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ceilidho · 2 years ago

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prompt: ex special forces ghost working as a “travel companion for hire” and reader hires him because she’s too nervous to go solo travelling

It’s not the first time you’ve been somewhere on your own, but it’s the first time you’ve realized that maybe solo trips aren’t for you.

It’s in Germany, three drinks in and stumbling back to your hotel room, paranoia gripping you every time you pass a dark alleyway or take a right onto a deserted street. It’s the man walking your way on the same side of the street that has you stuffing your hand into your purse, clammy fingers gripped tight around your keys.

On the flight home, you’re wiped. Beat. Finally untethered from a week’s worth of anxiety slowly reaching a boiling point. You’ve traveled on your own before, but it’s the first time you can remember being acutely aware of your vulnerability. Granted, before this trip, it’s not like you’d traveled all that much on your own, especially outside of the country.

Ghost comes as a recommendation from a friend of a friend. You’d hemmed and hawed about the whole ordeal the Monday after getting home from your trip—working the front desk at an auto-body shop means that there’s no shortage of people to talk to. The guy picking up his car (fender bender, a wicked crack down the front that’s since been fixed) listens to you gripe with an absent look on his face, but you’ve learned to tune those out. People will listen to you even in spite of their indifference when there’s nothing else to do.

“Y’know, I know a guy that does stuff like that,” he says, cutting you off halfway through another half-baked rant about airline fares these days. Your mouth puckers into something quizzical. Tell me more, it says without saying. ��Ex-special forces. Left because of some medical thing, I think. Dunno. Anyway, he’s been all over the world—built like a brick shithouse, that one—and last I heard he was, uh, renting out his services.”

“Services?”

“Like, he’d go with you, hang back while you do your thing, but basically the muscle. There to back you up if someone fucks with you.”

You’re just fresh enough off your vacation (an entirely miserable week, lest you explain the whole thing all over again) to give him your number. He promises to put you in touch with the friend of a friend who’ll put you in touch with one Simon Riley. He then gives you shit about the price on his bill and you knock ten percent off begrudgingly because the piece of paper with your number written on it is still crumpled in his palm.

No good deed goes unpunished or whatever.

“He’s not actually in the country right now,” Laswell, the friend of a friend, explains over coffee, Biscoff cookies spread out on a little tea plate between the two of you. “Or the continent.”

“Where is he?”

“For the rest of the month? Indonesia. He’s supposed to be back on the ninth. Should I let him know that you’re interested in his services?”

It’s a toss up at first. The thought of sacrificing your dignity (he would be more or less your babysitter) for adventure is tricky. With the way the dates line up—when you plan on traveling and when he gets back to the UK—you also won’t have much time to make his acquaintance before setting off.

But there are places you want to go, sites you have scribbled down in a pocket-sized notepad folded up in the inner lining of your backpack. So you give her your permission and promise to join her and her wife for dinner sometime (repayment, and also it’s only been a few months since you moved, so you currently have a dearth of friends in your life anyway).

The first time you see him when he stops by your workplace, you can’t help the double take. It just doesn’t seem possible. You know from Laswell and the guy at the body shop that Ghost is ex-military, but you’d been expecting some buzz-cut, slightly smarmy army reserves guy, maybe six-foot and decently muscled. What you don’t expect is the tatted beast that’s near twice your size. Only the top half of his face is exposed, the rest hidden beneath a black mask; you think briefly of asking him about it, but chicken out under his withering stare.

He doesn’t seem impressed when he meets you. “What’s your list?”

“Um…just around Europe. I haven’t thought about it too much.”

He stares down at you. “You wanna hire me just to run around the continent?”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“Well, best give it a think fast, doll. Haven’t got all day for you to figure it out.”

You do have to think fast. He doesn’t leave until you’ve spelled out exactly where you want to go, until he’s watched you book plane tickets over your shoulder, heavy at your back while sweat beads at the nape of your neck. He’s entirely too intimidating to be looming over you like that.

You watch him whip out his phone and fire off a couple of texts; your phone pings with an email telling you that you’ve been reimbursed for his flight and when you protest, he brushes you off by saying that he’ll invoice you for everything at the end of your trip.

Then what was promised falls into place. Free of burden, free of anxiety or restless energy, new possibilities open up to you: countries where you don’t speak the language; countries where the sites you want to see are spread out across a wide enough area that it warrants having a man packed beside you in a too-small taxi, his thigh a hot line against yours; hiking trips through national parks, where you don’t feel like you might slip down a hill and twist your ankle, stuck without water or cell service.

You only have two weeks worth of vacation, so you use them wisely. A week traveling across Switzerland and Austria, and then a week in Cairo to see the pyramids.

Ghost hangs back most of the time while you traipse around and do your own thing. You can feel him at your back when you approach the stands where the local vendors have set up shop, perusing silver trinkets and jewelry, only returning to your side when someone stands too close to you.

He fists a hand in a pickpocket’s shirt when they try for your purse, giving them a shake and sending them off.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mutter in his direction as you watch the young man scurry away. Not sure if you’re blushing or sunburnt.

“You hired me to deal with this shit my way. Don’t get mouthy now.”

You think it might be the former because while you might not be the best at reapplying sunscreen, Ghost has been gentle-parenting you this whole trip. He pulls you off into corners and growls down at you while squirting a dollop of sunscreen into the palm of his hand to spread across your face. You close your eyes when his rough hands trace over your face and breathe out heavily when he spins you around, big hands engulfing your shoulders and spreading down your back.

You don’t think it could get worse. It gets worse.

He won’t spring for his own room. You stare at him in disbelief in the lobby of the two star hotel where you’ve booked a room with a single bed. There’s a vending machine in the corner of the lobby that only sells coke (all of the other buttons are broken). One of the ceiling lights flickers on and off, an ominous buzz filling the room. Ghost doesn’t so much as blink.

