach amused Miguel, seeing the bulge appear and disappear with every thrust. He lets go of your hip with one hand and pushes his hand down onto your lower stomach while keeping a steady yet hard pace. “How does that feel?” He questions, looking down to see your reaction. “Yes…” You breathed out, not giving him a proper answer as you squirmed under the pressure rise.

“C’mon, I know you’re almost close…” He praises, bullying his tip into your sopping cunt, no longer worrying about the hood of the car or the paint job that he’s been telling you about since you two arrived at an odd location in the forest. “Finish with me, come on…” He pushes, not caring how loud the two of you are. “Please, Miguel…” You scream out, no longer pleading quietly. “Finish with me.” He croons.

The chase slowly came to an end as the sudden splurge of you squirting everywhere on the hood of the Impala, following along with Miguel cradling you close in his arms, finally giving you a couple of last thrusts into your core. “There we go…” He mumbles, placing a shaky kiss on your temple and slowly pulling out. Your whine greeted his ears as he pulled out his softening cock, and a thin white line at your entrance decorated your cunt, no longer empty. “There we go, keep it in there.” You felt as if your body took a screenshot from laying on the car's hood while the sound of clothes ruffling and a belt clinking filled your ears.

The next few moments felt blurred. You felt Miguel help you off the car's hood and straighten out your now-ruffled top and skirt. “I don’t need anyone else to see you like this,” he mutters before making his way to the vehicle's passenger side. What are you doing?” You huff out, leaning against the side of the car for support. “Give me a moment,” he continues to rummage around before he grasps a small red box in his hand.

“Do you fuck with cigarettes?” He questions. You weakly nod, slowly coming down from your high. “Do you mind which brand?” The sight of the Marlboro flashed your eyes before Miguel nudged the box gently, allowing the two cigarettes to slide out a bit, enough for you and Miguel to grab. You grabbed the cancerous stick and placed it between your tinted pink lips, smeared with pink lipgloss at the corner of your lips. Reaching into his pocket, the lighter looked tiny in his grasp as he flickered on the measly lighter.

“Here,” You reach for the small lighter and take it from him with a gentle grasp, soon flicking at the small wheel. After a couple of flicks at it, the small flame appeared, emitting a tangy orange close to your hand, soon flickering along with the breeze. “Oh…!” You shield the small flickering flame with your free hand, allowing the flame to flicker about before settling its movements.

As he took a deep breath, Miguel reached for the small flame and brought the cigarette closer to it. Without removing the cigarette from his lips, he leaned down towards you and used your flame to light his cigarette. As he did so, he kept his gaze locked on yours, retaining eye contact for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes. His eyes are like embers of fire waiting to be ignited again, waiting for the next moment to be triggered.

“Here…” He grabbed the cigarette and pulled it away from your lips as he inhaled his cigarette slowly. Wary of the lit cigarette between his fingers, he gently grasps your chin and kisses you while exhaling the smoke into your mouth. He slowly pulls away from the soft kiss and lingers eyes on you.

For a moment, there was a glisten in his eye when they softened; it didn’t go unnoticed…

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itwasrealtome · 5 months ago

Text

THIN ICE

Olivia Benson x fem! reader

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

ANGST | Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader | Masterlist

Summary : Detective Y/N Y/L/N, part of Olivia Benson’s Special Victims Unit, faces a life-threatening situation during a suspect’s arrest, chasing this one into an ultimate falls to his death. Injured but alive, Y/N finds herself in an hospital room, receiving stern words from Olivia about her reckless actions.

A/N : Hello my loves. I'm finally sharing this first Olivia X reader with you. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. There are a few people I can't identify in the taglist, I'm sorry.

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This afternoon, the streets seemed even more crowded than usual. The vehicles flooded the roads, coming from every corner and blocking the main way out.

Behind a queue of about ten of them, a police car came to a sudden halt. The alarm was on, and the blue and red flashing lights blinded anyone who looked in that direction.

But no one moved.

Not even the sound of a horn persuaded the citizens of New York to get out of the path.

Amanda’s grip on the wheel only tightened. She had never been able to understand the reason behind people’s insensitivity to this kind of thing. It was such an easy thing to understand. Besides, someone’s life often depended on it. Yet, there she was, turning furiously midway, her partner gasping in surprise, her shirt now stained with hot coffee.

— Dude, can’t you just warn before doing that kind of thing?

The blonde gave a brief glance to her passenger. She expected to find her glued to the door, her fingers clenched around the top handle, but she didn’t.

Y/N was desperately trying to absorb the contents of her cup on her worktop. The wipers provided with her order, finally finding their use.

While most people would have been annoyed about staining a piece of clothing, the young detective was not. She seemed much more upset about losing a few drops of her beverage. The former could still be replaced, but the latter was definitely needed.

— Sorry about your shirt.

— Yeah, well you owe me a coffee.

The driver’s smile only widened when she heard her partner muttering complaints. She knew her well enough to say that it had nothing to do with that slight accident. It was cute. Of course, it was. But Amanda could see through it. She knew it had nothing to do with the coffee. Sure, the days were long and their job involved finding stimulants to stay awake, but Y/N was never acting like that. Something was different. And who better to notice than someone who practically lived with her?

— Sure you’re okay?

— Rollins, it’s just a shirt. I think I can get over it.

Amanda gave her a knowing glance. She expected this kind of answer from the young officer. Everyone knew what kind of person she was.

Committed, she was always the first to arrive at the precinct and the last to leave. She was practically married to the job by now. And though Kat had trouble following orders, Y/N did not. She was the perfect partner. Amanda couldn’t remember a time when Y/N had lost control. But these days, everything seemed to fall apart.

It began with a couple of small comments, here and there, a bit too harsh coming from Y/N’s mouth. Next up, her silence during the team talk was a concerning factor for Amanda. If anyone always had something to add to the investigation, it was her. This ranged from a simple detail no one had noticed, to scientific or sociological facts. It was often complicated to keep the detective quiet, so her lack of involvement was bound to catch the eye. That and the fact the blonde had seen her leave the bunks two mornings in a row at the exact same time.

Sure, it was just the addition of minor details. But the older woman’s gut was not wrong, not about this. Something was wrong with her partner. And it had nothing to do with a simple lack of caffeine.

— Oh, don’t give me that kind of look.

— But you’re not telling me the truth, Y/N/N!

Y/N huffed quietly. At times in her life, she hated being around people whose job was to investigate. She cursed them all equally. She just couldn’t help herself the last few days. Her anger was aimed at a specific and unique person, but that person being in law enforcement themselves, it was almost overwhelming to go to work every day. Time seemed to run too slowly there. The only moments she enjoyed were those outside the building. The cold New York weather allowed her to clear her mind and take a deep breath. And she always had something to do, after all the city never slept.

—Like you don’t keep anything to yourself, huh?

Amanda faintly spluttered. Everyone knew she had had difficult times, but she wasn't the only one. And now that she was honest with herself, she knew she had made mistakes. One thing’s for sure, she did not want her partner to replicate these.

— I made some mistakes, most of them I don’t want you to repeat.

— I seriously doubt you did this one.

That was all she could get out of the young detective. Amanda knew it as she watched her turn toward the window. The mere reflection of her face gave her a glimpse of what she was really feeling inside, a sweet mixture of anger and bitterness. Whatever the problem was, it wasn't something they could fix with a drink. And this worried the blonde even more.

— Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.

These words captured the passenger's interest again. She arched an eyebrow at her partner, a smile forming at the corner of her lips. Knowing their duo’s dynamics, she had dozens of retorts on the tip of her tongue, all of them a little more mischievous than the last. Instead, she just shook her head gently. Amanda didn't have to know how upset she was about the whole thing. She didn’t deserve to worry so much. And Y/N certainly had no right to be such a burden to her partner.

— Like what? Jumping off a building? y/n chuckled at the blonde’s glare. Relax. I won’t do anything of that kind, I promise.

At that very moment, the young detective genuinely meant it. She had not gotten up with such an idea in mind. If jumping off a building was regarded as a very stupid gesture, she considered her routine more so.

It was in the way the precinct’s bunks were beginning to feel like home. And how she spent every second of her days with the badge on her waist. She had no idea when she had last stepped into her apartment for more than a shower. Her desk was overflowing with paperwork and books in which she always found a way to bury herself. It was much more than a way to distract herself. At all costs, she avoided raising her head, out of fear of meeting the gaze that froze her every time. The path she was on was, for that matter, significantly more dangerous than whatever stupid thing Amanda was thinking about.

But she could not say that to her.

To anyone, actually.

— Weren't we just called to make sure that this jerk wasn't prowling around the residence?

In any other context, Y/N would have felt like a fool. Her back nearly arched as she tried to make out what was going on in a street they weren't even close to yet. She may have lacked sleep and insight into her personal life, but her cop intuition never failed her.

— You'd be sure of that if you'd listened to a single word the captain said.

— Something’s wrong.

Amanda brought them to the next intersection before momentarily stopping the car. The sight over her partner’s shoulder sent a chill down her spine. Despite years of experience, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline every time. The crowd of cops down the street certainly wasn’t helping. They were everywhere. Mostly hidden behind their vehicles. But their vests did not go unnoticed and neither did their weapons pointed at a specific target.

— Crap, I hate when you’re right about this stuff.

— Hum…what was that you were saying about our captain again? y/n faced her friend with a teasing smile on her face. She couldn’t help herself. Always listen to what sh–

The sudden acceleration of the vehicle silenced Y/N. She felt grateful once again that her belt was keeping her safe. No day went by without her being in some kind of danger, but she never thought she’d have to worry about dying while Amanda was behind the wheel.

— Would you please stop doing that? cried the younger detective, her hands still clutching the top handle. And since when do you drive so badly? Damn it.

— Guess now you’ll stop driving like a maniac if I let you get behind the wheel.

The door swung shut before she could react. She stepped out of the car herself and walked over to Amanda. A vest was tossed in her face before she could even think about opening her mouth. But anyone who thought she would have given up so easily was wrong.

— I do not drive like a maniac.

Her friend gave her a knowing look as she closed the trunk. Now was definitely not the time to have this kind of conversation, but Amanda was glad her partner hadn’t lost everything that made her the person she was.

She was relentless, both in her work and in her personal life. To be defeated by a suspect in an interrogation room was a rare occurrence. Within the profession, many officers wondered about her career choice. They could imagine her leaving the field to terrify judges in a courtroom. Perhaps because they were themselves scared to death to face her. Seeking victory in a debate with a woman like Y/N was a waste of time. She knew when she was wrong, and would always acknowledge it. Nevertheless, she also knew when she was right. And in those moments, Amanda was the first to grab a bag of popcorn.

— That you do.

The detective’s hands found the velcro on the vest from memory as she was too busy glowering at her friend. The protection weighed on her shoulders. It was almost enough to give her a reason to fall apart. That, and the weight of life that was beginning to take its toll on her.

Slightly defeated, she stomped over to Amanda to catch up with her. She knew the other detective was right. Her anger was evident in the way she drove. Since then, she was assigned the role of co-pilot. It was okay. But she loathed being deprived of her usual distraction. It was starting to loop in her mind. She needed a way out.

— Detective Rollins and Y/L/N, Special Victims Unit.

Amanda shoved her badge in the man’s direction, half-expecting him to tell her to piss off. He dominated the scene with his large stature and a rank evident to all. The rookies were following his orders and keeping their mouths shut. Something that obviously wouldn't work with Olivia Benson-trained agents. He didn't seem to mind, guiding the two detectives as close as possible to the scene. But then, the mere idea of having to send men into the building made him raise his chin in an authoritative, disapproving manner.

— Our only witness is trapped in this building, Rollins began the fight, finger pointing accusingly. I don't care how, I want that man in custody.

If one of them had looked up for even half a second, instead of fighting over who had the biggest –which was obviously Y/N in this situation– they might have been able to stop the young detective in her tracks. Amanda had had enough of listening to the man's whining as he waved his rank in her face. And her colleague, the one she was supposed to look after, was tired of simply waiting.

As discreet as a mouse in the middle of the city, Y/N circled the building and quickly found a fire escape. It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when the impulse to walk into the building first came to her, but she couldn't really say she'd given it much thought. With a bit of imagination, and a little help from a trash container, she managed to pull herself up to the top. Now, maybe that was the beginning of a crazy idea. She could already imagine her partner and captain scolding her - if, and only if, she managed to get out of there alive and intact.

At the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, the detective stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of their suspect's agitated voice.

Thomas Patterson, 45, suspected of having violently abused his wife before killing her, and of abusing his stepdaughter - Johanne Morales. The man's profile was clear: a respectful-looking husband and father-in-law, loved by all, carefree, but once the door was closed he turned into a control freak with urges he simply couldn't escape. He clearly hadn't planned to kill his wife. The autopsy had revealed signs of haste and mistakes that a man like Patterson would never have made if he had prepared properly. But he had made mistakes. His blows had been too violent, Johanne had interrupted him, and he'd had to finish the job quickly - too quickly, in order to hide his crime.

Y/N had studied his profile carefully. That's what she did best, that and avoiding her captain. She knew he was restless, nervous, ready to do anything to cover up his actions. The final piece of the puzzle was to eliminate the only witness, the one who would go all the way to court to see him take the fall. She had an advantage over him. She was there, so close to the goal, and he was unaware of her presence. At least, that was until Amanda's voice came through the radio.

