#I hope I'll have time to do the rest soon so you all can experience an awsome story

[lordplavis]

The journey has been rough. The bureaucracy to get a visa, the customs agents and the constant checkpoints and ‘random’ searches. Now though you’ve finally reached the village you grew up in. Not much has changed even though you haven’t been here since before the War. Even the old Pub is the still mostly the same except for the soldiers of course. You sit down and drink your whine enjoying the sunset and watching people going about their lives outside. You see a young woman approaching the pub. Your eye is caught by her fiery red hair and almost scandalously boyish attire but you remind yourself that people dressing like this has become more common even here out on the countryside. You return your attention back to the inside greeting an old neighbor of yours. You were just about to ask how things have been for them since you left when your view is filled by the woman you have seen before. She is smaller than you thought wearing a half decent suit a camera and a leather bag hung around her neck. She smiles at you asking you where you are from a what you are doing in the village. You answer her, and she nods while rummaging through her bag and pulling out a piece of paper and putting it In front of you saying “you seam alright maybe this will interest you” before continuing on to another table with two other people. Still a bit confused you take a look at the first page of what appears to be a small cheaply printed newspaper…

[cinhomi]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: boyfriend's best friend Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you should've left your boyfriend sooner considering the man of your dreams, his best friend, has always been there for you... but the faithful event you were hoping for finally occurs and you find yourself at his house, in his arms, in his bed.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst?, smut, fluff, aquaintances to lovers

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cheating (but not really, you'll see), reader is in a toxic relationship, explicit descriptions of sexual acts, unprotected sex (it's sexy but use protection babes), fingering, pretty vanilla.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4K

I have a thing for sex while it rains, it seems... and like this I post something after months. I'll work this storyline in the future too for Hyunjin, but for now, enjoy!

It's strange how sometimes we believe to be in the right place to later find out we were living in a lie, a product of our fervid imagination, just to not accept reality and the fact that life, or even our past self, played a good and structured not-so-funny prank on us.

These lies we tell ourselves most of the time are a response to our awful experiences, but they can become harmful in numerous types of ways, and we should learn that instead of letting us be tempted by sweet beliefs. When we find ourselves facing reality it's hard to accept it, it's ugly, but ugly things are part of life and we should try and accept them nonetheless, they may reveal themselves as lessons or the best things that happened to us, with various meanings to that.

What pisses people off the most is the "waste of time". And that's how you feel too, like the rest of humankind, angry because you wasted time. You would very gladly prefer to be in the denial stage of the whole thing but it's so evident that you can't even pretend to be doubtful, to question what you saw, to give him a chance to explain himself.

The car is still cold even if you already reached the destination that popped in your mind right after what happened, salty tears adorning your eyes as they cross your freezing cheeks, collecting under your chin, falling on your scarf. The same damn scarf he gifted you after your first two weeks of dating, the one you didn't even like at all, the color you hated, a dull pattern over it… the urge to pull down the car window and throw it outside in the middle of the parking lot soon becomes reality. Wind starts to rise a bit, and you see it dance on the wet concrete for a while before a car passes over it and plasters it on the ground.

Ironic, right? You feel a bit bad after the impulsive gesture, but he didn't hesitate to make you feel the same, so, "screw it".

You shouldn't even be here. You should go to your own best friend, sitting on her way too low couch with its broken springs and cry your eyes out as she yells at you her usual "I told you so!" and "You're an idiot, I knew it from the start!" even if what you really need is comfort, and not to be scolded like a twelve years old while she offers you chocolates and tissues like in some chiché romcom.

That's why Hyunjin's place is just few meters and five floors away from you now. You're actually hesitant to get out the car but when you see your boyfriend's text appear on your screen, asking where are you, it's suddenly not so difficult to take your things and rush to take the elevator, and when you send Hyunjin a message telling him you're in front of his apartment he's quick to open the door. He doesn't say a thing, he doesn't even dare to, he already knows.

He delicately takes your hand in his and guides you inside with a saddened smile, his eyes soft as they watch you attentively trying to search for your tears. God, he wants to kiss them all away, he never wants to see you like this ever again, but he thinks it's probably not the last time… is it? Either way, he'll do anything he can to make the redness of your eyes disappear.