“You didn’t tell me—I didn’t know that was my job,” you rebuff, anxiety a fist in your throat. You’ve already asked the front desk for another room, but they’ve been sold out for weeks, the woman at the front desk informed you with no small amount of pity. It’s the busy season; even two-star hotels get booked up in the dog days of summer.

He cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never had to before. My job isn’t to book shit.”

“I sent you my itinerary.”

“That’s not how I work, love. Where’s your room?”

It’s nothing short of humiliating to have him follow you back to your shabby little hotel room. Your hands shake when you unlock the door, opening it to something no bigger than a closet. You’d purposefully gotten a smaller room than you usually would, anticipating the cost of Ghost's invoice at the end of your trip. No good deed goes unpunished.

He ushers you into the room with a hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. You flick on the only light in the room, a bulbous thing hanging from the ceiling. No bedside lamp.

When he settles on the end of the only twin bed in the room, the bedframe groans under his weight. Your hands are already clammy. He’s already making himself at home, unbuckling his belt with a single hand; it makes you almost dizzy to look over at him so you try desperately to avert your eyes.

“At least wait until I’m in the other room,” you hiss, rifling through your suitcase faster to get your clothes for after your shower.

“Quit moping, love,” Ghost scolds, resting back on his elbows and toeing off his boots. “We’ll make it work. Just gonna have to get comfortable together.”

You scurry off to the bathroom with your pajamas clutched tight to your chest, paying no attention to the fact that he doesn’t sound as upset as you thought he might.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost cod

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fluentmoviequoter · 9 months ago

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Two of Them

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: When Hondo asks you to help catch a car thief, you meet Jim Street. As you get to know one another, you learn that you have a lot in common, but balance each other out perfectly.

Warnings: r loves cars/owns an auto shop & is sarcastic and makes jokes (very similar to Street), mentions of robbery and murder, fluff, softie Street

Word Count: 4.7k+ words

A/N: There's so many things I love about this request and a ton of (personal) references! I hope you all enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Someone wolf whistles as the garage door opens, and you walk faster to see what is worthy of such attention. When you step into the garage if your auto restoration shop, your jaw drops.

“Is that a ’59 Impala?” you ask breathlessly.

“Sure is,” Joel, your righthand man and drivetrain expert, answers. “She’s here for a tune-up. I know you’re busy, boss, so I can handle this one.”

“Yeah, right!” you exclaim. “All of my childhood dreams are under that hood.”

“You dreamt about reconstructed motors as a kid?”

“Do you talk to your wife like this, Joel? Because she’s never going to let you buy a C-10 with that attitude.”

He chuckles before he waves toward the office. “Impala owner is in there. Wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Joel. Don’t start without me!” you call over your shoulder.

As you enter the lobby, you put on your best customer service smile and straighten your shirt.

“Good afternoon,” you greet. “You must be the owner of that beautiful Impala.”

“Yes, ma’am. My friend Rick Castle told me that you were the person to see. I had the car restored by a guy in Texas, a ground-up rebuild, but it’s not riding as smoothly as it was before. The passenger side – sorry, I’m not very good at explaining these things – it almost feels like it’s bouncing while I drive,” he explains.

“Okay, that’s really helpful. It sounds like it’s probably an alignment issue. We can look at it today and give you a call when we find the issue,” you suggest.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

You review the paperwork he completed with Joel quickly before telling him bye. After putting his contact information into your computer system, you rush back to the garage.

“Let’s find out what’s causing the involuntary hydraulics,” you tell Joel.

“Hondo, get 20 squad in here!” Hicks calls.

As they gather in the situation room, Lieutenant Lynch queues a video pulled from a security camera. Street recognizes the location as the building they raided a few days earlier but remains quiet as she begins speaking.

“This is, of course, the building you raided. If you’ll recall, we hoped to locate an unidentified subject tied to several car robberies, assaults, and more recently, carjacking with deadly force. He killed a driver during a carjacking gone wrong and has continued to get more violent with each crime. We still haven’t identified the perp, courtesy of his never-ending vehicle supply and seeming knowledge of traffic cams. He didn’t seem to think about the security camera across the street from the parking garage before the raid, however.”

She presses a button on the tablet in her hand, and the video begins to play. Several cars come and go, but there’s nothing unusual. Hicks raises his hand to point to the time stamp, and the guys watch, waiting for some smoking gun or clear picture of the guy running from the cops. All that happens, though, is a man leaving in a convertible. Lynch pauses the video again and looks up expectantly.

“Was that a Triumph?” Luca asks excitedly. “Those are still rare in the states, even decades after they stopped manufacturing them.”

“It’s not stock,” Street adds with a shake of his head. “That’s not standard suspension, and the paint is too new to be original. Whoever brought that over had a lot of work done to it.”

“Which is great, makes it easier to find,” Hicks agrees. “Except there’s no plates, no registration, and no one has reported it missing. There’s not even a T3 in that color registered to anyone through the California DMV. We have something to look for, but no more information on who we’re looking for.”

“I know someone who can help,” Hondo says. “Classic cars, new paint, rebuilds…”

“You have a car guy?” Deacon asks. “Why?”

“Of course, I have a car guy,” Hondo scoffs. “My dad may have introduced me.”

“That makes more sense,” Luca says, nodding with Deacon.

“Hold on, guys,” Lynch calls. “The tech team thinks they may have found another lead. Consensus is this video is the same driver.”

She plays a new video, this one taken from a gas station camera. Another newer sports car pulls in, but no one exits the car. It sits for nearly three minutes, then pulls out.

“I’m not as versed as these guys, but that looks like a Lamborghini,” Tan comments. “Can’t be too hard to trace those in Los Angeles.”

“It is when they don’t have the original drivetrain. The back tires spun out way too far in that turn. It’s been modified, too,” Luca points out.

“He’s either got a thing for modified sports cars or he’s someone who’s flipping them to be completely different cars after he steals them,” Street hypothesizes.

“Your car guy gonna be able to help with that?” Hicks asks Hondo.

“Oh, yeah,” he answers. “This case’ll be closed in a week.”