— Y/L/N, you've got two seconds to get your butt over here.

The young detective could have banged her own head against the wall. Boy, had she been stupid on that one. She clenched her jaw, the urge to bite her fist growing cumbersome as she prayed Thomas hadn't heard. But he definitely did.

A front door opened slowly, the creaking hinges betraying the building’s condition. The man was probably armed, the sound of the guard echoing in the empty corridor. Each of his steps shook the wooden floor and sent a current of adrenalin through Y/N's veins. He was getting closer. She could smell him and his perfume. Him and her fear.

As soon as he was close enough to round the corner of the stairwell, the young detective took this as her cue. She charged at the man, her hands reaching for the 9mm held firmly in his rough, bleeding hands. In a split second, the magazine slid out and collapsed on the floor. She sent it tumbling down a few steps with her boot, before landing a knee into the suspect’s parts. This only confused him for the briefest moment. He was on her again before she could even flinch. Her body hit the wall with a heavy thud, the vest shielding her body from the heavy impact. However, the man’s hands found her neck and tightened their grip, pulling her head violently forward and then pushing it back, slamming it against the concrete wall.

He repeated the motion twice more, the detective’s pleas of pain provoking a feeling he himself could not begin to describe. Y/N wasn’t done with him yet. He clearly wanted to lash out at a woman and had a nasty habit of underestimating them all. Only, today wasn’t his lucky day. He was forced into the apartment where he had deliberately tied up the young Johanne. It was his turn to bang into something. The dresser barely tilted behind him, but the vase crashed hard against the top of his skull. He felt the water run down his face, the smell of freshly bought flowers wafting through the air.

Back in a corner, Johanne tried desperately to struggle out of her bonds, her words puffed out by the duct tape over her mouth. She could only witness the struggle between her back-up and her assailant. Watching as Y/N unloaded all her pent-up anger on the man who had dared to cause so much harm. In one smooth motion, Thomas grabbed the detective’s gun, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Hope was soon lost, his chances of getting out of there alive and free close to zero. His opponent was relentless and had no intention of letting him slip away. His only option, he realized, a flash of light reflecting off the window, was to drag the detective with him in his fall.

Outside, Amanda was still arguing with the man in charge of operations. He hadn’t given up and neither had she. Only when, as the argument continued to escalate, gunshots were heard, followed by the shattering of a window pane, did they come to an agreement. The plan didn’t even have time to take shape before two bodies flew out of the building.

First, the blonde saw the man she recognized as their suspect crash hard to the ground, the collision knocking him down instantly. Then came a tremendous thump and the shrill sound of a car alarm. Straight ahead of her, on one of the patrol cars, had landed Y/N. The height of the fall meant that the roof of the vehicle had been crushed and some of the windows smashed. That wasn't what Amanda was most worried about. Her partner, the one who'd promised her she wouldn't do anything stupid – like jumping off the third floor of a building, was sprawled motionless on the broken glass, blood on the back of her skull.

— Oh my God, Y/N, in one stride, she was as close as she could get to her friend. Call an ambulance. Now!

For once, the man made himself useful, radio in hand, as he asked for help. He now stood with one, maybe two, even three victims to deal with if the detective didn't make it. He could already imagine the damage it would do to his career. Besides, he knew Captain Benson very well and had no desire to mess with her.

Needless was his worry. The more Amanda studied her friend, the more she realized how lucky she’s been. Y/N was simply stunned, staring at the New York sky with an uncharacteristic intensity. She began to laugh, full-throated, heartily. It was probably the adrenaline pumping again. Tears joined the party, leaving funny marks on her bloody cheeks. Suddenly, she remembered.

— Johanne. She's alive. Up there. Y/N looked up at Amanda expectantly. She needs help.

***

Captain Olivia Benson had seen enough in her career not to let anxiety get the better of her. She had been beaten, kidnapped, almost died and dragged through the mud in front of an entire courtroom. She had reached a point where facing certain types of suspects no longer made her lose her footing.

But someone was bound to make her lose it.

Briskly, almost to the point of knocking herself off her feet, she made her way through the corridors of a hospital she knew all too well. The distinctive clatter of her heels against the floor blended perfectly with the incessant beeping and distant hubbub of such a place. She wasn't there to see a victim, as she often was. Her hasty and agitated demeanor only aroused the suspicions of the medical staff who had crossed paths with her so many times. It wasn't just a professional matter.

It hadn't been for a long time.

When Olivia reached room 212, she didn't spare a moment's hesitation. One of her youngest detectives and latest recruit was sitting wisely on the edge of the bed, her legs wriggling in the air like a child's. A nurse was visibly busy behind her, dropping more and more glass flakes into her tray as she went. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tightly against her chest, eyes focused on the sight that made her stomach hurt in spite of herself.

She watched as Y/N's chest, covered in dried blood, continued to pulsate with every breath, as hematomas were already starting to spread across her face and torso, and as her plain face twisted in pain as soon as the nurse reached for another piece of glass. Just a few days ago, her first instinct would have been to rush to her protégé’s side and calm the agony she knew to be growing in her heart. But she'd vowed to keep her distance and stay in her current position: Captain Benson, unit chief.

All too quickly for the young detective's liking, the nurse finished her treatment and left the two law enforcement agents behind. Olivia had had the decency to wait until the door was closed before lashing out at her, which didn't stop Y/N from rolling her eyes. She'd already imagined this conversation - or rather, monologue - and knew she wouldn't come out of it unscathed. She'd probably lose her badge. No matter, she'd already lost her heart.

— Have you completely lost your mind? You could’ve been killed.

This was the cue for a lengthy sermon that she couldn't escape. The words left Olivia's mouth at a speed that seemed unbearable. She paced back and forth, her arms stretching out in waves of frustration and indignation, her cheeks rosy with emotion. She'd done some stupid things herself when she was just a rookie, but throwing herself off the third floor of a building had never been on the list.

— Are you done? y/n arched an eyebrow as Olivia finally paused. I saved a life today. While Amanda and that jerk were fighting over who had the biggest, which apparently I did.

— No, you refused to follow orders. Not only did you put yourself in danger, you put everyone's lives in danger. Heaven help us again that you were wearing your vest, otherwise it could have been a lot worse.

— I don't know why you care so much, you're just my boss!

Although these words were intended to hurt Olivia, it was Y/N who took the brunt of the blow. It was one thing to know that their relationship had been reduced to this, but it was quite another to admit it in person. The brunette was no longer entitled to worry so much, to ask her to watch out and send her a text as soon as she got home. Whatever had been was no more.

— Right, Olivia broke into an almost scoffing snort. Let me tell you, as your captain, that you won't be leaving the precinct for a long time.

— You’re benching me? Liv, you can’t do this!

— What you did was completely irresponsible. You don't want to follow orders, fine. But you're not leaving this desk without my permission.

The young detective had been holding her breath for a long time– far too long. She'd spent days avoiding conflict, lamenting in her corner, mourning the end of a story she'd thought would last forever. It wasn't just about what had just happened, it was something else, something more personal. She felt as if Olivia had no idea how to express her concern, as if her only option was to play the role of the big bad boss. But she was tired of hiding, of running away, of avoiding confrontation.

— Breaking my heart wasn't enough for you, uh? She rose from the bed, hastily putting on her jacket. If you want me to leave the squad, just say so.

For the first time, she faced her head-on. Head held high, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, ready to stand on tiptoe if that would help reach the brunette's height. She faced those brown pearls with all the courage she had left, her own eyes misty with tears she'd never let flow. This was it, so close yet so far, two souls who knew each other becoming strangers once again.

Olivia reached out with a last ounce of regret, brushing away a tear that had escaped down the young detective's cheek with the tip of her thumb. Her heart urged her to do more, to embrace this bruised woman, to bring her all the comfort she needed. She wanted to take Y/N home, wrap her in one of her shirts, tell her how much she loved her. In another life, where they were just two soul mates, where Olivia didn't have to worry about repercussions, whatever they might be. This was where she could find comfort.

— Go home. Take a few days. Get some rest. We'll talk about it when you get back.

The New Yorker had rarely seen a face shattered in a matter of seconds. Her words had urged Y/N to free herself from her hold, her head heavy and spinning from all the hassle and concussion she'd picked up from the blows. Her shoulder nudged her superior's as she walked by, a gesture of no little importance. She did not look back once to meet her former lover's gaze again.

Maybe she should have.

Maybe she would have seen the same love, the same tears, that Olivia saw in her eyes.

Maybe the ice wasn't so thin after all.

•••

Taglist: @electricboost @womenlovingwomen-imagines @hi-1-1-blog @emskisworld @enjoytheentireworld @arie109 @marvelandotheruniverseslover-adhd @philocalistwrites @wittygutsy @observeowl @ravennewlyn @tina-2005 @makkaroni221 @ssaaggwwaa @youdontknowwhotfiamm @mmmmokdok @hbkpop @micaluvssoccer @idk-whats-wrong-with-me-blog @nciscmjunkie @moonlightjxuregui @thefatobsession @12fluffybunny12 @scarletwitcher97 @thesamesweetie @idonothingallday @clozeliz @realgirlbossqueenslay @l4yne @rain-mikaelson @fanfiction-24824 @sammi1642 @inquisitive-nix @namelesscheshire @slasherthrillss @marvelwomenrule @irishavengersassemble @marvelwomenrule

#olivia benson x reader #law and order svu #oneshot #angst #amanda rollins x reader #olivia benson

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octuscle · 8 months ago

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Fewer wheels, more balls

Stephen cursed everything. His parents, because they hadn't paid for him to study medicine and he had only become a nurse. St. Peter because he sent a shower of rain at the exact moment he rolled out onto the road on his new motorcycle. The mechanic, because he had offered him the motorcycle as a replacement for his car, which had finally died of old age. And himself, because he hadn't had the backbone to insist on having the car repaired and had this bike sold to him instead. Yes, he had taken his driver's license back then. But he hadn't ridden a motorcycle since driving school. And this beast, a twenty-year-old Triumph Rocket III, was far too big for his frail body. And with the silly rain overalls that the mechanic had given him, he looked more than silly.

Especially in this weather, Stephen hadn't expected to get home on his bike without breaking down. But even he was surprised that it should be so far after just four miles. With the last of his strength, the bike rolled under the highway bridge. At least it was dry there. And now? Stephen had no idea about engines. He was an ambulance driver. He knew all about cars. At least a little. But with motorcycles?

If you're at a loss, ask ChatGPT. Stephen pulled out his cell phone and described the problem. He was advised to remove the spark plugs and dry them out. Shit, yes, he'd heard about that. It was a common problem with that model year. He had an oily rag in his upperall. He dried and cleaned the spark plugs. And the machine started. Perfectly! Nevertheless, Stephen sent up a prayer to heaven. And it was answered. The rain subsided and he made it home without any further problems.

Stephen dried his bike and hung his wet leather suit on a hanger. His garage, which was also his own little improvised workshop, was kept tidy. That was important to him. Otherwise, he wasn't the tidy type… As he stood in front of the toilet in his wet underwear and pissed, it occurred to him that he could clean again. Shit, this was a man's household. And he worked in the Red Cross workshop on engines and car bodies. He didn't need a sterile environment. He still had some pizza left in the fridge. He didn't have to leave for work for another hour. That was enough for food, drink and a wank. Then he put on a dry leather suit, sat on his 140 hp baby and set off for work with the engine roaring.

Stephen liked the late shift. He could wait for the vehicles in peace and didn't have to constantly watch out for vehicles coming in and out. The bad weather also meant that there were fewer people on the road. There were fewer motorcycle accidents in particular. Stephen didn't care about the weather. He had once had a car. But he needed the wind around his nose. He drove in all weathers. Nevertheless, he preferred it when no bikers had to be taken to hospital after an accident. Here in the neighborhood you can. Most of them were at least distant acquaintances. I mean, Stephen was an authority in the biker scene. When it came to engines, nobody could fool him. And whether it was his Triumph, his BMW or his Ducati, he had every bike under control.

It was almost 05:00 in the morning. The replacement would be coming soon. Stephen was standing in the coffee kitchen with a couple of paramedics, smoking a cigarette. His parents had always wanted him to become a doctor. He was sure that he could do a much greater service to the health service with his job. And tomorrow it would continue, tomorrow he would give it his all again. But not today, today he was happy when his baby was in the garage and he was in bed.

It was 08:00 when Steve was woken by a honking horn. Shit, he had slept in his clothes again. It had been a long evening with the boys. And yes, he'd probably had one too many beers to drive home. But his machine knew the way. Another honk. Bloody hell, couldn't anyone wait these days? "I'm coming" boomed Steve's bass over the service station. Some fucking city slicker who was too stupid to fill up the tank himself. Steve had a hard time hiding his morning wood when he went to the gas pump to fill up the show-off Porsche. Steve positioned himself so that the driver had no other chance than to stare at the bulge in his pants. "That'll be 80 bucks, buddy," Steve grunted. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Steve had once seen a drawing of a gas station where the attendants not only refueled and repaired cars, but also served hot customers in other ways. It was some guy from Denmark, Sweden or something… Tim? Tom? It didn't matter. Steve turned around, his hand on his bulge. Three, two, one... He would have bet the 80 dollars that the Porsche driver would come up behind him. The first coffee of the day would have to wait. He had an ass to fill for now.