"Go sit on the couch petal, relax for me, hm?" he says in a hushed tone to not provoke your impending outburst. When you're finally hugged by his cushions you feel his presence behind you, his hands going on your shoulders to free you from your heavy coat and bag that he places on his forearm. When he reaches for your scarf his fingers are suddenly met with the cold skin of your neck and a startled "oh!" escapes from him because of the unexpected touch, making you giggle. If only you knew how his heart starts beating faster whenever he hears you like this…

"Where is your scarf? You always wear it, were you in such a rush to leave it at your place?" he's now lowered near your face, breath tickling your cheek as he adjusts your jumper on your shoulders ー the stained one you only wear at home, you didn't even change, how embarrassing. He touches you like frail porcelain and little bumps start to rise on your skin where traces of his touch linger, you wish his fingerprints could bruise your skin.

"I threw it in the parking lot…" you explain, looking at him trying to not make your lips touch while doing so.

A laugh that comes from his chest slowly builds up as he lifts himself and reluctantly distances from your face to go place your belongings on the hanger at the entrance. If only he knew how your heart twists in excitement whenever you hear him like this…

Hyunjin doesn't come back to you immediately. He always makes sure you have enough time to think by yourself first, to gather your words, to decide if you want to cry or yell, and then he sits beside you and goes along with anything you've come up with. It's always been like this until today, every time you came to his place after something happened between you and his best friend, every time he had to gather your broken pieces and try to put you together again. He doesn't know he's always done that beautifully though, making a breathtaking mosaic out of you, making you so splendid and wonderful anyone could say he's your creator.

You hear a distant rustling in the kitchen, the clicking of the bottles in the fridge as he closes it with a thud, two glasses colliding it seems, and his slippers sliding on the floor, approaching you.

"You're lucky petal, I have your favorite today." he proceeds to place the glasses on the way too elegant coffee table and pour the drink with all the calmness in the world. Time with Hyunjin stops. You think that every second spent with him is never wasted.

"I like this clip, it compliments your hair color." he says suddenly, snapping you out of your trance. How could he notice such a thing?

"Really? It's the first time I wear it…" you still mumble a bit, too shaken to let your voice take its natural timbre. Hyunjin laughs again, handing you the drink and carefully sitting so as to not spill everything on his expensive carpet. His body is completely facing yours, knee against knee.

"It's not true!" Hyunjin takes a sip and giggles at your confused expression.

"You had it the first time we met, too. It was perfect with your dress and necklace. Do you really not remember? You looked beautiful…"

What Hyunjin refers to is a random saturday evening of autumn. What day it was, what you were wearing, what you did before meeting in front of the restaurant, you can't remember… but what you can vividly recall is the stinging sensation of the first cold breeze of the season on your cheeks, how crunchy multicolored leaves swirled on the sidewalk, and the city lights beginning to be turned on a bit earlier than usual. Now that you think about it, it was around this period. You remember what perfume you wore, paying attention to what type of impression you wanted to give to your boyfriend's group of friends that you were about to meet for the first time, and you even remember what mascara you decided to use.

But what remained tattooed on your bones the most are the first ten seconds of Hwang Hyunjin taking possess of your vision, because you felt incredibly sick.

If you close your eyes and concentrate you can almost feel the same emotions, when your stomach swirled like it was a washing machine, your head light, and your legs almost giving in making you trip while standing still.

You felt incredibly guilty, disgusted with yourself, disappointed, a monster. Why the hell your first thought was "he's my soulmate" and not something along the lines of "nice, my boyfriend's best friend" you still don't know. Call it destiny, call it sixth sense, you immediately tried to suppress it all.

It didn't help that Hyunjin's slender fingers delicately took your hand to kiss your knuckles with his oh, oh so beautiful lips like an ambassador of chivalry itself, his siren eyes looking up at you sweetly but confidently, making you blush like crazy ー you later blamed your flustered expression to the restaurant's excessive heating.

On top of that, your boyfriend decided to sit at your side leaving Hyunjin in front of you, so you had his ridiculously handsome face in sight for the whole night as you ate your stupid california rolls and tried to elegantly slurp your noodles ー for as much as something like that is even possible.

You talked, a lot, even if you felt your face heat up at every strangely seductive giggling sound he made together with the little bumps his shoes would land on your naked ankles, toying with your heels from time to time. You had so much in common, and after that you only felt complete when he was near you.