“Then get out of here. You’ve got a rare car to track down.”

“One more thing,” Lynch says. “Really, I promise this is the last thing. None of those cars have been seen again. Seems like he drives them once and then ditches them.”

“He has to have his own garage, then,” Street says. “One that I wish I had.”

“Then it’s a bigger target,” Hondo declares. “Let’s roll.”

The chime connected to the front door of your shop rings loudly and you tell Joel to go check on the customer. You are under a 1977 Chevrolet Nova and elbow-deep in the engine bay. Even if you’d wanted to be the first face they saw, given that it is your business, you wouldn’t be able to get out from under the car before they assumed no one was here.

“Ah ha,” you murmur.

You pull the broken mounting bracket down past the ballast. It falls to the floor with a loud ting before you roll out from under the car. As you sit up and wipe your grease-covered hands on your coveralls, you see Hondo looking at you with his brows raised.

“Hello,” you greet.

“You got a little something right… everywhere,” he jokes.

“Funny,” you reply as you stand. “If your eyesight is that good, it’s no wonder you made SWAT.”

Someone laughs behind him, and you lean to the side. His entire squad waits in the lobby, and you wave before returning your attention to Hondo.

“I take it you’re not here about your dad’s car then,” you muse.

“Not today. We need some help with a case, if you have the time,” he explains.

“Sure. I’ll have Joel take you to my office. Let me clean up and I’ll meet you – all of you, I guess – in there in a minute.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me an entire car at this point, Hondo,” you call as you walk out of the garage.

Once you’re out of your stained overalls and have washed all of the grease and car-related grime off of your skin, you return to your office. Hondo and three other men wait beside your desk, and you invite them to sit. Hondo introduces you to Tan, Luca, and Street, and you shake each of their hands before you sit across from them. Hondo rolls his eyes when you smile at Street, but you’re not sure why.

“So, what exactly does Metro SWAT need from an auto shop?” you ask.

“Long story short, there’s a guy stealing sports cars; classics, fresh off the floor, and everything in between. Then he’s customizing them, driving them once, and ditching them for a new illegally obtained ride,” Hondo answers.

You nod as you think, then lean on your elbows on your desk. “Why customize them?”

“To make them untraceable, we think,” Luca answers. “You can’t report a car missing if it doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That tracks,” you agree. “But then the question becomes, how do you ditch them? You can’t leave something like that at a chop shop, the parts would bring more issues.”

“Private garage,” Street says. “Or maybe he’s selling them out of the county. Lots of possibilities.”

“It takes an incredibly rich, incredibly dumb person to treat cars like that,” you comment.

“We deal with criminals,” Hondo interrupts. “Rich and dumb is kind of our thing.”

“No, Hondo, cars aren’t like people. They fight back, they don’t just disappear without a trace.”

“She’s right,” Street adds. “These cars are more than property to be stolen.”

“What are you saying?” Hondo asks.

“Ever read Christine?” you joke.

“Or heard of Decepticons?” Street adds.

You smile at him again, and he nods before he winks quickly.

“So, can you help us or not?” Hondo inquires.

“Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“We’ve got some security cam footage of the cars he’s altered. We need to know where he’s getting the work done, or info on where a private garage big enough for a collection like this would be.”

“I’d be happy to look. I can’t promise anything, though. My clientele is more of the rebuild this classic or fix this issue not the I want to make a rare sports car even more unique off the books.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Hondo looks at his phone quickly and huffs. “Uh, Street, you stay and go over the videos with her. Deac said he and Chris need backup.”

“You got it,” Street answers.

Hondo thanks you quickly before he, Luca, and Tan leave. You’re left alone in your office with Street and aren’t sure how to start a conversation after joking together while Hondo filled you in on the case.

“Uh, here’s the videos. There’s only a few on this, but it should be enough to get an idea of what he’s doing,” Street says as he passes you a memory stick.

You take it from him and insert it into your computer. As the videos begin playing, you rewind it, pause it, and take a few notes. The cars in it don’t have anything in common, other than the fact that they’re stolen and modified.

“Well, I can say for sure that my guys didn’t do this work. Nobody I work with did, either. I’ll ask around and see what I can find,” you tell Street.

“I appreciate that,” he replies. “You know, when Hondo said he had a car guy, I was expecting…”

“A guy?” you guess.

“I mean, yeah. Middle-aged, beer belly, his name on the sign. The usual.”

“Sounds like my shapewear is doing its job if you don’t see a beer belly,” you joke.

“Please, you know how pretty you are,” Street replies.

“Seems like you think so.”

You lean forward and smile as you return the video drive to Street. He returns your smile and opens his mouth, likely to make another joke, before Joel knocks on the door.

“We’ve got another customer, boss. With a ’73 Corolla,” he informs.

“Excellent timing,” you mumble.

Street stands as you do and says, “Call Hondo, or me, whoever, if you find anything. Thanks for helping.”

“I will. Thanks, Street.”

He leaves through the lobby, and you take a deep breath. Joel smiles as he watches you, but you tell him to get back to work before he can comment.

“On what?” he yells behind you.

“Hondo, we’re not even doing anything,” Street groans in HQ the following morning. “Just let me go make sure she doesn’t need help or anything!”

“She knows more about cars than you do,” Hondo answers.

“That’s not what I mean. C’mon, man, she has an auto shop. Are you really going to make me sit here when I could be solving a case in my dream garage?”

“Hondo!” Deacon calls. “We’ve got another video. New car this time, but it doesn’t look modified.”

Street looks toward Hondo expectantly, and nearly cheers when Hondo sighs and tells him to go. He accepts the video and rushes to his motorcycle. Work will be more fun with you, he thinks.

“You’re back,” you say when Street walks into the garage.

“And you’re working on a 1960s Mustang,” he says dreamily.

“1964,” you tell him. “Want to take a look?”

“I’m supposed to be working. We have a new video with a different car.”

“Surely it can wait a few seconds, so you can look at the new 289 sitting pretty under the hood.”