Interested in your own TF story? DM me, there's a community on Tumblr for that!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #tank top #age progression #redneck tf #mullet #ai image

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madeby-meru · 2 months ago

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Thoughts on Episode 10 (Jason Route)

Now that I am chill after losing both the illustration and the route and having to watch it somewhere else, I can give my thoughts on this episode! ^^

I wanted to upload this sooner but had no time to finish it lol

beware of spoilers under the cut!

Overall, my main feeling while playing and after finishing was that i was tremendously bored for 90% of the episode. And honestly this makes me sad! I really like filler episodes, i love silly little moments that don't add much to the story itself but that let you see the characters in different situations and learn other tidbits of information about them. For example, I liked going with Brune and Elanda to look for Thomas, seeing them in a situation where they're worried about a friend that could be in serious trouble and how they reacted differently to everything. It adds depth and personality (which these characters desperately need). I have seen Roy's route in this episode too and i liked how it added a bit to his characterization of this very sweet and caring man. I have to say that i also loved seeing Thomas' mom again and im soooo happy that she got a redesign! (even though I wish she looked like an actual 60 year old woman, girlie looks addicted to botox). I would have loved to see Iris too but we got a couple more characters from the MCL games so I'm happy with that. I like seeing that we are, indeed, in the same universe lol.

However, in my opinion anything good or interesting in the episode was completely overshadowed by the sheer *absurdity* of it all.

It's the same issue as always, the "plot" doesn't make sense and unintentionally the characters end up being depicted terribly and (usually) Devon and Thomas suffer the most.

Devon looks like an irresponsible boss that doesn't keep his empoyees in check and lets them do whatever they want even if it harms the job or other emoplyees's work. He postpones the meeting with the town hall (would he even be allowed to do that? i'm sure this would have negative impact on Devenementiel) to look for Thomas, which honestly that's a good friend move so respect for that... but that is a full grown adult, not a child, and you dont even know if something actually happened to him. I'm sorry but here the job should take priority, it makes no sense for everyone to halt their work day and waste time (with a relevant project !! with the town hall !! in their hands !!) cause someone didnt come in.

Sending everyone to just look around the city is... so stupid? how big is Amoris? 1km square? for them to think that they can wander around and magically find him? ????

Now the ending was just... what the actual fuck.

I don't think the writing team is truly aware of how badly Thomas is portrayed. First of all, if you have a motorbike accident that is serious enough to leave the morotbike destroyed like they describe it: you do not walk away like nothing happened! Talking from experience, even a relatively small accident can leave you badly injured. And from what is being described in the episode Thomas should have been hospitalized! It makes no sense. Second of all, who in their right damn mind leaves a demaged vehicle in the middle of the street and walks away to buy a replacement? That is a fine, that is a public safely issue, a general safety hazard and a traffic obstruction, who does that ?! "He is socially unaware!" no, that is being straight up stupid and a jerk.

Y'all are portraying Thomas as an egocentric, careless, and self centered guy that does not care for anything or anyone around him other than himself, an irresponsible person that does not care if his actions are detrimental to his job or colleagues. And if we put this together with episode 8 showing him as someone with zero respect for boundaries or privacy and that will stalk coworkers with no remorse, yeah you're making a wonderful love interest.

And this pisses me off, this feels out of character. Thomas is such a fun and interesting and cute love interest, he could have one of the best romance stories in the game, why would you paint him like this? I'm sure that the intention was a "haha silly guy doesn't understand!" moment but y'all definitely don't know how to write that.

And I don't think this is "reading too much into it", cause you can see it all in plain sight. And also, analyzing shit and "reading too much into something" is fun for me.

This episode could have been so fun. It could have been a silly misunderstanding with some days off that Thomas takes to go to a competition (maybe we initially could think that he had an accident because a similar bike had one that morning! or because he had been complaining about motor issues and being wary of a potential accident!). In his route we could go see him and he could tell us about his hobby, and in other routes we could do something related to the other character's interests. We could get to know more about them, its an appropiate episode topic for the place that we are in in the relationships and its just cute and fun.

But anyway, I unfortunately could not play Jason's route myself and I had to watch it somewhere else instead, which honestly pissed me the fuck off cause i can't afford a replay at all. The special scene was cute, I liked the tone and how Jason sounded like he was trying to play it cool with all the "heh i just did it to show im better" (i can see right through you silly man). Ngl im sad i dont have the scene to replay it u-u

Thomas' illustration was my favorite by far, both him and Ysaline look gorgeous fr fr

#mcl #my candy love #mcl ng #mcl new gen #my candy love new gen #mcl ng episode 10

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maddie-dog-story-blog · 5 months ago

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Too Big For His Britches

I've been teasing @pinkducttape a little too much lately. As a self-imposed punishment (the joy of being a switch is that I get to be my own Dom) I wrote this horrible story staring myself, my imaginary Mommy, @pinkducttape, and their awesome Daddy, Midnight. Enjoy my attonement, I guess?

Today, I was feeling BIG! Mommy, my wife, had been so proud of me using the potty and staying accident free for the last week that she decided it was finally time for me to graduate from pull-ups to big kid undies!

Should have I felt embarrassed that, as a 32-year-old man, being allowed to wear a pair of Spider-Man underwear by my wife felt like a massive victory? Probably.

Did I? No.

The feeling of the soft cotton underwear under the jean shorts Mommy had dressed me in was far superior to the warm, bulky feel of the training pants and diapers I was now, much to used to. How could I not feel happy with my new found freedom?

Adding to my excitement was that today, the day I had graduated from 'Little' to 'Middle,' Mommy was taking me on a playdate! I was going to get to go hang out with Sunset, one of my best friends, while Mommy hung out with their Daddy, Midnight. I just knew that Little Sunsie was going to still be waddling around in diapers, while I would get to show off just how much of a big kid I was to them. It was going to be great!

It didn't take long for us to get to the secluded park where Mommy always took me for my playdates. I sat in the backseat, idly sucking my thumb while I thought about how I was going to tease my friend for still being a stinky little, while I, on the other hand, was a much more mature big kid. My wandering thoughts were interrupted by Mommy's voice.

"Baby Bean, are you drinking your water like you're supposed to be? It's going to be hot out there, and I don't want you getting dehydrated!"

I groaned as I popped my thumb out of my mouth and reached for my Bluey-themed water bottle in the cup holder. Didn't Mommy know I was a big kid? She's the one who held out my big kid undies for me to step into this morning for goose's sake! I didn't need to be reminded to drink water like some silly little baby. But, talking back wasn't worth the fight, not on a day like today. Plus, Mommy was right, as usual. It was really hot outside, and I was feeling thirsty just sitting in the car. There wasn't any harm in doing what she asked, just this one time. Having made up my mind, I replaced my thumb with the nipple of my water bottle and sucked down its contents as we drew closer to the park.

As usual, when we got to our destination, there was only one other car in the parking lot. Mommy and I both recognized it immediately. The pink and rainbow duct tape decorating it was a dead giveaway.

"Look, Baby Bean! Sunsie and Midnight are already here," Mommy said as she parked the car next to our friends' vehicle. She then turned back to me, staring at me sternly, "Now, I know you've earned the right to be a big boy today, but that does not mean you get to be rude. Make sure to be nice to Sunsie. They can't help being an adorable little pamper packer. Also, do not forget to come and tell me when you need me to take you to the potty. Got it?"

I nodded my head up and down in affirmation, happy that my Bluey water bottle hid the blush forming on my cheeks from the mention of asking Mommy to take me to the potty. And, when I nodded my head, agreeing to be nice to Sunset and ask to use the potty, I really meant it. Just because I was planning on teasing Baby Sunsie just a little, didn't mean I wasn't going to be nice to them!

I waited patiently as Mommy walked around the back of the car, opened the door and unbuckled my seat belt. Immediately, I sprinted past Mommy towards the mostly abandoned playground where I knew Sunset would be playing.

"Suuuuunnnnnssssssiiiiiiieeeeeee! We're here!" I yelled exhuberantly as I spotted my friend, sitting in the sandbox in a pastel yellow t-shirt and a pair of jean shortalls that did little to hide the thick diaper bulging at their waist. I was so excited, I didn't notice the pressure building in my bladder as I greeted my friend with a big, uncoordinated hug.

Midnight watched, smiling from their perch on a nearby park bench as I tackled Sunset into the sand in my excitement. From a distance behind me, I could hear my Mommy yelling out with an exasperated tone.

"Maddie! Careful! Don't hurt poor, little Sunsie!" She yelled breathlessly as she ran up behind me.

Sunset, for their part, was overjoyed to see me. They giggled as I wrapped my arms around them and accidentally knocked them over.

Midnight, with a better vantage of what was going on, immediately replied to my Mommy, "Oh, don't worry! It's just kids being kids! Now, get over here! We've got some catching up to do!"

The adults faded out of my awareness as Sunset and I righted ourselves, giggling in the sandbox. Sunset had clearly come prepared to play with all of their toys. Trucks, blocks, dolls, dinosaurs, and tractors were strewn about the sandy landscape my friend had constructed.

"Sunset, Sunset! Guess what?!" I asked, my excitement overflowing.

Sunset rolled their eyes at my bubbliness, but grinned good-naturedly at my excitement. "What 'Baby Bean?'" they asked, teasing me with my Mommy's nickname for me.

"That's just it!" I responded, ignoring the barb, "I'm not a baby anymore! Look! Mommy's letting me wear undies!"

I pulled down the elastic waist band of my jean shorts revealing the front of the cotton Spider-Man underwear I was wearing. Sunset's eyes grew wide. A grin spread across my face as I saw the hints of both jealousy and admiration I was hoping see in my friend's demeanor.

"That's right," I said, letting the elastic waistband of my shorts snap back into place, "no more diapers, or pull-ups, or training potties! I'm a real big boy now! I bet your Daddy will even let me babysit your stinky bottom soon!" I stuck my tongue out to emphasize my point.

As I spoke, I started to squirm uncomfortably. I felt a mounting pressure in my bladder, but it wasn't anything urgent enough to deal with yet. I couldn't leave to go potty now, just as I was starting to rub my new status in my friend's face.

"Yep, I bet it'll only be a couple weeks before I'm holding your leash, droppin' you off at daycare, before I get to go back to my REAL job!" I continued to tease Sunset. I couldn't tell if their face was getting red out of embarrassment or anger, but, frankly, high on my own increased status, I didn't care.

"Stop it, Maddie! It's cool you get to wear undies and all, but you're still just a baby like me! Nobody's gonna let you be a babysitter! You're not 'sponsible enough!" Sunset spat out unconvincingly, a hint of concern that their friend of once equal status could turn into yet another caregiver.

"Oh, Sunsie," I said, trying my best to imitate the condescending tone my Mommy used with me when I got high and mighty, "I'm not a baby like you though! Look at me, sitting in my big kid underwear. And look at you, I bet your diapers so soggy you're about to leak."

I extended one hand over to Subset's diapered crotch and squeezed it for emphasis. Too my utter delight, it was thoroughly soaked. Sunset, suddenly aware of the disastrous state of their diaper, turned bright red at my touch and tried to back away but only succeeded at falling on their back in the sand again.

"Aw! Did Little Sunsie fall down and go boom? Does the little baby in their soggy diaper not like being checked? Is it cause you want to keep playing in it like an icky little toddler? Is that why you don't wanna potty train and be a big kid like me?" I hovered over Sunset as I teased them, loving every second of watching their skin turn as red as a tomato out of fear, rage, and shame.

As I teased, Sunset couldn't even get a word out from where they lay in the sandbox. "I… No… Not… Baby… Gah… Big Kid… Diap…." Sunset's sputtering then suddenly stopped, and a big grin spread across their face. Unfortunately, I didn't notice it.

"Aw, is the little baby too little to talk! That's ok! Maybe I can go get your paci from your Daddy. Babies who waddle around in soggy pants like you shouldn't be talking like a big kid like me anyway!"

I couldn't stop. I was channeling all of the repressed anger and shame I had bottled up over the last few years as Mommy's perfect little pamper-packing, stuffy-humper. I was ready to throw every insult and taunt I had ever heard at Sunset, my friend, just so I could feel bigger and more powerful than someone else. I was becoming a monster in superhero underoos.

Luckily for me and my friendship with Sunsie, my reign of terror was cut short. From behind me, a familiar voice spoke.

"Beanie Baby! I did not just catch you bullying sweet little Sunsie. Come with me!"

As Mommy grabbed me by the ear, yanking me away, Sunset started laughing maniacally as they laid in the sand, excited to watch Mommy deliver whatever diabolical punishment I had earned.

I whined as Mommy dragged me across the park by my ear. "Owie! Mommy! This hurts! I didn't do nothing! I just said the truth."

"Madison James! I don't want to hear it. I heard what you were telling poor Baby Sunsie over there, and it was not acceptable!" Mommy lectured as she pulled me.

My bladder was starting to ache. The nervousness and fear of my punishment only adding to my desperation. I decided to change tack.

"Mommy! I hafta go potty!" I wailed, hoping my growing desperation to pee could distract my wife from my punishment.

It didn't.

"Well, if you're as big a kid as you were telling Sunset over there, you should have no problem holding it while you're being punished."