Your boyfriend did catch on with the new dynamic though, so unfortunately considering how jealous and a bit possessive he is, you and Hyunjin didn't see each other as often as you expected after that, but you really didn't grasp that it was because he wanted you apart at first, just a series of unfortunate coincidences.

Hyunjin parted from you with a tight hug, lingering his hands on the smaller of your back, adjusting your shawl over your coat and twirling a strand of your hair behind your ear, the moment never fully leaving your memory. He was… perfect, really just perfect, and you couldn't help but feel nauseous when you got in the car with your boyfriend to let him accompany you to your apartment, the thought of another man being more suited for you making you feel like you were cheating. You only felt relieved when you talked about all his friends during the ride and he revealed that Hyunjin is "a bit of a player, y'know, he flirts with everyone and he has those french manners, but he's always been like this." so you thought that maybe your feelings would slowly fade… but they always, always rested down the bottom of your heart, even if you pushed them away forcefully, almost violently.

No one knows you two meet up from time to time now, because one time you found yourself crying in a corner on his shouler. No one knows that you always seem happy and carefree only because you talk with Hyunjin, because he comforts you when you need it without complaining. Not that it needs to be a secret, but you both are well aware that it may result suspicious to meet with your boyfriend's best friend late at night, best friend's girlfriend from his side.

And the fact that you two always seem to attract each other like magnets, so close, with instant connection, it doesn't let thoughts stray further from the idea of something tender existing between the two of you, everyone can see it.

It's just that it's prohibited. Or, to say it better, you were too caught in your lies to even contemplate the idea of leaving your boyfriend and Hyunjin simply didn't want to betray his "friend". But when you started to message him asking for advice, when you later had long calls together, when you crumbled in his arms crying almost weekly, he wasn't so sure about having a best friend anymore.

"I… you really think I was beautiful?"

Your question comes from the heart. The mixture of the memories of that night and his proximity makes heat rise on your face, shyness visible from the automatic action of your teeth catching your bottom lip and your gaze straying from his face to linger on the glass in your hands. The bubbles of the drink fizzle on the surface and for a moment or two that's all that can be heard in the room.

"You're always beautiful, y/n. I told you many times." he says cautiously, putting down everything to wrap his hands around your wrist.

"I don't know how he doesn't make you feel like you are, I don't know why he treats you like this but, petal, you're an incredible woman," he lowers his head to look into your eyes as he tries to explain himself further, "smart and strong. He's an asshole and you should stop doing this to yourself."

Does he know? Does he know what your boyfriend did? Probably not. Hyunjin would never hurt you, he would've immediately told you. You want to make sure though, in case everything that involves Hyunjin is a lie too.

"Why are you his friend then? Why do you keep coming to our house and have dinner as we fake not knowing each other like we really do? Why do you keep on hanging out with him? If you really think he's terribleー"

"Because I want to protect you."

His reply is fast, cutting you off. His stare bores into your eyes and drinks in all of your feelings, like he can see them displayed in front of him. A few seconds of silence fill the room and you suddenly gulp down your drink until the last drop, sprinting up from your seat and escaping his intoxicating presence that's almost engulfing you.

Hyunjin doesn't say a thing. He waits, he can sense that something big happened this time and fuck if he's going to kill his "friend" after this. You were never this silent, you usually would storm inside and throw yourself on him… for as much as he dislikes seeing you like this, he's grateful for your presence, for the feel of your body against his, the trust you put into him. He doesn't do all this just to be a rebound, he already knows part of him is yours and vice versa, so he's simply waiting. Everyone considers him being a romantic man, but really, he just believes in destiny. When Hyunjin first saw you every cell in his body started to boil, goosebumps rising down his nape, the world destroyed itself and was reborn before him, it's impossible that it didn't matter at all.. That was the day he realized he didn't know what "love" meant before.

He watches your silhouette get near the big windows that face the road, little droplets of water striking them. The sound of the rain reaches your ears only when you notice the detail, and soon you see how much water is actually coming down from the sky, your scarf already soaked and dirty laying alone between various cars. You take a deep breath, thinking about your next words, a way to tell Hyunjin what happened without sounding pathetic as you concentrate on the mesmerizing foliage outside, reds and oranges and yellows decorating the city landscape.