“Yeah, we can wait,” Street agrees as he follows you to the hood of the car.

After Street takes a few minutes to admire the work you’ve done on the Mustang, you lead him to your office and bring up the new video.

“I haven’t seen it, but the people in the lab didn’t think it had been modified,” Street explains.

“Okay. Let’s see,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

Your shoulder presses against his arm as you watch, but you’re both too interested in the sports car on the screen to notice that you’re in shared space.

“I don’t see anything,” Street says.

You drag the video slowly and pause it when the wheels turn.

“That car shouldn’t be all-wheel drive. It’s a minor conversion compared to the other work you’ve shown me.”

“Who makes a Datsun 240z all-wheel drive?” Street murmurs.

“Who steals a Datsun 240z?” you counter. “They stopped making them for a reason. Short of a complete overhaul, they weren’t worth their weight in metal.”

“As right as you are, that doesn’t bring us any closer to finding this guy.”

“No,” you agree. “And none of my friends have heard anything. We’re getting the word out, though, so as soon as it reaches the right person, I’ll have more information for you. It’d be great if he decided to switch garages and was my next customer.”

“It would be easier.” Street leans back in the seat and looks at the pictures on your wall. “Best and worst customer to date, go,” he asks.

“Ooh, okay,” you say excitedly. “Best? A writer who lives up in the hills has brought me over 20 different rare classics to restore from the ground up. The worst was last week. Kid came in with a brand new, stock Lambo Huracan and wanted the double-clutch tranny switched out for a 4-speed automatic.”

“In a Huracan?” Street repeats incredulously. “I… I feel like I just aged twenty years.”

“Tell me about it. I asked him if he could drive it the way it was and never got an answer.”

“Did you do it?”

“Are you kidding? No! I’m in this business for the cars, and that’s just sacrilegious.”

Hondo knocks on your open door, and he’s leaning against it with his brows raised when you look up.

“There’s two of them!” he exclaims dramatically as he looks back at the rest of the guys. “I thought you and Street were bad enough separately, but this isn’t fair.”

“Can I help you Hondo?” you ask, ignoring his comment. Although, you don’t hate him viewing this as you and Street, together, as one.

“I just came to see if anything came of that video,” Hondo says.

“Nothing inherently helpful. Your smoking gun is still lost.”

“Keep looking,” Hondo requests, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe before he leads 20 squad away.

Street watches him leave, shakes his head, and turns back to you to ask, “How’d you get into cars?”

“My, uh, my home life wasn’t great growing up. Cars were my escape. From the time I was old enough to realize that walking out into the driveway to mess with the cars got me away from the fighting, I was out there constantly. Then it became a love for cars and everything they mean to people. This isn’t just my job, it’s my passion.”

“I lived in foster homes for too long,” Street says. “When I met my brother, Noah, he got me into motorcycles, which led to cars. We dreamed about getting a Ducati someday.”

“See? Cars mean something, they’re more than electronics and gas to get you from A to B. They’re life itself for some of us.”

“And you treat them like that. When I get that Ducati, I’ll bring it to you.”

“For what? Those are perfect as is.”

“Maybe it’ll just be an excuse to see you.”

You smile and shake your head, but you know that you’d welcome him in, anytime, with or without a Ducati.

“… And then after the toe, caster, and camber are matched up on both sides, we can move on to complete the diagnostics,” you finish.

“Okay,” the young girl says. “I need to call my dad really fast. Can I come back in and let you know after that?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

As she walks out, you notice Street standing in the doorway to the garage.

“That happen often?” he asks, gesturing toward the girl standing outside.

“Occasionally. Mostly with younger customers,” you answer. “Must be nice to have a parental relationship like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, what can I do for you, Officer Street?”

“Are you ever going to call me Jim?” he asks.

“I like cars, so Street is more fun,” you reply with a shrug.

“I actually came to give you a break. Hondo said you’ve been sending him updates day and night. You have to step back from it all before you burn out,” Street explains.

“I can’t. I have cars to finish, and some of my contacts have leads that seem promising, but they have to go through a chain of different garages, and…”

Street steps to you and lays his hands on your shoulders. He waits until you look into his eyes and relax to say, “You need a break. Trust me.”

“I need to finish with her,” you whisper. “Five minutes?”

“Five minutes,” he agrees. “And then I’m dragging you out of here if you won’t go willingly.”

Five minutes later, you follow Street into the small customer parking area outside the lobby. He walks to a motorcycle, and you eye it in admiration.

“This is your bike? It’s gorgeous, Street,” you say, running your fingers over the smooth metal body.

“It’s fast too,” he replies.

You accept a helmet and put it on as he climbs onto the bike. The Cardo logo on the side of the helmet catches your attention, but as you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him, you’re more than happy to ride in silence and decompress.

When you get back to the garage, you climb off the bike and hug Street before he can swing his leg over.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I did need that.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” he jokes as he returns your hug.

“Neither am I. And you shift into fourth too soon. That’s why it revs harder.”

“I knew coming to see you would embarrass me eventually,” Street laments. “But at least you’re pretty and really close to me.”

“I can move,” you say against his shoulder.

“No, thanks. Not until I have to go back to work.”

His phone rings in his pocket and you laugh as he grumbles, “Hondo always has to ruin the moment.”

The phone on your desk rings again as you lower the new L1 engine into a C-10. You roll your eyes at the sound but refuse to answer it.

“Somebody else answer the phone!” you call. “I can’t answer another stupid question today!”

Joel salutes you as he walks through your open door. He returns a moment later with the cordless phone in his hand and smiles.

“It’s Street. Would you like me to pass along your message?”

You extend your cleaner hand and tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder to say, “Hey, Street.”

“Can you remove the hemi from my Charger?” he asks. “It’s too loud when I drive.”

“I will hang up on you,” you threaten.

The line beeps and you pull the phone from your ear with pinched brows.

“Not if I hang up on you first,” Street says from the doorway. “Which is rude, by the way.”

“Have more videos for me to watch?” you ask loudly as you lean into the engine bay of the truck.