A new panic struck me as I suddenly realized that I might not be able to do that. I didn't want to go back to pull-ups, let alone diapers like Sunset because I had an accident while in time out!

I struggled uselessly against the grip Mommy had on my ear as she dragged me to the tree nearest to the playground.

"Nose to the tree. Now!" Mommy said as we reached our destination.

Rubbing my sore ear, I did as I was told, feeling the rough bark scrape against the tip of my nose.

"You have more than earned yourself a time out little one! Bullying poor Sunsie! In front of their Daddy! Do you know how embarrassed I am of you, Little Man? Do you know how bad you made me look as a Mommy and a wife?"

A tear rolled down my cheek as my wife explained how my actions made her feel. How could I have been so careless and thoughtless to not think about how my actions reflected on her? Midnight was one of her best friends, and I had embarrassed her in front of them. Maybe I was nothing more than the thoughtless child she thought of me as.

Mommy saw my tears and, instead of comforting me, leaned into my suffering.

"That's right baby, you embarrassed Mommy. You made Mommy look bad. You made Mommy look like she can't control you. I want you to think about that while you stand here for the next, oh, let's say, 30 minutes."

"30 minutes…" I tried to protest, but before I could say more, a pacifier was shoved in my mouth.

"No talking during time out. That stays in. And yes, 30 minutes," Mommy said sternly.

I grumbled behind my pacifier as I silently calculated whether I could actually keep from wetting myself for that long. Before I could come up with a plan to both stay put and dry, my thoughts were interrupted by the familiar feeling of my shorts being pulled down to my ankles.

"Oh, and since you were so proud of these undies, mister," my wife said from behind me, "I think it's only fair you get to show them off for your whole time out."

I was glad my face was towards the tree as a deep red blush bloomed across my cheeks. I could perfectly picture my cotton clad ass on display, the red, white, and blue picture of a web that made the undies look so cool and big kid in the store, making me look so childish while standing in time out.

Making matters worse, only moments after my undies were put on display, I heard Midnight's soft giggle behind me.

"Aw! Aren't those precious?" They said condescendingly.

I fresh wave of embarrassment passed through me at those words. However, I closed my eyes, bit down hard on my paci, and settled in to survive the next 30 minutes as best I could. The pressure from my bladder was only getting stronger, but I was determined to keep my underwear dry. I was a big boy, after all, really, nearly an adult again.

After 15 minutes, my determination not to wet myself had waned drastically. With my nose still pressed to the trunk of the tree, I shifted my weight from leg to leg, only able to do a pathetic little potty shuffle rather than a full on potty dance with my shorts still wrapped around my ankles.

The sound of a crinkling diaper announced Sunset's approach. Unable to turn to look at them, I could only imagine the satisfied smirk that I was sure was plastered to their face.

"Oh no! Does the BIG boy need to go potty? You better show the poor, little baby how to keep your undies dry! You wouldn't wanna have an accident in front a little kid like me!" Sunset taunted as they toddled closer to me.

I groaned behind my pacifier, not willing to risk the consequences of talking during time out. However, although I desperately wanted to yell at my friend to go away, I knew I deserved every insult they flung at me.

It only took moments for my friend's face to appear in the corner of my vision.

"Oh no, can Big Bad Maddie not talk right now because he's sucking on his paci? I thought paci's were for babies, not big kids?"

I groaned again, the sound muffled by the shield of the pacifier as I shuffled from foot to foot in discomfort again. The pressure in my bladder was so bad I could barely focus on Sunset's words.

"Oh no! You aren't doing a potty dance, are you Baby Bean? I bet you wish you were wearing a diaper right now! You could just let go," Sunset said before there expression changed as an idea hit them, "I mean, I gotta go potty too, and I can just go right now! Listen!"

With that, Sunset smiled, scrunched up their face and let loose. The sound of soft hissing as their urine hit their diaper filled my ears. The sound was too much. I couldn't hold it anymore. Tears started to well in my eyes as I felt a warm wet stream of pee release into my once pristine Spider-Man undies, only to immediately become warm, disgusting rivers of urine, running down my thighs.

As I felt my pee run down my legs into my shoes, I also could feel my chances of becoming a big kid again drift away too. I began to bawl behind my pacifier, not just because I was ashamed of my accident, but also because I was upset at myself for the bratty behavior that got me here.

"Oh, Baby Bean! Did you piddle in your cute Lil' Spider-Man undies? Spider-Man looks sad! He's not Aquaman. He doesn't like getting all wet," Sunset teased. Their words stung more because I knew they were in a soggy situation of their own that was somehow more babyish, but also less embarrassing. "Daddy! Maddie's Mommy! Maddie has an accident!"

My fear overwhelmed my sorrow as I heard Mommy and Midnight walk up behind me.

"What was that sweet, little Sunsie?" Mommy asked my friend turned temporary nemesis.

"Baby Bean wet his undies! Go look!" Sunset responded with more excitement than I really thought was necessary.

A soft, familiar hand grabbed my shoulder, gently inviting me to turn around. I didn't want to. Maybe, if I just stayed here for a while, my undies would dry and no one would be the wiser. It was hot out, after all.

Mommy wasn't going to let me live out my delusion though. "Turn around sweetie, let's see the damage."

Her instruction and a more forceful pull got me to turn around. A dark stain covered the entire front of my underwear. The streams of urine running down my leg were far too obvious. And, even the shorts and socks at my ankles were stained from my shameful accident. I wanted to cry as Mommy forced me to hold me arms up, beant over, and tugged disappointedly on my soaked Spider-Man undies as she inspected them.

"Beanie Baby, you destroyed these poor undies! And your shorts, socks, and shoes? I thought you were a big boy?" My wife chastised me as she pulled and picked at my soaked clothing. "You were doing so good I didn't even bring a change!"

I looked up to see Midnight given Sunset a similar inspection, albeit with much less disappointment in their demeanor.

"Looks like Little Mads isn't the only super soaker here, Sunsie's diaper is pretty wet too," Midnight said as they completed their inspection, "Did you say you didn't bring a change? I've got plenty of extra diapers in my bag and maybe some spare tights. Why don't we change these little stinkers together?"

"Midnight, you are a lifesaver! Are you sure you can spare a diaper? I know how many Sunsie goes through!" Mommy responded, causing Sunset to blush for once.

"I sure do! Sunsie can be quite the pamper packer sometimes, but if my Little Sunset needs to sit in their mess for a bit, they'll survive," Midnight answered.

As Mommy and Midnight talked about diapering me with Sunset, my outrage started to grow. I just had one accident! And I warned Mommy that I needed to go! She was the one that made me stand with my nose to the tree! I shouldn't be put back in diapers! Maybe a pull-up or training pants, but a diaper was too far. I opened my mouth to tell Mommy as much.

"Mommy, this…" That was as far as I made it before my wife shot a hostile glare towards me.

"No! I will not hear a word out of you, Madison James. I trusted you to be big. I trusted you to be kind. I trusted you to keep your pants dry. Obviously, I cannot trust you. You will be going back to diapers. I will not tolerate any grief. Otherwise, I will throw you over my lap and show you just how little you are, understood?"

My stomach dropped to my toes. I hadn't been lectured like that for years. Not stupid enough to risk my Mommy's wraith, I nodded my head and responded, "Yeth, Mama." I kept suckling the pacifier, now happy it was in my mouth for the comfort it provided.

Mommy helped me take off my wet clothes before taking my hand at the same time that Midnight took Sunset's. We were both led back to the bench where our two caregivers had been chatting earlier. Sunset waddled in their soggy diaper as I walked normally, save for being completely naked below the waist. Once at the bench, Midnight quickly pulled out a large blanket laid it on the grass.

"Alright little ones, lie down," Mommy said, directing Sunset and I to lay down next to each other to be changed like the small children we were being treated as, something we'd done together hundreds of times before.

We both quickly complied with my wife's gentle command as Midnight dug through their diaper bag, getting out changing supplies for two infantilized adults.

"Um, Maddie's Mommy?" Sunset asked as we waited on our backs.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Mommy answered.

"Do you think I could get your phone and watch a show while I got changed? I've been good and haven't had any screen time all day!" Sunset begged.

From across the nearby bench, Midnight called out, "Don't give it to them! It's my fault, really, but we're really trying to break little Sunsie's screen addiction."

Sunset pouted as Mommy smiled down at them. It didn't take long for Midnight to join us with two diapers in hand.

"Let's get these babies back to clean and dry!" Midnight announced as they knelt down and began unsnapping the buttons of Sunset's shortalls.

With expert hands, Mommy and Midnight changed me and Sunset. Where normally, Sunset and I would joke and giggle as we got changed together, today, with my fall from grace, I couldn't bring myself to even make eye contact with my friend as my wife wiped my butt and other delicate bits.

Mommy and Midnight had us both changed and back up quickly. Once I was standing in nothing but a T-shirt and a diaper in the grass, Mommy pulled me to the side.

"Maddie, your behavior today has been unacceptable. Clearly, you are not ready for the level of responsibility that I thought you were. Thinking you were was my fault. So, now, until you prove me otherwise, I am demoting you back to diapers, but know that that is based on my mistake, not yours," Mommy began.

"That said," Mommy continued, "You messed up too. I warned you to be nice. I warned you to keep your pants dry. You didn't. Sunset is your friend, and you bullied them. That is not okay."

"I am not going to make you finish your time out. I don't think you would learn anything from it," Mommy lectured, "But I do need you to do one more thing before you can go back to playing. I need you to apologize to Midnight for bullying her precious little one, and I need you to apologize to Sunset for being a bad friend. Can you do that for me?"

Looking down past the bulging diaper around my waist to my bare feet, I let myself feel shame for my behavior yet again. "Yeth, Mommy," I answered, the pacifier still stuck between my lips.

With that, I waddled off to do as Mommy asked. The bulk of the diaper between my legs felt both foreign after the months of training pants and underwear, but, at the same time, frustratingly familiar.

I approached Midnight first, feeling my apology to them would be easier. I popped my pacifier out of my mouth so my apology would sound more sincere.

"Um, Sunset's Daddy? I, um, am sorry for bullying Sunsie," I said timidly.

Midnight looked at me with gentle, but stern eyes.

"Thank you for apologizing, buddy, but it's not me who you need to apologize to, is it?"

I shook my head up and down. "No, it's not."

"Who should you apologize to, baby?" Midnight asked.

"Sunset," I responded meekly, avoid eye contact with my friend's daddy.

"Yes, Little One," they said softly, "But who else?"

I looked up at Midnight, confused. Who else was there to apologize to?

Midnight smiled knowingly, then looked pointedly over my shoulder. I turned and saw Mommy picking up our make-shift changing station.

"Was how you acted nice to your Mommy?" Midnight asked.

I looked down at my feet in shame again. "No, it wasn't. I probably owe her an apology too, huh?" I answered.

"What a smart boy! Maybe you'll get another chance at undies again, yet? I don't know if I can say the same about my Sunsie," Midnight said, turning to look at Sunset for the first time since we began talking and catching them digging through their diaper bag. "Hey! Get out of there! Go play! I didn't pack your tabbie and Daddy's phone is in my pocket! No screen time!"

As Sunset ran off chastened, I followed, wanting to apologize to my friend both because I was ordered to and because it was the right thing to do.

"Sunsie," I said as we reached to sandbox again, "I'm sorry I was mean to you. Can we still be friends?"

Sunset turned to me with their trademark bright and friendly smile. "Thanks for saying sorry, Mads! And, of course we're still friends! Who else is going to put up with my smelly butt and listen to me complain about being put in my crib early?"

Sunset followed up their statement with a big, warm hug.

"Now, let's play!" Sunset said.

I had to disappoint Sunset one more time today, though. "Sorry, Sunsie, I'll come play in a sec. I gotta go say sorry to Mommy first."

With that I turned and toddled back to Mommy, who was now sitting on the bench with Midnight again. Midnight smiled at me reassuringly as I approached, obvious remorse in my body language.

"Mommy?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes, Beanie Baby?" She responded, a note of frustration still lingering in her tone.

"I, uh, wanted to say, well," I took a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I was naughty and embarrassed you. I shouldn't have." Tears started to flow as I remembered Mommy's angry lecture at the tree. "I'll never do it again! Please, just don't hate me!"

Mommy's body language and tone softened immediately as I broke down during my apology. She stood up from the bench and wrapped me in a comforting hug.

"Oh, Baby Bean, I could never hate you! Mommy was just frustrated. Everyone is naughty sometimes! You just got a little too big for your britches!"

I nuzzled into Mommy as she hugged and reassured me. She was right. I had gotten too big for my britches. But, a nagging feeling told me that Mommy was going to keep me nice and little from now on, so that being 'too big' would never be an issue again.

#ab/dl kink #ab/dl stories #ab/dl story time #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl couple #ab/dl mommy #ab/dl daddy #cg/l little #cg/l kink #Cg/l #AB/DL #ab/dl boy #md/lb kink #md/lb relationship #Too Big For His Britches

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moonlitstoriess · 5 months ago

Text

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series

Chapter 3: Unseen Threads

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

See masterlist

Kynesis: The instinctual drive to pursue or chase something; a primal urge to follow.

The auxiliary headquarters had never felt heavier.