"He accidentally left his phone at home since he rushed to his office, I don't exactly know why…" you started to explain, hands fidgeting with your rings, heavy breath obstructing your throat, "and I heard a notification so I went to check right?"

Hyunjin slowly gets up and approaches you, his warmth radiating behind you now, hands resting on your shoulders and caressing them as he listens and slowly gets closer and closer until he's hugging you.

"So, petal? What was it about? Did you find porn?" he tries to guess, but when you shake your head as a 'no' a cold chill goes through his back. Oh, oh no…

"It… it was a message, a very sexual one, coming from a saved contact, I don't even remember the name." you pout, looking down almost in shame even if you're not the responsible one. Maybe it's the shame of having a cheater as a partner.

"I opened the chat Hyunie. They've been sexting for months and from what I could grasp they even met few times…" you can feel tears start to form on your waterline again, a deep ache inside your chest rises when you finally say it out loud. One thing was to acknowledge it, another was to tell everything to the man you've secretly been in love with for a year already. What were you doing exactly all this time?

"Am I really not good enough for anyone, Hyunie? She's… she's so different from me… Am I really a disaster as he says? Why would he do that to me? I've always been a good girlfriend, I even ignored all those mean words and his being immature and the shitty sex!! I put aside my needs to make him happy thinking I was the problem!" you turn around to face him and you're met with his serious expression.

You expected to find him at least slightly surprised by your sudden show of emotions, but he's calm, he radiates calmness. Hyunjin sighs and looks in the distance behind you for a second, blinking ever so slowly, his touch traveling up to cup your cheeks and wipe your angry tears with his thumbs.

That's the final stroke, the gesture that makes you sob and bury your face in his chest to hide.

You aren't broken yet, it's almost as if Hyunjin is physically holding you together. He's trying to smooth the new sharp edges that formed around your heart to not let it be isolated, while hugging you he's working hard to let it be still approachable to receive and give love, he's trying with all he has to prevent a horrible plague that's trying to approach you.

You hold his shirt between your hands, tightly, you're afraid you'll ruin it but you can't stop, you need to ground yourself and try to be strong, but it's so hard to not let him sway you around the room, lullying you as he hushes you and lets his fingers comb your messy hair.

"Leave him."

You freeze.

Did he really say that? Hyunjin never said it out loud. He did make you understand his vision about the situation, he did suggest it with hidden phrases, but so explicitly…

"It's time to let him go, don't you think?" he presses his lips on your forehead, continuing to mumble his real feelings, "You don't need someone who mistreats you petal. You deserve better." he closes them in a kiss that leaves a mark on your soul, making you gasp.

"Hyunjin?" it takes a lot of strength to look up at him. His eyes seem less gentle, brows forming a frown that's not his usual playful one, a bit scary even. The mole under his eye is contracted and his mouth is curved in disgust, just enough for you to understand he's furious.

"Why don’t we put an end to this farce? He didn't even deserve you in the first place, you don't love him, stop doing this to yourself y/n. There's someone who's the right one, for sure…" his tone is desperate, but you want him to say it clearly. You can't help it, if it's to be sure or to satisfy a need you've been having for a while you don't know, but you want him to say it loud and clear.

You know that if he says it now everything will change and it'll be scary as fuck, but if that's a premise for a better life… maybe it's not as scary as you think, it's Hyunjin after all, the man who's looking at you in adoration.

"And what man could possibly want me at this point?" your voice is shaky and uncertain as you tease the confession out of him.

Hyunjin looks away and smiles, a bit frustrated. He wipes another tear away from your cheek and then places his hands on your waist.

"Me?" he fakes the question, smiling softly; "Be mine y/n."

Breath gets caught in your throat as he finally says it. It's wrong that you waited for it, it's wrong that your first instinct is to say yes without thinking about it.

"Hyunjin Iー"

"Ooh don't say you don't reciprocate, petal. I know you too well." he interrupts you, his hold a little tighter. Hyunjin tilts his head to the side, few strands of black raven hair following the motion and slightly covering his eyes. He's beautiful now, even more than in any other moment you've ever been with him. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man in the world and he wants you.

Your phone starts ringing. It's a strange moment to realize your ringtone is kind of cringe, cutting the tension weirdly… but you can't laugh, not right now. Both you and Hyunjin know who it is.