“No, just wanted to drop by. Nice body… the truck, I mean.”

“Sure, you did.”

You grunt as you stand and pass a screwdriver to Street.

“I don’t work here.”

“Yet you’re here every day,” Joel says from inside the cab of the truck.

“Not my fault your boss freelances for my boss,” Street replies.

“I told Hondo this morning that I hadn’t heard anything,” you interrupt as you wipe your hands on a rag.

“I know. I just wanted to drop by. I got off early, so, here I am.”

“Hmm. I was hoping you’d say you were undercover or something.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to believe this is how you dress when you’re not in uniform,” you joke.

“You’re covered in-“

“I’m at work,” you defend. “Hazards of the job. And don’t bring up the fact that my laundry room smells like motor oil because you can’t prove that.”

Your phone buzzes on the workbench behind you, and you apologize as you walk past Street to get it. He watches your eyes widen as you press the screen a few times.

“Call Hondo,” you demand.

“But-“

“I know who your car thief is. He’s on his way here right now with the Triumph T3.”

“How? Why?” Street questions.

“The guy he hired to do the work thought they were really his cars. Apparently, my name came up and with the message about him going through the automotive grapevine, his former mechanic recommended me for a modification tune-up,” you explain quickly.

Hondo arrives less than ten minutes later with the rest of 20 Squad. He asks what is so urgent as he looks between you and Street, though there isn’t much room between you.

“He isn’t ditching the cars. He’s still driving the cars because the Triumph slid last night and now he’s bringing it here to be repaired,” you tell Hondo.

“Okay, it slid and he’s bringing in one stolen car. What does that mean for me? And no automotive speak,” Hondo replies.

“Could I interest you in the Cybertronian translation?”

“Tell me what my bad guy did.”

“If I can convince him to list every car he may want me to work on in the future, could you get a warrant? I’ll try to get an address and a name for him, though they may not be legitimate.”

“We can certainly try,” Deacon agrees. “But he doesn’t seem like the type that will answer questions.”

“I have a way of getting people to talk. Especially car people. Guys like him like to brag, so if I one him up, he won’t have a choice but to tell me what you need to know.”

“Just be careful,” Street says. “Don’t let him get so cocky he thinks he has to prove himself in any way except talking about cars.”

“I won’t. But you guys need to get out of sight. He’ll want to see the garage and get a feel for the security.”

“We can pretend to be security,” Street argues.

“Nah, you got a cop face, man,” Joel says from inside the truck.

“Joel, I’m going to marry your boss and ask her to fire you,” Street shoots back.

“I want to hear more about that later,” you interrupt. “But seriously, get out of sight.”

A few minutes later, a Triumph T3 stops outside of the lobby entrance. The man who enters looks like the driver in the security videos, but you have to get more information before anything else can happen.

“Hi,” you greet. “You must be the gentleman Josh told me about. He said you had a classic, but I was not expecting a ‘50s Triumph. That’s a gorgeous car, sir.”

“I appreciate it. She’s my baby, but the steering is a bit off since I hit a wet patch last night and the back end slid.”

“That sounds like a simple enough fix. If you can just fill out some information-“

“Josh said you’d do this off the books for me, like he has. Cash upfront.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you agree. “Go ahead and pull her into the garage.”

He nods and exits the front door. You sigh and move into the garage, planning how to get him to talk about the other cars he has stolen and where he keeps them.

“Nice facility,” he compliments as he enters your garage. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a couple incredibly rare classics that I work on often, and those customers deserve the best.”

“Rarer than a 1953 Triumph T3?” the man asks, defensive and growing insulted.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a Model T in here, several European cars, including a T2, plus modern sports cars.”

“I’ve got a garage full of classics that make those seem like Hot Wheels.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you lift the hood of the Triumph. “I’ve had my hands in a 1931 Bugatti Type 41. I don’t think it gets much better.”

“My collection is worth a dozen of those outdated bugs!” he exclaims. “The Triumph, a Lamborghini Aventador with custom drivetrains, and I’d bet this car that you haven’t seen a Datsun 240z in mint condition with all-wheel drive. If your little dump of a garage could handle even that! My 25,000 square foot garage has cars you’ve never even heard of.”

“LAPD SWAT!” Hondo calls as he and his team enter the garage. “You’re under arrest for grand theft auto, carjacking, assault and battery, murder, and about fifteen more charges that I don’t have the patience to list. Now, when an arrest warrant goes through without a name, you know that’s a bad person.”

“Do not push him up against this car!” you demand as Hondo grabs his shoulder. “Toolbox, wall, anything other than a pristine T3.”

“Thanks for the help,” Hondo calls over his shoulder as he leads the thief out of the garage.

“It’s a shame such a pretty car has to go into evidence before it returns to its owner,” you tell Street.

“Yeah. Listen-“

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” you ask.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.

You smile as you answer, “I’d love to.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love this place,” you promise as you take Street’s hand. “All of the food is served in trays that look like classic cars.”

Street laughs as you bounce excitedly and uses your joined hands to pull you close.

“If you could buy one classic car, what would it be?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation before asking him the same question.

“Car? Probably an Aston Martin or a ‘60s Impala. Something sleek, classic, dangerously fast,” he answers. “Motorcycle is still a Ducati.”

“You’d suit an Aston Martin or an Impala,” you agree. “Or you can just ride shotgun in mine.”

“I was born to drive,” Street says dramatically.

You laugh at him as you slide into a booth in the restaurant. Street follows, setting the tray of food before you as he sits beside you.

“Are all of our dates going to be car-themed?” Street asks.

“You’re the one who already planned our wedding, and I’ll go ahead and tell you now that I’m not firing Joel, so you tell me.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as you’re there,” Street decides.

You smile as you turn toward him, and when you raise your chin, Street kisses you quickly. You momentarily forget about the car-themed trays holding your food, too distracted by his affection to care about which model you got. But then he tells you he got the better one and you push him away from you to check. Street laughs as he pulls you close again, and you’ve never been happier to have so much in common with one person. Maybe there are two of you, but the balance and love Street brings is perfect.