Ruhn sat in the large leather chair at his desk, staring at the holo-screen in front of him. Reports, data, and communications blinked in and out, but nothing held his attention for long. A strange sense of unease had been creeping in all day, something gnawing at the back of his mind.

He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his thoughts wandered. Things had been too calm lately, too quiet. After everything that had happened with their circle, peace felt more like a temporary pause than a lasting reality.

The sharp buzz of his commlink interrupted his thoughts, and Ruhn glanced down at it. A message flashed on the screen from Flynn, short and urgent: “Get to the briefing room. Now.”

Ruhn’s gut twisted. Something was wrong. He stood up from his chair and quickly crossed the office, weaving through the busy corridors of the auxiliary headquarters. The sharp scent of cleaning supplies mixed with the distinct hum of tech filled the air as he moved with purpose. His steps quickened, the adrenaline already starting to kick in.

When he pushed open the doors to the briefing room, he found Flynn, Declan, and the rest of the auxiliary team already gathered. Flynn’s face was tight with worry, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a serious expression.

“What’s going on?” Ruhn asked, feeling the tension in the room as soon as he stepped in.

Flynn glanced up, his jaw set. “We’ve got a situation. Fires—multiple, across the city. They started around the same time, and they’re spreading fast. The 33rd is stretched thin dealing with them, and we’re being called in to assist.”

Ruhn’s heart skipped a beat. Fires? That wasn’t unusual in a city this size, but… multiple? “Do we know the source?”

Declan shook his head, fingers already flying across the holo-screen to pull up maps and reports. “Not yet, but something about this doesn’t sit right. It’s too coordinated, too… sudden.”

Ruhn frowned, a familiar heaviness settling in his chest. Coordinated chaos. His mind flashed to Bryce—she’d want to get involved, no question about it. But his thoughts quickly returned to the task at hand.

“Okay, let’s move,” Ruhn ordered, pulling himself into the role of leader. “Where’s the worst hit?”

Declan brought up a map of the city, areas marked in red where the fires had erupted. “East sector, near the industrial zone. The flames are spreading toward the residential areas, and people are starting to evacuate.”

“Shit,” Ruhn muttered under his breath. “Get the gear. We’re heading there first.”

Flynn clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got your back.”

The drive to the site felt longer than it should have. Silence filled the vehicle, a tension building in the air. Flynn sat in the front seat, his eyes hard as he stared out the window, while Declan tapped away on his tech, scanning the updates coming in.

Ruhn’s mind raced. Fires didn’t just start on their own—not like this. His gut told him this wasn’t some accident, but deliberate. Calculated. And that thought chilled him to the bone.

When they arrived, the scene that unfolded before them was pure chaos.

Thick clouds of black smoke rose from the burning buildings, ash drifting through the air like snowflakes. People were scattered in the streets, some running, others shouting, trying to help. The acrid smell of burning wood and metal filled his lungs as they stepped out of the vehicle, the heat from the flames palpable even from a distance.

“This is bad,” Flynn muttered, his usual bravado gone.

“Yeah,” Ruhn replied, eyes scanning the horizon. The flames licked higher, threatening to devour everything in their path. There was no way this was an accident.

Grabbing his commlink, Ruhn relayed orders to the team. “Declan, check in with the 33rd. We need to know where the fire started. Flynn, help with crowd control, get these people out of here. I’ll head toward the fire and see what I can do.”

The team sprang into action. Declan immediately began communicating with the Legion while Flynn and a few others started directing civilians to safety.

As Ruhn moved toward the heart of the blaze, a knot formed in his stomach. He had no idea who or what was behind this, but he could sense that it was only the beginning.

He jogged through the thick smoke, his eyes scanning the surroundings as the heat intensified. The closer he got to the source of the fire, the clearer it became that this was no random accident.

He caught sight of the firefighters battling the flames. Their powerful hoses blasted streams of water at the burning structures, but the fire seemed almost alive, resisting every attempt to extinguish it. The heat was suffocating, and the acrid stench of burning debris clawed at his throat.

Ruhn’s commlink buzzed in his ear. “Ruhn,” Declan’s voice crackled through. “I’ve got something. The fires—they’re too spread out to be natural. This was deliberate. Coordinated. They started in different locations at the same time.”

Ruhn cursed under his breath. “Any idea who’s behind it?”

“Nothing solid yet. But I’ve got people running intel.”

As Declan spoke, Ruhn’s attention shifted to something strange. His sharp eyes caught sight of the blackened ground in a nearby alleyway. The pattern of the scorch marks—it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t random.

His gut churned. There was something about the way the flames moved, the unnatural shapes they left behind. Magic? He squinted closer at the scorch marks. They almost looked like symbols, curling and twisting in ways that set his instincts on edge.

Before he could inspect further, a loud crack erupted from a nearby building. The wooden beams supporting the structure had given way, sending burning debris crashing to the ground.

“Ruhn! Get back!” Flynn’s voice shouted from somewhere behind him, but it was too late. The flames surged forward, and the ground trembled as the building collapsed in on itself.

Ruhn’s shadows reacted on instinct, swirling up from deep inside him, wrapping him in a cocoon of protection as burning embers rained down. For a moment, all he could see was fire, the world around him consumed by chaos.

And then… silence.

The collapse was over, the building reduced to smoldering ruins.

Ruhn pushed his shadows back down, scanning the scene. The alleyway was now blocked off by a pile of debris, but something told him he had seen something important—something he needed to understand.

He tapped his commlink again. “Flynn, Declan. Pull back to my location. We need to regroup.”

“On it,” Flynn responded, his voice tight.

As Ruhn stepped away from the scene, his thoughts spiraled. The fire, the symbols, the coordinated attack—it was all connected, but he couldn’t put his finger on how. Not yet.

Back at the auxiliary headquarters, hours had passed, but the weight of the fires hung over the entire team. The blazes were under control, but the damage had already been done. As Ruhn and his team gathered around the central table, Declan projected a map of the city, highlighting the areas most affected.

“So far, no one’s claimed responsibility for the attacks,” Flynn said, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “But with how perfectly this was executed, it’s no small-time player.”

Ruhn nodded, his mind replaying the strange symbols he’d seen earlier. Something nagged at him, something familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“What about Bryce?” Declan asked. “She’s going to want to know what’s going on.”

“She knows,” Ruhn said, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “But we’ve got this for now. I don’t want her involved unless it gets worse.”

Declan shot him a knowing look but said nothing. Bryce never stayed out of anything for long, especially if there was danger involved.

Flynn glanced at the map again, his brow furrowed. “You think this is just the beginning?”

Ruhn didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation—everyone in the room could feel it.

Finally, Ruhn spoke, his voice low. “Yeah. I think something bigger is coming.”

The meeting stretched late into the night as the auxiliary poured over every detail of the fires, trying to connect the dots. Maps covered the walls, and reports streamed in from all over the city. Each new piece of information only added to the growing unease in the room.

Ruhn’s mind was preoccupied, trying to make sense of the situation. The fires were too widespread, too organized to be random. The tension in the air was thick, but no one had any solid answers yet.

Flynn stood at the head of the room, pointing to a map pinned to the wall. “These aren’t random spots. Whoever did this, they knew the city. They hit places that would draw the most attention.”

“But why fires?” Declan asked, sitting across from Ruhn, flipping through the reports. “There are quicker ways to cause chaos.”

Ruhn tapped his fingers on the table, staring at the map. “It’s not just about the chaos. It feels like… a distraction. But from what?”

As if on cue, the door to the meeting room swung open, and one of their lieutenants rushed in, breathless and grim. “New intel just came in,” he said, catching everyone’s attention. “We’ve got witnesses from one of the fire sites.”

Ruhn’s attention sharpened. “Go on.”

The lieutenant stepped further into the room, his voice tense. “They said they saw someone. Couldn't identify who it is. Cloaked, moving through the crowd before the fires started.”

Ruhn exchanged a look with Flynn and Declan. A cloaked woman, in the middle of the chaos? His instincts flared with suspicion. “A cloaked figure?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “Did they get any details?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “Not much. Whoever it is, they kept to the shadows, and no one got a clear look at his or her face. But they were seen near more than one of the fire sites.”

Flynn rubbed his jaw. “So, either they are setting them or this individual knows something.”

“Either way,” Declan added, “they are involved.”

Ruhn felt a ripple of unease at the thought. There was no telling who this figure was or what their role in all this could be. But their presence at multiple fire sites wasn’t a coincidence.

“Find more witnesses,” Ruhn said, standing up. “We need to know more about them. Anything. I want to know where he or she went after the fires started, too.”

The lieutenant nodded and rushed out, leaving the group in a heavy silence.

Flynn let out a slow breath. “A cloaked figure and random fires? This sounds like the start of a bad story.”

Ruhn didn’t respond. His mind was turning over the details, trying to piece it all together. Who was this person? And what was he or she trying to accomplish?

For now, the answers eluded him, but something told him this wasn’t the last they’d hear of him or her.

The clock on the wall was ticking past 2 a.m., but Ruhn and his team were still going strong. The auxiliary office was quieter now, most of the lower-level members having gone home or taken over watch shifts, but the core group remained.

Ruhn stood in front of a large tactical map on the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared at the red markers indicating each fire site. His mind churned with frustration—the fires had been extinguished hours ago, but the mystery remained unsolved.

Flynn, sitting across the table from him, pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is getting us nowhere. We’ve got a handful of burnt buildings, a few witness statements that don’t tell us much, and the appearance of some figure who slipped away before anyone could ID them.”

Declan was at his usual spot, typing away furiously at his computer, running search after search. “I’m pulling what I can from street cams and security footage, but we still don’t have a clear image of them. There’s too much interference and not enough data to go on.”

Ruhn sighed heavily, his eyes still glued to the map. There was no denying the fires had been deliberate—too well-timed, too precise. And that mysterious figure from earlier still lingered in the back of his mind. But who was this person? And why did he or she set them? The feeling that something darker was in motion gnawed at him.

Flynn leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been at this for hours, man. We’re not gonna make sense of this tonight.”

Ruhn clenched his jaw, knowing Flynn was right. The tension in his body had reached a breaking point. “Alright,” he muttered, pushing away from the map. “We’ll regroup in the morning. But keep the patrols tight. If this is the beginning of something bigger, I want eyes everywhere.”

Flynn nodded, and Declan gave a tired wave as he continued working. But Ruhn couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

The city was unnaturally quiet as Ruhn stepped out of the auxiliary building. The early hours before dawn always had an eerie stillness to them, but tonight it felt more oppressive, like the calm before a storm. The fires had been dealt with, yet something about them gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

Ruhn zipped up his jacket against the cold breeze, his breath visible in the cool air as he began the short walk back to his apartment. The empty streets of the city felt like a stark contrast to the chaotic mess they had dealt with earlier, but there was no comfort in the silence.

He replayed the night’s events in his mind, searching for some clue he might’ve missed, something that would explain the sudden, calculated attacks. The mysterious figure Flynn mentioned was the biggest anomaly. No one had managed to get a good look at them, and they had slipped away so cleanly it was like they hadn’t been there at all.

Whoever they were, they weren't just a passerby.

As he neared his apartment, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing a message from Bryce.

Bryce: Heard about the fires. You good?

Ruhn frowned, glancing up at the quiet city around him. Bryce would no doubt dig into this just as he was, but for now, he didn’t want her getting mixed up in things before he had more information.

Ruhn: Yeah, handling it. Will update you in the morning.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and headed inside, mind still churning. Something about the unidentified individual, the fires, the precision of it all—it was all too well-planned. Too clean. He needed to figure out who was behind it, and fast.

But for now, he’d try to sleep, knowing the morning would bring more questions than answers.

The next day came far too quickly. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow on the apartment walls. Ruhn groaned as he sat up, still feeling the weight of the previous night’s work heavy on his shoulders.

He rolled out of bed, quickly getting dressed and heading out. They needed to reconvene and figure out their next move.

The city was already buzzing with activity by the time Ruhn and his team stepped outside the auxiliary headquarters in search of more signs. The fires had left a mark on the city’s landscape, and Ruhn felt the weight of the responsibility to ensure everything was under control.

He and his team—Flynn, Declan, Alex and Damon—were scouring the streets, questioning pedestrians and assessing the damage. The reports of destruction were dire, and Ruhn’s focus was to gather every bit of information that could help them piece together the events of the night before.

As they moved down a street, Ruhn noticed a small café on the corner. The place seemed to be a hub of conversation, and he figured it might be a good spot to gather more intel. He directed his team to keep an eye on the street while he approached the café, hoping to pick up any additional details from the patrons.

Just as he was about to enter the café, a woman burst through the door, moving with an urgency that caught his attention. Her hurried pace and the way she tried to avoid eye contact made something in Ruhn’s gut twist with unease.

He briefly locked eyes with her, but her face was partially obscured by the hood of her shirt. The moment was too fleeting for him to make out any distinct features before she turned sharply and hurried away.

Instinctively, Ruhn’s gaze followed her. He signaled to his team to follow. There was something about her behavior that didn’t sit right with him.

The woman moved quickly, weaving through the streets with purpose. Ruhn and his team kept a discreet distance, their steps synchronized with hers. As she darted into an alleyway, Ruhn urged his team to stay close.

In the narrow confines of the alley, Ruhn saw her stumbling and dropping something on the ground. He caught sight of a small, intricate pendant before she could recover it. Without thinking, he reached out and gripped her arm, intending to stop her.