He's right. You should put an end to all this and start to think for yourself, about what you really want, need. This is not wrong. To love yourself isn't wrong, and Hyunjin makes you feel like the person you want to be.

"Do you want to pick up?" Hyunjin takes his hand under your chin again and directs it up to make your eyes meet his, gaze frenetic as he tries to not look at your tempting lips. Everything will depend on what you decide now. And you think quickly, under pressure, and you don't know if it's a good idea or not but you shake your head and hold him tighter, hiding again.

"Y/n, please look at me…"

The phone eventually stops ringing and silence overwhelms you when you can hear his fast heartbeat right against your ear. And it's because of you, it's for you, your heart starts to adapt to his and you almost feel pain in your chest. It's too much, too much…

Ah, that's it.

You get on your tiptoes to pull him down by his collar and make your lips crash together.

Hyunjin drags you towards him as if you kissed thousands of times before, immediately, tongue slipping into your mouth as you grant him access, making it run along yours. You hold his shoulders trying to search for your lost balance and he's quick to walk you towards his bedroom, he isn't even slightly hesitant.

The desperate sighs you two let out add into the sound of your first kiss; it's a relief, something you didn't imagine to need so badly. Hyunjin pushes you further into the room until your legs meet the mattress and you fall on it guided by him, a knee starting to press beside you as he cradles on the bed on top of you. He can't stop kissing you.

Hyunjin clumsily reaches the lamp on the nightstand to turn it on and oh, oh if this is even better than any fantasy he's ever had… seeing you panting with that flustered expression, your legs already crossing beneath him, jumper half lifted up, your hair all disheveled since you quickly reached for your clip and threw it somewhere in the room. You just look breathtaking in his eyes, even more than any other moment he's ever thought about it. He has to let you know. You didn't think he'd turn on the light but maybe you can put aside your shyness for once if it means having this type of gaze reserved to you.

Your hands try to reach his shirt to pull him out of his trance and he resumes his kissing, hands flying on your sides as they slowly, painfully slowly slide down until he's hooking your pants. Hyunjin lowers down to press chaste kisses on the little part of your cleavage that is exposed, going down to your stomach, then your belly, until he darts his tongue out to lick a stripe just above your groin, leaving a longer kiss there while he proceeds to undress you.

The way you feel embarrassed when you remember you're wearing plain, white cotton panties… but it's honestly sending him haywire. The fact that you didn't expect to end up like this, a confirmation that you didn't plan anything to happen, it's making Hyunjin even harder in his confines. You're so wet your juices dampened the fabric, making it almost transparent, and he sighs at the faint outline of your cunt now puffy and pulsing… and he still has to touch you properly.

Hyunjin is honestly the same. You can't see it but waves of excitement run over him so violently he physically trembles and his legs give in from time to time.

“I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't dare to come back to him…” it's whisperes, almost as if he's accidentally thinking out loud but it makes you clench. Hyunjin's fingers start to tease you on top of the fabric, seeing the wet patch getting larger and larger. You can't believe this part of him exists… how many things do you still have to learn about him?

Hyunjin keeps on touching you there but this time he starts flicking, snapping his fingers where you're most sensitive, the tingles that start to make you jolt are strong and they make your breath sharp.

“H-Hyunjin…” your stuttering voice slightly higher as you call for him, he rolls his eyes back.

“Hyunjin please…” you can't help but pant, wrapping your hand around his forearm to try and make him slow down. Is this what those stupid magazines talked about? That sex feels better when you do it with someone you love? So fucking true.

Hyunjin feels on cloud nine. He starts paying attention on your neck tenderly but still with open-mouthed kisses as his fingers subtly slide your panties to the side. “Yeah petal, let me hear you, let me…” his words get lost as he concentrates. Ah, it's uncomfy for him. Hyunjin lifts your legs and carelessly slides your underwear off with a hiss, his eyes closing like they've been blinded by the vision of the Virgin Mary for a second, then maniacally staring at your bare cunt, digits caressing your wet folds mere seconds before plunging into your entrance.