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street fluff #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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sweetiepoison · 11 months ago

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Famous Baby Blurb (The Night Out)

You threw your head back allowing the shot of vodka to burn as it went down your throat. You giggled leaning forward, placing the glass back down on the table.

“What number is that?” Willy yelled from across the table.

“8?” You questioned turning your head to look at Auston for confirmation.

“No!” He objected. “I think it’s 9.”

“No.” You protested back. “We had four at Mitch and Steph’s, two when we first got here, and then these two.” You gestured down to the four shot glasses on the table.

“Nuh uh” Auston shook his head. “We had one in the car over here too.”

You tried to remember the car ride to the bar but it felt like it was hours ago now and impossible to recall. “It doesn’t matter, we’re still tied.”

“You can’t admit you’re wrong.” Auston crossed his arms, smirking over at you.

“Yes I can.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you’re wrong and I’m right.”

“Auston,” you sighed “please just be grateful that I’m even talking to you.”

“You should be the one that’s grateful. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your spot right now.”

“Enough for your inflated ego to talk about it.”

Auston shrugged pushing your now empty shot glasses to the edge of the table for one of the workers to pick up. “I’m just saying you should feel special.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m (y/f/n) (y/l/n), I don’t need anyone to make me feel special.”

It was now Auston’s turn to roll his eyes, “And I’m the one with the big ego?”

“Talk to me when you’re the number one artist in the world”

“Don’t need to worry about it, I’m the number one hockey player in the world.”

“Were options limited this past year?” Your sarcastic tone and tilt of the head didn’t phase Auston.

“They actually chose me based on my skill, not me performing with autotune and short skirts.”

“Sorry what was that” you cupped your left ear “I couldn’t hear you over my auto tuned song.”

Your song that has sat at the #1 spot on the charts for the past few weeks played through the speakers. It was perfect timing. You never got used to hearing your own voice or watching other people sing along to your words, but it was also the best feeling.

You smirked as Auston got up from the table without another word knowing that you won that conversation. You hummed along as ‘Thank u, next’ slowly faded into another song.

“Here.” Auston returned to the table sitting down another shot in front of you. “To inflated egos.”

You laughed, but raised your glass with his and threw the liquid back down your throat.

The night carried on much like the beginning, but somewhere along the way you lost count of your shots, but it got to a point where you no longer cared. You were beyond drunk, but this was the first time in a while you were actually able to enjoy yourself.

Your world tour was about to start up and you knew this was the only break you’d be having for a while. You planned to leave Toronto the next day, go back home to spend time with your family for a few days and then tour starts.

“She’s hammered.” Justin watched as you swayed to the music, holding onto Steph.

“At least they’re having fun.” Morgan commented, also watching all the girls giggle and dance together.

“How many shots did you guys end up taking?”

“Twelve, but she thinks it’s higher.” Auston explained, “she’s been cut off since midnight, I payed the bartender to replace all of her drinks and shots with water.”

Both Morgan and Justin shared a look and then put their attention onto Auston.

“What?” Auston asked noticing the way they were looking at him.

“That’s just a nice thing to do for someone you hate.” Morgan shrugged not wanting to make it a big deal.

“I figured her getting alcohol poisoning would put a hold on the whole tour thing. Consider it community service.”

“Well, thank you for your service.” Morgan chuckled standing up, “but I’m getting Tessa and we’re going to go home before she damages something.”

As morgan approached the group of girls to grab his wife you all immediately began booing and begging him to let Tessa stay a little longer. When it became clear your pleas weren’t going to work you all made your way back to the group.

You attempted to place your glass down on the table but it slipped out of your hand and landed with a thud on the ground.

“Okay.” Justin picked up the glass. “That’s it your done for the night.”

“No.” You pouted crossing your arms. “I out drank Auston, so now I’m celebrating.” You refused to take no for an answer leaning across the table to grab another glass.

“Nope.” Auston picked up the glass before you could reach it.

“Auston.” You glared at him from across the table.

“You won, there’s nothing else to prove, time to go home.” Auston leaned back, knowing there would be no argument and that his word would be final.

“Don’t talk to me like im a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“Justin.” You huffed and turned too quickly toward your best friend causing you to stumble, but the mishap didn’t stop you, “Tell Auston to shut up.”

But before he could respond Morgan and Tessa were back, “We have a problem. Papparazi are outside and they aren’t leaving until you two come out. Morgan pointed toward you and Justin.

“She can’t even walk straight right now.” Justin pointed at you leaning against the table for support.

“Okay then what do we do because we have about 30 minutes until this place closes.” Willy reminded all of you looking down at his watch.

“I can call and get one of my guys to pick us up out front.” Justin gestured between himself and Hailey. “But I’m not letting her go out there like this.” He gestured toward you.

“Tell Mike to come around to the back.” Auston learned your drivers name from earlier when he dropped you all off at the bar. You insisted he take you, not trusting anyone else. “I’ve got an idea.”

Once the plan was set into place, Morgan, Tessa, Mitch, Steph, Willy, and a few of the younger guys all left first. Justin and Hailey prepared to leave next, preparing you as well without you knowing.

“Trust me. You guys go out the front and at the same time I’ll take her out the back, they’ll never know.” Auston reassured Justin.

“She’s gonna fight you, once she realizes what’s going on.”

“I can handle her.”

As Justin and Hailey walked toward the front door you frowned realizing that they were actually leaving not going to get another round like you thought.

Auston picked you up and placed you over his shoulder before you could react. You immediately began hitting his back and yelling at him to put you down. He got you to the back where Mike was waiting and placed you in the car getting in after.

“Don’t ever do that again!” You yelled stressing the first two words.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on it.” Auston put his hands up in defense.

“First off, I dont need you man handling me to get me out of a bar!” You yelled throwing your arms in the air, “Secondly, why did you wake him up?” Your finger flew toward the front seat.