As his fingers closed around her arm, a strange sensation coursed through him—a fleeting pulse of energy that sent a shiver up his spine. It was brief, almost like an electric current, but enough to make him pause. The woman’s startled reaction confirmed that the feeling wasn’t one-sided.

“Stop!” Ruhn commanded, his voice sharp with authority and urgency. The intensity of the moment heightened his awareness, making his heart pound.

But before he could fully grasp her, she wrenched free, slipping away into the shadows. Ruhn watched as she disappeared around a corner, his grip still tingling with the sensation of her touch.

He quickly picked up the pendant she had dropped, examining its elaborate design. It seemed out of place, adding another layer of mystery to the situation.

Ruhn turned to his team, determination etched on his face. “Keep searching. We need to find out who she is and why she was running.”

As his team resumed their search, Ruhn’s thoughts raced. The strange sensation from the woman’s touch lingered in his mind, along with the pendant’s peculiar design. He knew there was a deeper connection to the chaos that needed to be uncovered. The city might be recovering, but for Ruhn, the mystery was just beginning.

He looked back down at the pendant in his hands. Intricate patterns were etched into it's surface--familiar, yet completely alien. As his thumb traced the designs, something flickered in his memory, like the whisper of an old story he couldn't quite remember.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered to himself, turning the pendant over in his hand.

Flynn and Declan caught up to him then, their faces marked with confusion.

"Did you lose her?" Flynn asked, glancing down the alley where she had disappeared.

"She slipped away," Ruhn replied, his voice edged with frustration. "But not before she dropped this." He held up the pendant, watching as his friends' expressions shifted from curiosity to concern.

"That's not local," Declan said immediately, his sharp eyes studying the pendant. "I've seen a lot of old artifacts in the archives--this doesn't match anything we've come across."

Flynn frowned, his gaze flicking between the pendant and Ruhn "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need answers," Ruhn replied, pocketing the pendant. "Whatever that thing is...it's connected to her. And I don't think she's just some random personpassing through the city."

Bryce's voice crackled through their comms. "What's going on? You guys are off the grid."

Ruhn pressed the device to his ear, his mind still buzzing. "We might've stumbled onto something bigger than we thought."

"Bigger how?" Bryce sounded intrigued, though there was a hint of weariness in her tone--likely from dealing with the fallout of the night's attack.

"I'll explain later. We're heading back."

Three hours later, back at the apartment, the entire group gathered in the lounge--Bryce, Hunt, Ithan, Baxian and Ruhn. The atmosphere was tense, everyone still on edge from the attack the previous night.

Ruhn set the pendant down on the coffee table, the strange silver gleaming under the lights.

"This is what she dropped," Ruhn began, his voice steady but his mind still racing. "I don't know who she is, but I'm sure as hell that she's not from around here.And this pendant, it's tied to something. Something big."

Bryce leaned in, her fingers brushing over the intricate design. "This looks old. Like really old." Her brow furrowed "I've never seen anything like this, and I've come across a lot of ancient shit."

Hunt crossed his arms, his wings twitching slightly. "Do you think she's involved with the attack? Coordinating something behind the scenes?"

"I don't know," Ruhn admitted. "But whatever she's up to, she is not someone we should underestimate."

Baxian leaned against his chair. "I will let Isaiah know of this new discovery."

Bryce exchanged a glance with her mate before looking back at Ruhn. "We need to find out what this symbol means. I'll reach out to some people, see if they know anything."

Ruhn rubbed his temples as the group fell into a thoughtful silence, the pendant lying on the coffee table between them, gleaming in the low light of the apartment. Bryce paced back and forth, deep in thought, while Ithan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes occasionally flicking towards the mysterious object.

“None of this makes any sense,” Bryce finally muttered. “If this pendant is as old as it looks, why was it dropped during last night’s attack? And why now?”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Ithan suggested. “Whoever was running from you, Ruhn, wasn’t planning on being chased.”

Ruhn shook his head. “No. This wasn’t just some random person. There was something… familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.” He hadn’t shared everything he felt during that brief contact—how a strange pulse of energy surged through him when he grabbed her arm. It had been… unsettling.

As the room fell into another tense silence, there was a knock on the door. Everyone froze, their gazes darting towards it.

“Expecting someone?” Ithan asked, already pushing off the wall.

Bryce frowned. “No.”

Ruhn rose, his hand instinctively going to the knife at his side as he approached the door. He glanced back at the group, Bryce nodding once to signal her readiness, her fingers twitching with power just beneath the surface.

Ruhn opened the door, revealing Flynn standing there, looking slightly out of breath. He wasn’t alone. Beside him was Declan, their expressions serious.

“Sorry to barge in,” Flynn started, walking into the apartment without being invited. “But we’ve got news, and it’s not good.”

Bryce crossed her arms. “What is it?”

Flynn exchanged a look with Declan before he spoke again. “One of our sources just reached out. They’ve been tracking unusual magical activity, and… well, we think we’ve found another connection to the attacks. Something about a powerful ward being broken last night.”

“A ward?” Ruhn asked, brow furrowing.

Flynn nodded. “Yeah, and it gets worse. They couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, but they’re sure it’s tied to that pendant.”

Ruhn’s gaze flicked back to the pendant on the table. The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavier with the weight of this new revelation.

“We need to get moving,” Flynn added. “Our source said this ward was ancient—something that hasn’t been touched in centuries.”

“Then whoever dropped this pendant wasn’t just fleeing the scene,” Declan said, his eyes scanning the group. “They were trying to hide something, maybe even protect themselves from being found.”

Bryce’s expression hardened. “Do we have any leads on where this ward was located?”

Flynn hesitated. “Not yet, but our source is working on it. We figured we’d regroup here and go from there.”

Ruhn’s mind was racing. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that the woman he had chased was tied to all of this. And now this pendant wasn’t just some lost trinket; it was a piece of something much larger.

He looked over at Bryce. “We need to move quickly. If this ward was protecting something dangerous, we can’t let it get out of control.”

“Agreed,” Bryce said, glancing at the others. “We split up. Flynn, you and Declan go follow up with your source. Ithan, stay here and keep an eye on things. Hunt and Baxian, you go to the 33rd. See if they have any updates. Ruhn and I will check out the location where you found that woman.”

Ruhn nodded, but a chill crept up his spine. The feeling that something bigger was at play, something none of them were ready for, wouldn’t leave him. And as he grabbed his jacket and prepared to head back out into the streets, his mind wandered to the pendant once more.

What had been unleashed?

The streets outside were eerily quiet as they moved toward the alley, where the pendant had been found. Bryce’s eyes swept the surroundings, alert to any sign of danger. But Ruhn’s mind was elsewhere—on the woman who had dropped the pendant. She wasn’t just another enemy; she was something far more dangerous.

The air seemed to grow heavier as they approached the alley, the energy around them shifting. It was subtle at first—a slight flicker of movement, a ripple in the world around them, as if reality itself was bending under unseen pressure.

“This is where she was,” Ruhn murmured, his voice low as he stopped in front of the darkened alley. His grip tightened on the pendant in his pocket, a deep sense of unease settling over him.

Bryce looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Whatever we’re dealing with, it’s not just some random magic. This is something bigger.”

Ruhn nodded, but before he could respond, the very air around them seemed to still. The night grew unnaturally quiet, the world itself frozen in place. Bryce stopped mid-step, her expression frozen in time—her body unmoving, her breathing halted.

Everything stopped.

Ruhn felt a strange pressure weigh down on him, an invisible force binding him in place. His muscles refused to respond, his body stuck in a frozen position. It was as if time itself had ceased to exist, the world around him locked in a moment.

And then he saw her.

Out of the shimmering stillness, That woman stepped into view. Her cloak was gone, revealing her completely. She moved with an unhurried grace, her movements smooth and fluid, as if she alone controlled the flow of time.

Ruhn’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes met hers—an unnatural shade of violet, like molten amethyst glowing in the dim light of the alley. Her face was a vision of ethereal beauty, but not the kind that drew you in with warmth. No, her beauty was dangerous, sharp, like a blade designed to cut, to wound. Her high cheekbones, flawless skin, and the intense, almost otherworldly look in her eyes sent a shiver through him. And her ears...so she was a female, not a woman.

He’d seen plenty of powerful beings, creatures with ancient magic that thrummed in their veins, but there was something about her—something that went beyond mere beauty. She was unnatural, ethereal, and that only added to the power she exuded.

His heart thundered in his chest as he found himself unable to look away. Every detail seemed to sharpen, every second stretched as his mind struggled to process what was happening. He was stuck, time frozen, and yet in this moment, all that mattered was her.

And then she moved closer.

The female walked through the frozen world as if she owned it, her steps soft but deliberate. She didn’t rush, didn’t panic. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew she was untouchable. Ruhn’s gaze followed her, his mind a whirlwind of questions. Who is she? Why does she feel… different?

With each step, her beauty grew more haunting, her presence more overwhelming. And he noticed the smallest details—her long, dark hair framing her face, the way her eyes seemed to catch every bit of light, glinting with some hidden knowledge, some secret she carried that the world didn’t know.

When she finally reached him, her fingers lightly brushed his hand. The pendant, the one she had dropped, was still in his grasp. Her touch was cold, sending a sharp jolt up his arm, and his entire body felt like it had been set ablaze by that brief connection. It was as if her touch pulled something out of him, something primal, something deep.

She leaned in slightly, her gaze briefly flicking down to the pendant before locking back onto his. In the frozen stillness, their eyes locked again, and for a moment—just a moment—Ruhn swore he saw a flicker of something in her gaze. Recognition? Curiosity? He couldn’t tell.

But then she spoke, her voice a whisper, low and melodic, yet edged with danger. “This belongs to me.”

His breath hitched. There was something intimate in that moment, something that crawled under his skin and stayed there, gnawing at him. She took the pendant from his hand slowly, her fingers lingering just a fraction too long against his.

And then, with a single blink, she was gone.

Time resumed its flow, the world around him suddenly jolting back to life. Bryce gasped beside him, blinking rapidly as if shaking off a dream.

“Ruhn?” Bryce’s voice sounded distant, her eyes wide as she scanned the street.

But Ruhn couldn’t respond. His heart pounded in his chest, and his gaze was still locked on the spot where she had disappeared, the strange sensation of her touch still lingering on his skin.

“Who the hell was that?” Bryce muttered, scanning the area in confusion, her brow furrowed.

Ruhn didn’t answer immediately. His mind was still reeling, trying to process what had just happened. His pulse was still racing from the intensity of that moment, from the look in her eyes that had been so piercing, so knowing.

“Whoever she is… she’s not done with us,” Ruhn finally said, his voice low.

Bryce shot him a confused look, clearly not understanding the full weight of what had just occurred. But Ruhn felt it—deep in his bones. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The pendant had been a symbol, a connection. But it wasn’t just about the object anymore. It was about her. Whoever she was, whatever power she wielded… it was only the beginning.

And something told Ruhn that the next time they met, it wouldn’t be so brief—or so one-sided. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @annamariereads16 @tooexhaustedsstuff @a-frog-with-a-laptop @cassie-at-college-blog @itsinherited @anuttellaa

#fantasy #fanfics #acotar #maasverse #prince ruhn #ruhn crescent city #ruhn danaan #bryce quinlan #hunt athalar #rhysand acotar #rhysand

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welldigger62 · 18 days ago

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GOODBYE JANUARY 😠

I hope I never see another January like this one as long as I live. 😡

This is a picture of the power pole that had to be replaced out front after my accident a couple days ago. Knocked power out for the neighborhood for about seven hours. I found and bought a replacement vehicle today and will pick it up on Monday. Yeah, I am okay, still a little shook up. 😵‍💫

Have a great weekend my friends.

#crash pole #power outage #country #goodbye January #winter #sunset #nature #michigan #original photographers #original photography

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max1461 · 2 months ago

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Your stance on Rotherham child sexual exploitation is the same as my stance on beating brown children to death with hammers: we are both capable of saying it’s bad.

Would you have supported any policies that would have prevented Rotherham before it happened? If you knew the future, would you support immigration restriction, or is Rotherham a fair price worth paying for unlimited immigration?

This is why I bring up Rotherham all the time: those who endorse mass immigration and the great replacement also implicitly endorse the Rotherham child sexual exploitation scandal. You can’t just support immigration but then say you think Rotherham is bad. The purpose of a system is what it does. The purpose of the western immigration system is to spread Rotherhams across the globe.

Ok, I'll bite.

On July 31st, 1982, 53 people were killed and many more were injured, including 46 children, in a multi-lane pile-up in Beaune, France. On December 11th, 1990, 12 people were killed and 42 were injured in a multi-lane pile-up on Interstate 75 in Calhoun, Tennessee due to fog coming from a nearby paper mill. On March 13th, 1991, a van driver fell asleep on the A4 Motorway near Hungerford, Berkshire in the UK, causing a crash that involved 51 vehicles, killed 10 people and injured 25 more.

These are the consequences of allowing people to drive. The purpose of a system is what it does. If you support the existence of cars, you implicitly support these awful accidents, and approve of these people's deaths. #racist anon endorsed. You endorse these people's deaths. I don't drive a car. I've never driven. I'm willing to bet you drive. That's because you don't care about the 46 children who died Beaune, France that fateful day.