You can only let out a choked moan and push your head back onto his soft cushions, that smells just like him. You're completely surrounded by his presence when his scent is all around you, his fingers move smoothly to work you open and his mouth is now latched around your nipple, his forehead pushing your jumper further up. When the hell did he…

“Is it good?” his voice displaying signs of fatigue, urgency and need buried deep inside him. You know his fingers are long but God if they can reach otherworldly places. It's not the in-and-out motion but the brushing of your g-spot that makes your legs close around his sides and poke his ribcage with your knees; he doesn't mind, your tits keep him occupied enough to make him mindlessly keep going. Hyunjin decides that prefers your chest covered in love marks over any art piece he's ever seen these past years, so nothing can disturb his work in progress. Maybe the work itself.

“‘S good Hyunie, Hyun…” it's difficult to breathe, it's difficult to think straight as the bumps of his fingers touch your insides so precisely, as if you've always done this and he already knew your body by memory.

“Did his fingers ever make you feel like this? Hm?”

The question makes you sigh along with a moan. You shake your head.

“Did he ever kiss you like I do?” and Hyunjin kisses you again as the movement of his fingers fastens. His teeth catch your bottom lip and his tongue slides against yours before he sucks it, drool making it shine where you two meet; passionate and euphoric, it feels like experimenting fireworks. You follow his lips when he detaches, but he just smiles and starts pressing his thumb on your bare clit. “Tell me, petal.”

“N-no…”

Hyunjin feels it, the way you start clenching around him, hard. He almost can't move anymore. So he whispers, just above the squelching of his palm spreading your wetness.

“Wanna go to Heaven with me, y/n?”

How, how can you say no? You need Hyunjin, even more than oxygen right now, he already has you completely. Your hands hurry on the button somehow miraculously keeping his pants together, and you reach his zip and pull the fly, that struggles to slide down ー he's too full.

“Wanna try how a real man makes you feel?”

You nod almost too eagerly and he chuckles within a whiffle. Hyunjin deprives you of his fingers despite your whines of protest and spreads your juices all over his face, tongue swirling on his hand. A low groan comes out from him, his touch moving to your hips where he squeezes, plush skin bending under his grip. It's all in contrast with the look in his eyes as he stares at your face, your reactions, as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

You're so distracted that when you feel something poke your inner thigh you gasp, and can only stare… his cock springs free from his confines altogether, long, slim and leaking, underside vein pulsating under the pads of his fingers as he pumps himself few times, precum dripping on your groin. Hyunjin's eyebrows are knitted together as he grinds between your legs, his still sticky hand moving your lower body closer so that he lifts you back up to wrap his arms around you, hugging you ever so gently.

His full lips kiss your cleavage and he curses under his breath because of his choice to not take all your clothes off but there's not much time anymore. You close your fists on his shirt, the lines of the fabric changing their shape under your hold while you wait for him, subtly writhing impatiently.

“Hyun please hurry…” not once in your life you've been this desperate for a man to fuck you. It's not because of the wait, not because you're horny, it's just that it's Hyunjin.

“Say it.” his eyes are darker, but they shine with the yellow-ish light in the room. He clears your forehead by adjusting your hair away.

You know what he's doing and it's nothing different from what you did before, in the living room, so you're more than willing to satisfy his request. You try to regain a bit of composure and steady your breath before speaking up, his head twitching together with every movement of yours.

"I want you, Hyunjin. I want you, please.”

A big bright smile spreads on his face as his head drops low, in disbelief. Hyunjin didn't imagine those words would have such a strong effect on him but here he is, blushing and trying to hold back a giggle. When he looks back at you he's serious again, eyes piercing into yours.

“I'm going in, hm? I wanna hear you scream my name through it all. Is that clear petal?”

What you'd give to hear him call you petal until the end of time, he says it and it's like dripping honey, he says it and you melt. The warm pool of pleasure in your belly tightens again as you say a shaky “yes”. You're his delicate, fragile petal.

His tip rests just before your entrance for a second while he takes a deep breath, breaching you gently. It's not a big stretch but his veins are already making your eyelids flutter and your lips part. Inch by inch, Hyunjin makes sure you feel his cock going deep, concern showing on your features as he doesn't come to an halt. He does, eventually, but the time he took to do it seemed eternal. “Oh my- Hyunie-”

“Bet my dick feels better than his,” he smirks between the kisses he's leaving under your jawline, “I bet mine's longer too.”