Mike had been working as your driver since the beginning and more often than not where you went he followed. However, you never liked to make him stay up late just for you.

“You couldn’t stand up straight, let alone walk.” Auston fired back his voice also rising to match yours. “And it was either wake him up or your picture would be on the front page of every magazine tomorrow morning, drunk and stumbling.” Auston didn’t expect you to be overjoyed with how things went down, but he didn’t intend for you to be so ungrateful.

You knew you were wrong, but being stubborn was something you were good at. And you weren’t ready to apologize yet, so you crossed your arms and shifted your body so you were facing the window.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or all the bumps in the Toronto streets but you soon began to feel sick.

“Mike, can I please have a bag?” You asked waiting for the plastic bag to be handed back. As soon as it was you were throwing up into it.

You felt hands that could only belong to Auston bundle your hair into a ponytail as he held it out of your face. You wished you only got sick once, but unfortunately it was three more times before you sat back up. You tied up the bag and placed it on the ground and wiped your mouth.

“Thank you.” You mumbled as Auston let go of your hair and sat back in his seat.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied. The car fell back into silence and that’s how it remained for the rest of the drive.

The next morning you left Toronto very early, but not before you dropped off a gift at Scotiabank arena. Auston arrived to afternoon practice expecting it to be a tough one, but what he didn’t expect was the envelope waiting in his locker for him. It was blank except for one sentence ‘thank you and I’m sorry’

He opened up the envelope and smiled at the contents. Inside were six vip tickets to your show in Arizona along with backstage passes.

It was over three months ago when Auston explained that his little cousins loved you and wanted to attend your concert but it sold out before they could buy tickets, of course this admission was also followed by a jab about him not understanding why anyone would want to see you. But you remembered the conversation and figured it was the start to an apology.

He tucked the envelope into his bag and sent you a quick text. ‘Thanks, I’ll see you in Arizona’

#famous reader #hockey #maple leafs #nhl blurb #nhl #toronto maple leafs #celebrity reader #hockey imagine #justin bieber #william nylander #mitch marner #morgan rielly #steph marner #tessa virtue #bar #nhl imagine

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bekolxeram · 5 months ago

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S8 opening disaster predictions

I was patiently waiting for more bts material before making my predictions, but due to recent events, it seems like we're not going to get much more before the premiere, so here goes nothing, I'm making wild guesses out of what we've got so far. (No, we're not going to Oz.)

Bees

We've all seen the constant reference to bees in promos, the latest official teaser seems to indicate a bee-nado as well. I don't think it's an actual tornado with bees in it, or even a The Swarm style large scale bee disaster. In that film the bees crash 2 military helicopters, derail a train and contribute to a nuclear meltdown. I don't think ABC would greenlight The Swarm parody or an actual bee-tornado, especially after how widely mocked Lone Star was for that frozen man CPR scene.

I can see it being a severe bee infestation with multiple bee sting emergencies. Whenever a swamp of bees is reported by media, it's often described as... you've guessed it, a bee tornado. I can totally see the 118 dealing with bee attacks in 8x01.

I can't think of how the bees alone would be a major disaster though. A couple unfortunate people might get stung by a swamp, some more unlucky firefighters might have to fight through the bees to get to the patient, but it's hardly a city-wide catastrophe. I highly doubt the opening disaster is just about the bees.

Plane

I've already written why I think S8's big disaster would be aviation related, judging by the few photos and clips uploaded by the crew.

Every international airport in the US is required to have enough resources to deal with regular aviation incidents like bird strikes, hot brakes, engine failures, minor runway excursions, etc. There must be a very real possibility of a catastrophic mass casualty event for the fire department to send in engines from outside the airport for support.

The emergency vehicles we see in the hangar seem to be parked neatly in rows, so I don't think it's the case of a plane rapidly dropping out of the sky, looking for a place to land as soon as possible, or a sudden accident happening within the vicinity of the airfield. Emergency services have already been notified before the aircraft's arrival, so the trucks are just waiting on the side.

One real life example I can think of that matches these 2 conditions would be JetBlue Flight 292 in 2005. The A320 was flying from Burbank to New York when the pilots realized they couldn't retract the landing gear after takeoff. The crew tried troubleshooting while hand-flying the plane in a holding pattern (the stuck gear prevented the autopilot and the auto-throttle from engaging) to no avail, so they decided to divert to Long Beach and suggested doing a low fly-by for airport officials to assess the damage to the landing gear before attempting to land. It was reported back that the nose gear of the A320 was rotated 90° to the left, meaning it was completely perpendicular to the direction of the fuselage.

In the case of unsafe landing gear, pilots would usually attempt a gear up belly landing instead, as most modern airliners are designed to handle that. Since the nose gear was sideways in this case, retracting it was not possible, so the pilots decided to hold over the city for more than 2 hours in order to burn fuel (A320s can't dump fuel), then attempt to land at LAX, since its runways are longer and wider.

The LAFD mobilized over 100 firefighters all across the city to the airport and positioned them at different locations along the runway on standby. On the other hand, news stations sent out flocks of helicopters to broadcast the whole incident live on TV. Not only their loved ones at home, but the passengers themselves could utilize the in-flight entertainment system to tune in and witness the very plane they were on circling over LA, with aviation experts on air discussing the potential disastrous scenarios they might encounter.

At around 18:00, the flight crew turned off the in-flight entertainment system and gave the passengers a few minutes to call their loved ones. After that, the plane successfully landed at LAX with 1000 feet of runway to spare. No one was injured.

This is what's left of the nose gear wheels.

I'm not saying it will be exactly like this incident, but a major mechanical failure that hinders an aircraft's ability to land safely would fit the most.

Prisoner

Apparently Athena will be on a flight escorting a prisoner in 8x02, at least according to that person working at ONT who posted the photo with Angela on reddit. Naturally, some theorized that the prison would have something to do with the plane going down. I've seen nothing to disprove this theory so far, so it's absolutely a possibility. Although, that would make it the second time in a row a sort of transport vessel with Athena in it runs into a disaster caused by criminal sabotage. It's predictable and repetitive. I also haven't seen in bts stuff the amount of cops required for a hijacking scenario.