How is it reasonable of you to supported driving? How is it reasonable of you to think that driving should be legal? The western car manufacturing system has the purpose of spreading Beaunes across the globe.

Would you have supported any policies that would have stopped Beaune before it happened? Would you have supported restrictions on the number of cars sold, or is Beaune a fair price to pay for unlimitted driving?

Western children will not be safe until driving is made illegal and all cars are melted down. You tell me, anon, if you can live with those 46 dead children on your conscience.

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riftwirecrystal · 3 months ago

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Why I believe Natlan's technologies aren't "out-of-place."

Just because Natlan isn't considered "technologically advanced" doesn't mean they would not be able to create or possess technologies that just seem "too modern" for the previously seen nations.

Natlan's technologies may not be considered "advanced" because most of their creations are solely for recreational purposes. Xilonen's DJ board, rollerskates, and Mualani's surfboard are all mainly for ease of use to to influence of their environments. (Kinich is an exception as he isn't really powered by technology nor is Ajaw.)

Even when most of the technologies seem too advanced, like Kachina's drill, and Chasca's gun, they were both originally created to imitate the Saurian counterparts. If all a piece of technology does is just provide ease of access and combine simple regional solutions, its likely not worth too much note to outside nations. which would likely happen with inventors like Xilonen experimenting with phlogiston and forging.

Xilonen is an extremely important factor to note. She has proven herself to be one of the most intelligent inventors in Natlan. Her skill with harnessing Phlogiston energy is crucial to how all these technologies' existence. It makes sense that learning how to create traditional works with Phlogiston would overlap into accidental new discoveries that Xilonen uses to her advantage.

This is further explored in the new Flower-Feather Clan Tribal Chronicles quest chain. Phlogiston Wings are specifically created to supplant and replace their saurians. However, it's not too far off to think that it would be a rather common idea, especially since Elemental Manipulation exists in the world.

Phlogiston and Ochkanatlan relics are the main power sources used in Natlan tech. With an abundance of phlogiston and the (suggested) immense power of the relics, creating their technology isn't that far-fetched. They put their resources and time into the arts, music, and changing traditions more than orderly improvements to the nation, and it shows.

Other nations definitely will beat out Natlan in their technological advancements; the ones that don't beat Natlan have reasons. Mondstadt is a poor anarchist state with no emphasis on any actual governing organization. The nation isn't very wealthy so it makes sense they wouldn't have much innovation and trade occurring within the nation. Liyue harnesses a special material called Plaustrite in the Jade Chamber, which enables it to fly. Inazuma doesn't have an abundance of technology due to the Shogun's rule effectively trying to stop evolution and innovation within the nation, as a pursuit of eternity. However, a number of innovations still happened before the Shogun's rule, like the Tatarasuna accident and the creation of a puppet for Ei. Sumeru and Fontaine is where differences really start to show. All of the desert's tech as well as the Akademiya's research shows what happens if a nation pours their innovation into education, not the arts. The existence of Akasha terminals, dreamscapes, mind control, and digital storage all exist in the game, yet no one seems to call it out. Fontaine isn't much better. Literal androids roam the streets, motorized boats sail around the harbor, and guns are a popular weapon.

Guns are already known throughout Teyvat, just Xilonen imitated their function while adding a custom one from Chasca.

Then there comes the big issue. Mavuika's motorcycle. However this argument is instantly able to be countered. It's said that Xianyun/Cloud Retainer has created a similar vehicle, a powered two wheel vehicle. Mavuika's simply takes the idea (which is probably also not a very hard concept to think up,) and gives it a Natlan remodel. The aesthetics are just a Natlan revamp, with the power source just being Phlogiston. (I can't speak for her bike fighting animations. They just look kinda goofy, but I like them anyways lol.)

All in all, I think people complain too much and you shouldn't nitpick something you don't like simply because you don't like it. (Especially if your argument can be countered.) Even if it is a little off-putting, with a little thinking, mostly everything can be explained or proven possible to exist.

If anyone has any objections to reasonings or information I've missed please tell me!!

#genshin impact #genshin #natlan #genshin natlan

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ohworm-writes · 1 year ago

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I NEED TO HEAR ABOUT STATION 141. PLEASE. for a friend definitely not for me thinking about how fucking FINEEE good they would be.

「✰」 ━━ STATION 141

RATING PG-13 - Parents strongly cautioned [ Content warnings : light cursing, depictions of a vehicle accident, fires, mentions of injuries, references to and depictions of smoking, peer pressure (?), depiction of a house fire, mentions of and references to 9/11, implications to alcoholism, brief mentions of guilt and insecurity ]

SYNOPSIS Character explorations for the members of Task Force 141 in the case that they opted towards working for the fire department instead of the military, expanding on what the roles they play are, their backgrounds before pursuing the profession, and a few headcanons, here and there.

WORD COUNT 4.9k

Station!141

Firefighters are known for being dorks and pranksters outside of their profession when they’re trying to relax and ease the tension that comes with the job, and Station 141 is no different. Gaz and Soap are the resident pranksters, of course, and perhaps that comes with being the youngest out of anyone employed at the station. But, unfortunately, that leaves Price and Ghost to deal with their tormentation, both the acts and the aftermath of it.

Soap and Gaz do simpler, more tame pranks. Something like dumping water over someone’s head, pieing someone in the face when their backs are turned, or if they’re dozing off, switching the salt and the sugar—that kind of stuff. Simple, annoying pranks—those are elementary. Ghost and Price are evil when it comes to pranking, or, more accurately, getting people at people for pranking them. They’ve replaced the water in the ice cube trays with hotdog water, put cling wrap over the toilet bowl, replaced shampoo with hair dye, and done other things that you wouldn’t even dream of. The two of them get really creative with it.

Gaz very quickly stopped pranking the two after Ghost snuck into his house and hid those really loud alarm clocks with the bells everywhere, setting forty of them up to go off in the middle of the night. When they went off, he screamed so loudly that he swore he had a heart attack because of it. Soap’s a masochist, though, and he keeps on pranking the both of them without any sign of stopping. He’s never able to one-up Ghost or Price, though, that’s for certain. It’s a challenge for him, though, and it’s fun (sometimes, not often, though).

Granted, most firefighters already do this, but making fun of, taunting, and mocking cops is a given, and the 141 boys are no different. Soap hooked a donut onto a fishing line once, positioning himself on top of the firetruck, staying hidden, and dangling it above a cop when they were visiting the station one time. They locked onto it quickly. Another time, he did the same sort of thing but left a donut on the floor attached to a fishing line, pulling it closer towards him any time a cop tried to come close to it. Also, plain and simple: making pig sounds.

They do have a fire dog of their own at the station, actually! And, of course, ever the classic choice, it’s a Dalmatian. In terms of technicality, it’s the Chief’s dog, given that he bought the thing... but, ever the generous man, he allowed the station to adopt the dog as their own. They all fought over the name for days, with some individuals actually getting heated about the matter. Price eventually got sick of it, went down to a pet store, and printed out a tag for the pup, a circular tag that reads the name ‘Ozzie’ with the station’s address printed on the back. Nobody argues against it.

Soap isn’t the biggest fan of dogs as is, but Ozzie loves him, trailing after him and following his lead without hesitation, the others often joking about how the animal played his shadow better than his own did. Ozzie’s the only dog he likes, but he won’t admit it aloud, giving the dog a playful rub on the head here and there when someone’s around and roughhousing and playing freely with him when they’re alone. Gaz and Price are unabashed in their affection for the canine (Price has bought everything for this dog, he swears it), while Ghost is more or less neutral about his presence, but he won’t deny him a good rub behind the ears if he barks enough.

Let’s spend a moment talking about and appreciating the uniforms that firefighters wear, yeah? Station wear is typically worn around all the time, even under their PPE uniforms when out on calls. It consists of a short or long-sleeved button-up shirt, sometimes as simple as a t-shirt, which is navy blue in color and often sports the insignia of the department or the station or something of the like or any relevant patches. They’re matched with navy blue or black pants, giving the whole outfit a formal yet equally comfortable look.

As for PPE uniforms, the bunker pants are held up by a set of suspenders and matching jacket, often being either black or tan in color with long yellow or red reflective strips stretched out along the fabric at the chest, waist, shoulders, wrists, shins, back, and legs, with knee pads visible from the front of the uniform. The color can depend on either the rank the firefighter holds or, simply, what’s in stock.

But, just to state it, each and every one of the boys within the station looks good in their uniforms. They fit snugly in just the right places and loosely in others, especially the station wear—not to say the PPE doesn’t do the same, but rather, it looks good in the sense that we can all appreciate a man in uniform, now can’t we? PPE uniforms are designed to not fit snugly, providing more mobility that way, and they’re rather bulky. This, however, doesn’t at all negate the fact that the men within Station 141 look fuckin’ good in them.

As a matter of fact, the boys often get a lot of people who come up and flirt with them shamelessly. Sometimes, it can be a bit of a nuisance, with civilians watching from the sidelines as they respond to a call, making flirtatious and lustful remarks—it's distracting, in more negative ways than positive, in complete honesty. Though, when they’re off duty, maybe dressed in a tee with the station’s logo, they can be entertained.

Gaz was shell-shocked the first time he was flirted with by someone for nothing more than his profession (and, honestly, it pissed him off a little, but he wouldn’t say that aloud), and he was turned into a confused, awkward mess, trying to get himself out of the interaction. Soap will entertain them as much as his attention can handle, but after that? He’s giving polite nods and hums here and there, but he isn’t listening all that much. Ghost just tells people he’s married, even though he isn't—he isn’t all that fond of getting flirted with on the basis of solely his job, much like Gaz. Price, honestly? He could care less. Have at him.

One of the scariest moments that the station went through where one of the boys lives’ were at stake was in the case of a methanol fire that had broken out on the highway as a result of a crash. A car had run head-on into a truck that carried a methanol chemical tank, which had been damaged and spilled. Nothing bad happened until the car involved in the accident caught fire, lighting the methanol and causing an invisible flame to spread. While all of the boys were on scene, Gaz was busy helping one of the civilians out of their car from the wreck when the fire started.

Obviously, immediately, he jumped away from the civilians, not wanting to catch them on fire too—they didn’t, thankfully—but Gaz was left screaming and yelling for help as the fire began to burn through his PPE equipment. Ghost put out the flame with a CO2 ABC extinguisher, realizing what the cause was immediately, but Gaz still suffered through some heavy burns along his back, legs, and arms and rushed to the hospital sooner after being put out.

The first time Soap tried to go down the fire pole during the fire academy, he sprained his ankle, not knowing how to descend it properly and just shooting straight down onto his foot. He was fine, thankfully, but nobody ever let him live it down. Ghost tells him to be careful with this big, smug grin spread out across his face anytime Soap rushes through the fire house to go towards the fire pole to descend the floors (he flips him off each and every time, rightfully so).

Price tries to call out sick every time he thinks it’s going to rain. For anyone who knows anything about first responders, it’s that they hate it when it rains. It’s a guarantee for more accidents, more calls, and, put simply, more work. Price has been working long enough in the field to know this, so he just so happens to catch the cold or the flu any time he sees it’s going to downpour—unless, of course, someone calls in sick before him and he can’t get out of work, or if he fails to check the weather. He’s pissed off for the rest of the day, and he makes it everyone’s problem.

Soap is the one who's driving the truck, obviously, with Price sitting in the passenger’s seat. Behind Soap sits Ghost, and Gaz sits across from him. It’s lively whenever they go on calls together; most of the conversation in the truck is devoted to work, but there are more than a few occasions when they’ll just talk comfortably together. Especially on the rides back to the station from calls, usually when it’s getting late at night. That’s when the most heartfelt conversations happen.

Overall? A dorky yet hardworking group of firefighters dedicated to their professions, sharing a bond like no other.

Firefighter!Price

He, of course, plays the role of ‘Captain’ at the station, primarily due to the fact that this role does actually exist as a role within the profession; while I would have made him the ‘Chief’, the ‘Captain’ plays a way more present role as the commander of a company and overseeing the daily operations of a station. Chiefs, typically, only supervise and view the situation as is, not often actually being a part of the process of resolving an incident.

Firefighter!Price, who, contrary to popular belief, does not, in fact, smoke. It’s not as if he’s prohibited from smoking, per se, especially given that around 13.6 percent of firefighters smoke, but it’s more of a moral thing for him—his job is to fight fires, and cigarettes and other smoking materials make up a huge percentage of top fire causes, so it seems, to him, like a stupid decision to make to smoke. Also, it would affect his ability to do his job, and it just looks bad to have someone that people are supposed to look up to doing something like that, so he doesn’t.

Firefighter!Price, who, okay, yes, has smoked a cigarette and cigar at one point in his life, maybe once or twice, or a few more times than that, but never consistently. It’s not a habit that he has or ever indulges in, only having ever taken part in it thanks to a friend or two offering him a cigarette or cigar, outstretched hands taunting him, and teasing “c'mon, one puff ain’t gonna kill ya’, mate”, to which he relents. He hates the taste of cigarettes, and he refuses to go anywhere near one again, but he can entertain a cigar around the right company.

Initially, he had intended on joining the military straight out of secondary school; however, a few months before he intended on joining, he bore witness to a violent house fire within his neighborhood. The house had been completely engulfed in flames, with smoke pluming into the sky and the flames spreading to a few nearby houses. He watched on with awe as the fire department showed up with swiftness and took care of the situation with ease, resulting in no casualties whatsoever.

Although, yes, the job was far from being a proper equivalent to the military, it still provided a similar sense of fulfillment, and he would still be protecting innocents. (On a morbid note, his life would still be consistently on the line and threatened.) Thus, he joined the profession when he was around nineteen, working as a volunteer firefighter for a few years before eventually taking on the job full-time. He’s worked with numerous different stations and companies for the past ten years, give or take a few, and he’s made a number of different connections throughout different departments.

Firefighter!Price, who toys with his suspenders when he’s clad in uniform like it’s a second job. It’s an unconscious habit he’s developed with the elastic straps, and there’s a certain progression it follows—it's like clockwork. It’ll start off with him simply hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of the trousers of his bunker gear, holding himself there comfortably as he stands and walks around the station—casual, if anything. But then, it slowly starts to progress further, with his hands wandering, his fingers gently trailing up and down the straps, and his calloused fingers brushing over the material in a repetitive up-and-down motion.

Firefighter!Price, who holds onto his suspenders near his chest in a loose grip, his thumbs grazing back and forth over them, pulling them not even an inch away from his chest, just holding them there. That is, of course, before he starts to snap the elastic against his chest, gently or not, it doesn’t matter; the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he repeats the action over and over and over again—it's something to do with his hands; he’s restless, and who can blame him?

Firefighter!Price, whose natural scent is simply smoke, the acrid redolence of sulfur clinging to his skin like a parasite, a second skin that he’s come to call his own. No matter how many times he washes his clothes until they start to fade into a lighter shade, no matter how many times he scrubs his skin until it blotches into harsh, raw, red patches, that scent still clings to him. It’s, in a sense, becoming a part of him, molding in with his natural musk effortlessly until it becomes it, a scent identifiable to him, whether that’s for better or for worse, he wouldn’t know.

Firefighter!Ghost

Again, of course, Ghost plays the role of ‘Lieutenant’ at the station, which is a role that falls directly under ‘Captain’, leaving him tasked with typical daily operations, readying their crew for emergency situations, and supervising the Engine or Rescue Company and the personnel within it, reporting directly to the Fire Captain or Chief, acting as a temporary captain, should they be absent from a scene.

Firefighter!Ghost, who kids absolutely adore. He can come off scary and intimidating, sure, given the fact that he’s, put simply, a huge guy, not to mention the balaclava he often sports that conceals his identity. But kids still think he’s the coolest guy in the whole world. Being a firefighter already has its own charms; several kids are asking him about his profession and how their dream job is to become a firefighter when they grow up, like him. He’s a bit awkward, unsure of how to respond to all of the compliments and praise, but takes it in stride.

Firefighter!Ghost, who has to deal with the fact that nearly every kid he comes across adores him, soon decides to just embrace it, honking the horn on the engine any time he passes by kids who wave at him or whose eyes light up when they see the truck, relishing in the way they let out loud, excited yells. Whenever kids come by the station, either for field trips or to simply ask if they can have a tour, he takes up the task of touring them around, lifting each and every one into the truck, watching as they giggle, laugh, and smile so brightly at him.

A close friend of his who became a firefighter from secondary school was the one who eventually got him into the field, the friend in question having joined a little more than half a year after the two of them had graduated, though he didn’t immediately and solely join due to his friend’s encouragement. He still worked as an apprentice butcher for nearly two years after graduating at a local grocery store; that job kept up most of his focus, though instead of joining the military after September 11th, he chose to join the fire department.

(Because the fire department played such a large role in this event, I thought it would match more appropriately than him joining the military, like his background states in his biography.)

His friend was the one to tell him everything he needed to have before joining: his certifications, his license, his CPAT, et cetera. He completed each task without any hesitation or reluctance, and he was even willing to get a degree in Fire Science if it meant he would get into the profession. He passed the academy with ease and, soon after, was offered a volunteer position working at the same station his friend was positioned at, transferring, unfortunately, without him to Station 141 a year and a half later, though the two still keep in touch regularly.

Firefighter!Ghost, who comes back to the station after a long day of rough calls, be it mentally or physically grueling, likely both, hops off the truck with deep, guttural breaths, beginning to strip himself of his PPE as he makes his way towards the locker rooms, hanging and folding everything up, his SCBA first, then his helmet, then his bunker gear, before he finally tears off his balaclava—his hair’s completely damp with sweat, beads dripping down his face, splayed across his forehead messily, letting out an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his hair, slicking the blond strands back across his skull.

Firefighter!Ghost, who takes a seat on one of the benches in the locker room, leans over with his elbows on his knees, his hands falling limp in the space between them, his back slumped over, and his shoulders dropped. His station wear is stained with sweat; the skin around his eyes and across the bridge of his nose darkened from the smoke that had penetrated through, dirt clinging to his body like a second skin. His suspenders hang off around his waist lazily, clinking against the bench as he shuffles around, letting out a long, drawn-out groan before standing and moving to rid himself of the day’s events with a well-deserved shower.

Firefighter!Ghost, whose vice falls to liquor. It’s nothing close to an excessive extent, but it’s enough to take the edge off and ease his mind from the horrors that come with the profession. It's a heavy task to fulfill, and having worked in the field for so long, enough so that he’s become an officer, that means he’s seen his fair share of shit, so who can blame him? After a particularly rough day, he’ll take a seat in the common room or his dorm, hand gripped tightly around the neck of a bottle of Bourbon, mask pulled up to his nose, drinking until his head spins and he can’t think. He'll wake up with a hangover that bashes against his skull, wash his face, and prepare himself for the day, only to repeat this cycle over and over again—maybe it is a bit excessive.

Firefighter!Soap

In a more unique aspect, Soap, instead of simply being a firefighter, works as a Firefighter Engineer, his primary focus being directed towards maintaining and driving firefighting vehicles and performing maintenance tasks on the vehicles. Though, still, he does play his role as a firefighter all the same, his specialized position not interfering or making it so that he has to do one or the other. He’s still put in his time to become a firefighter and accomplish the tasks that come with the profession, and he does his job well; all it is is that he plays a specialized role in addition to that fact.

Firefighter!Soap, whose dorm is positively filled with the drawings and doodles he’s received personally when he and his crew visit local primary schools to teach them about fire safety and how to properly act during a fire drill, spends a significant amount of time telling the kids all about their careers and what they do, giving them a tour of the truck and everything. And, by the end of the day, three or four separate kids had given him drawings they had made of him and his crew. One little girl in particular gifts her drawing to him, and it’s just of him and her, holding hands, his mohawk overexaggerated, with a message written out sloppily, stating, 'I want to be just like you when I grow up!!!’.

Firefighter!Soap, who tapes each drawing he receives to the mirror in his dorm, the one he gets ready in front of each and every day without fail, fingers gently grazing over the different people within the pictures, each messy stroke of crayon, colored pencil, and washable marker. It’s a reminder to him of why he does what he does. Of why he puts his life on the line each and every day without fail. When the job gets tough and unbearable, the weight of it laying heavy on his shoulders, guilt and insecurity eating up at him, he looks at the drawings, memorizing them, committing every detail to memory—he has to make those kids proud by keeping on. And so he does.

He dropped out of university to become a firefighter. He initially majored in the field of Military Technologies and Applied Sciences, specializing in the fields of Explosive Ordinance and Bomb Disposal, but after spending nearly five semesters in school, he concluded that the field and higher education weren’t something he was willing to pursue. So, he applied to become a firefighter when he was twenty-one, spending the first year and a half working towards getting his EMT certification and taking his CPAT, already having his driver’s license, and spending the next six months in the fire academy before he was eventually employed as a volunteer firefighter.

He spent the next two years working as a volunteer firefighter, not yet deciding to take on the role of a full-time firefighter, given he had a bit of apprehension and worries about taking on the job for longer hours. However, it was soon after he first became a volunteer firefighter that he learned about the career path of a firefighter engineer, which garnered his interest, which eventually led him down the path of driver training before ending up with the position and taking on the job full-time.

Firefighter!Soap, who can’t even help the way his muscles flex as he works, which is most visible when he’s in his station wear��that short-sleeved button-up shirt hugging onto his biceps with ease, his pants holding onto his thighs snugly—it's the perfect combination of loose and tight. It leaves nothing and everything up for the imagination to think of. Especially when he’s sweating through his top, the fabric clings to his skin like a glove, showing off every inch of him without shame.

Firefighter!Soap, who is so unconscious of how strong he actually is, regularly wearing equipment that can weigh up to seventy-five pounds (34.01 kilograms), not to mention the weight of the hose and the pressure it exudes, the way he has to control it, or all of the other equipment he uses while on the job. Because he’s so unaware of it, this just leads to him picking up some of the heaviest things—people, too—and acting as if they were nothing, because, to his credit, it isn’t anything to him.

Firefighter!Soap, who is an earlier riser. He wakes up the earliest of anyone who works at the station, being the first one to arrive at work if he’s sleeping off site. He tidies up what he sees, maybe goes out and grabs some coffee or pastries for his co-workers, and just relaxes and basks in the silence of the station—that is, before the others begin to arrive, of course. If he’s sleeping on site? Same thing. The only difference is that he doesn’t have to rush around like he typically would; driving to work takes up the most of his time, so he can work at his leisure if he's already at the station.

Firefighter!Gaz

Gaz, arguably the coolest of them all (it’s not an arguable statement whatsoever; it’s just a fact), gets the job, plain and simple, of just being a firefighter. Responding to emergency calls, performing search and rescues, providing aid with traffic accidents, and educating the public on fire safety are just some of the tasks he completes each and every day. The job is both physically and mentally grueling. Yes, the horrors that can come with the job are unlike any other, but god, is it such a rewarding profession to be able to see the direct result of your actions

Firefighter!Gaz, who actually really enjoys having new recruits shadow under him their first few months on the job. Even in meeting them for the first time, he has such a welcoming and warm personality, not at all shy to introduce himself, how long he’s been working in the field, the ups and downs of the job—everything! He spends a lot of time getting to know the recruit, not just in a professional sense but a personal one, too, and it fosters such an accepting environment that the recruit can become comfortable in, which is the whole goal!

Firefighter!Gaz, who can be stern sometimes when it comes to teaching newer recruits, but those occasions come far and few between, favoring a gentler, kinder approach of encouragement and redirecting and teaching the recruits on how to properly hook up the truck to a hydrant or operate the pressure controls for the water on the truck as opposed to yelling and barking out orders with a firm strictness. The Chief typically sends all of the new recruits over to Gaz for this exact reason, and, as you might have guessed, these recruits become professionals in no time.

Unlike the others, Gaz actually had the intention of joining the fire department since he was young. He was one of those little boys who had a number of different toy trucks and cars and played with them obsessively, and his favorites were the firefighter trucks. His dream of becoming a firefighter was solidified when they came to his primary school one day. One of the firefighters present gifted him one of those crappy plastic helmets, letting him sit in the truck and telling him everything he wanted to know.

From that point onwards, he dedicated himself to becoming a firefighter, spending years getting himself into the ideal physical shape required for the job, taking medical and health courses throughout secondary school to prepare himself for the EMT training program he’d apply to take once he turned eighteen, obtaining his license as quickly as possible—he's devoted to the career path, and he fully intends to push every ounce of his being into fulfilling the role to the best of his abilities, and then some. The day he graduates from the fire academy, in addition to actually receiving an offer to join a station as a volunteer firefighter, he swears up and down, is single-handedly the best day of his life.

Firefighter!Gaz, who's almost always the first one to rush inside a burning building, given that it’s still structurally stable and will remain that way for the duration of time that he’s inside, holds a hatchet in both hands, firmly grasped, kicking the front door inwards before making his way through the interior. He’s completely composed, not an inch of doubt taunting him as he sweeps the area, finding civilians and immediately working to usher them out of the building, barking orders in a way where it sounds less like a command, so softer and so much more filled with care. He can easily sling anyone over his shoulder, hold them in his arms, or lift them on his back if need be, rough grunts resounding from him, strained at times from both the heat and the weight of carrying another human being.

Firefighter!Gaz, who doesn't ever complain or tell the other person to move and fend for themselves, because that’s his job, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fulfill it to the fullest. Given he doesn’t have any civilians to worry about, he’s rushing through flames, heat nipping at his PPE, trying its hardest to penetrate the fabric, failing while he comes out of the building, fire trailing after him, smoke and dirt caking his body beneath his uniform, and labored breaths wracking his body. All he can do is rip off his SCBA when he's at a safe distance from the smoke, mask off, sweat dripping down his skin, soak his hair, and kick his head back as he breathes the smell of anything but smoke.

Firefighter!Gaz, who always walks around the station in his bunker gear, is ready to go at a moment's notice. He's rarely seen in something as simple as his station wear, complaining that the uniform is unnecessary to be seen in if he’s going to change into his bunker gear anyway. In reality, the weight of the gear is comforting to him—it's heavy, yes, and can leave him sweating until he’s certain he’s drenched if he’s in it for too long—but the weight, feel, smell, and overall “vibe” of the bunker gear is something he’s spent his whole life dreaming of. Why be out of it if he’s dedicated his life to becoming the person to wear it?

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