What I've noticed from crew photos is that the plane outside of the hangar during filming is a Boeing aircraft, while the cockpit we see earlier at the studio is an Airbus. If there are indeed two different airplanes involved in 8x02, then I can see maybe an impending emergency landing shutting down the airport, the prisoner being stuck inside of a plane on the ground decides to open an emergency exit and makes a run for it. Athena tracking down the prisoner would be the B-plot or something I don't know. I have 0 evidence to back it up, it's just a wild guess.

Sankes Bees on a plane?

Bees swarm airplanes all the time, but getting inside is a different story.

It's kind of hard to miss a swarm of buzzing bees inside an airplane. After pre-flight inspections by technicians and the flight crew, security checks by the cabin crew, the time it takes for the passengers to embark and the baggage to be loaded. then pushing back and taxiing, if a swarm of bees somehow still goes unnoticed, I guess everyone has to be blind and deaf.

Also, if the nature of the disaster is merely a bunch of angry bees attacking people on a plane, it would be quite boring? It would just be a lot of first responders triaging people and applying first aid.

What if the the bees are in the cockpit and the pilots are stung? Well, do both of them just happen to be allergic to bees at the same time? If so, I can maybe see a passenger onboard having to land the plane listening to instructions from the ground. I say 80% chance it'll end badly, thus needing fire rescue. But still, it's a very improbable scenario that requires way to many coincidences.

Bee strike

Airplanes accidentally hit wildlife in the air all the time, the most common one is bird strike, but there have also been locust strike, bat strike, even fish strike.

A swarm of bees is not like a flock of geese, bees don't have bones and are much lighter in mass, so while they can still cause some minor damages to the engine(s), it's usually not a big deal. The leftover bee goo on the windshield might affect visibility, but modern airliners have so many automated systems and navigational aid in place that they can pretty much land in 0 visibility.

So the bees have nothing to do with the plane?

Not exactly, bees and wasps are actually a serious hazard to aviation safety, but not in the way you would think.

Some species of bees and wasps like to build their nests in small, exposed cavities belonging to an aircraft, especially the pitot tubes.

A pitot tube is a crucial instrument on the fuselage of an aircraft that measures its airspeed. If it becomes clogged by foreign objects, in this bees, wasps and/or their nest, the pilots would be left with unreliable airspeed indications. If they unknowingly fly too slow, the plane risks stalling and crashing, like Birgenair Flight 301 in 1996. Air France Flight 447 also stalled and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean due to blocked pitot tubes, but this time not caused by insects, they were blocked by icing.

Brisbane Airport in Australia struggles with wasps infestation particularly badly. In 2013, some mud daubers managed to clog the pitot tubes on an Etihad A330 in under 2 hours, resulting in an overweight emergency landing. For that, airport authority recommended the use of pitot tube covers for aircrafts on the ground, but that causes a whole new problem.

Although the pitot tube covers are big red things with "REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT" written on them, ground crews forgot to remove them before pushing back... twice! The 2022 incident was luckily caught just in time by a refueller nearby, but in 2018, the Malaysian Airlines A330 actually took off with all 3 pitot tube covers still on and the flight crew had to circle back to the airport with no airspeed indications.

While pitot tubes seem to be the most popular among bees and wasps, there have been cases of other openings on an aircraft being blocked by wasps. This Gulfstream business jet had its cabin pressurization relief valve clogged by dried dirt from a mud dauber, leading to a cabin over-pressurization event.

There shouldn't be a catastrophic crash because of unreliable airspeed if the pilots are well trained, but I can imagine a TV show finding some even more crucial flight instruments to be clogged by bees.

Bees as indirect contributors

Of course it can also be the case of bees just happen to sting the one person keeping the aircraft safe. Maybe bees distracted a small aircraft or drone pilot, causing a midair collision.

Or it could be an important airplane mechanic missing work to recover from bee stings. Just last week, an article was published on the Seattle Times detailing the timeline leading up to the Alaska Airlines 737 Max 9 door plug blowout incident. It was revealed that there was basically only one single mechanic who would work on door plugs. On the 2 days when the door plug in question had to be opened and closed back up to replace damaged rivets, the mechanic happened to be on vacation. His replacement, a young trainee, had no idea what they were doing, and the 737 with a ticking time bomb of a door plug rolled straight out of the shop.

Aviation experts have commented that if the door plug exited the aircraft at a higher altitude, the result would be much more catastrophic: some parts in the cabin could be ripped off, objects would fly out of the plane and possibly ingested into the engine, and if the plane hit cruising altitude, unbuckled passengers and flight attendants up and walking around the cabin would be sucked right out.

Tommy's role in this disaster

The 217 truck is right there next to the 118 one, so Tommy's house is definitely involved. It probably happens at the airport where the 217 is located as well. We've already seen Tommy working on the ground in 7x06, he'll be needed in this kind of all hands on deck situation at his station's airport too.

He could also be airlifting seriously injured patients to the hospital. One service Air Ops provide that is often overlooked, is VIP transport. Tommy may be asked to fly higher ups of the fire department around the airport to assess the situation. LAFD helicopters were deployed for the JetBlue 292 incident in fact.

*Whisper*

There’s also a chance that Tommy’s helicopter will crash. One crashed in New York back in July because its fuel vent was clogged by a wasp nest.🫣

But I hope not, not so soon. Let me see them be cute and sweet for a while first, that’ll make the angst more delicious.

Conclusion

My predictions are probably super wrong, I don't have a lot to work with, so take them with a grain of salt, maybe think of this as simply a fun read about planes. These all are about as accurate as the Wizard of Oz theory, only I didn't grow up watching classic fantasy musical like a normal person, I watched all 24 seasons of Mayday.

I guess we'll find out in a month.

#911 speculation #911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard

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