His comments only add fuel to the fire. He's bigger, he's better, the curve of his cock lands exactly on the spot that makes you black out. As you remember that you're technically still in a relationship your phone rings again. It's a distant sound, it's in another room, covered by yours and Hyunjin's sighs and moans, but he hears it too. Hyunjin stops every movement, hips against yours as he's fully inside you. He lifts himself up just enough to check on you. You look at him too.

You don't exchange any word, there's no need to, because you both arch your lips upwards and meet mid-air for another kiss, tender but messy as he moves backwards to get a starting point to his thrusts. The ringtone eventually dies making room to the faint dripping of the rain outside.

You feel warm, squeezing his cock just right and he's sure he will never let you go, never let you change your mind.

“Pussy ‘s so tight petal, was made for me, ‘m sure,” and he starts moving with consistency, picking up a pleasant rhythm, “you're so fucking perfect.”

His necklace is cold against your skin as he keeps on holding you flush against him, as well as your rings leaving icy lines on his back when your hands slip under his shirt and hold onto his shoulder blades. Hyunjin throbs inside you, drawing loud moans out of you that someone will for sure complain about. He thrusts harder, faster, every second that passes and you can only call for his name, yours being whispered by him against your skin making you shiver.

“Waited so long, so fucking long-” a guttural sound interrupting him, “since that time at the club, wanted to make you mine.” he mumbles, words hardly making sense but you decipher them anyway and when you realize what he's talking about the confused memories of it flood your mind. You, swaying your hips in front of him, grinding your ass on his crotch following the music; Hyunjin's hands right under your breasts guiding you together with him, his breath fanning on your neck, drying your tears completely as those three drinks made your head light enough to not care about any problem you complained about minutes before. It was just you and Hyunjin, all this would've happened sooner if a series of coincidences didn't happen.

“You would've let me take you in the bathroom, isn't that right?” Hyunjin asks, not losing concentration even for a second. “I wanted to bring you here, and fuck the sadness away. Every time, y/n, I wanted to tell you to forget him and be with me.”

You feel him stretch his arm between your bodies, and you feel your swollen bud stimulated again, you both whine against each other.

“‘M with you now Hyunie, want only you, ‘m yours babe.”

He's so fast now, the snapping of his hips moving you up and down the mattress… your words affect him on a visceral level.

“I choose you, I'll leave him for you-”

“Fuck!” he's close, so, so close and your walls tightening more and more and more are making him go crazy. Little beads of sweat decorate his forehead, a caramel-like smell coming from him as the crown of his head dampens and some hair stick to his forehead.

His tip keeps abusing your sweet spot, the kiss you share is feverish, your nails dig into his skin and his hold bruises your soft one. Both your bellies contract and before you can process it you're coming, white pois pattern creating over your blinding vision. You say his name out loud, dragging it together with your last moan as the hardest orgasm ever washes over you. Hyunjin pulls out just in time, copious white ropes of cum landing on your stomach like dripping art. Hyunjin loses track of space and time for a few moments as he comes down from his high, then takes you close to him when he lays next to you. Your heavy breath fills every other sound in your ears as you get comfortable hiding in his muscular chest. Your body spasms, all energy left your body already and your chest rises and falls frantically.

Hyunjin caresses your cheek and kisses your hair. It's peaceful. You just had sex with your boyfriend's best friend and it feels peaceful. It starts to feel a bit cold so he grabs the soft sheets near him and covers both of you.

“When will you tell him, petal?”

The question floats in the air for a while. You start playing with his necklace, making it dance between your fingers. He starts to worry a bit, when you don't answer him, but he decides to be patient, like always.

“After we eat something, I'll send him a text.” you seem resolute, and he's convinced. “Can I stay here tonight?”

He's a bit taken aback, his eyes narrowing in surprise: “Wasn't it obvious? You'll stay here from now on anyway.” and he says it so naturally, you think he's thought about this moment a lot… it makes you smile.

Hyunjin rolls to the side briefly, taking some tissues to wipe yours and his stomach since his sticky cum was still there, and kisses the tip of your nose adjusting your jumper back to its original place before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his phone, after finally freeing himself of his shirt. His back is slender yet defined, long, his spine making a beautiful curve. Your eyes travel from his nape to his glutes, the ones of a dancer. There's a doubt still in the back of your mind, you need to make it disappear.

“Are you… sad, that you can't be friends with him anymore?”

He doesn't even bother looking at you to answer, he keeps scrolling on the delivery app searching for something you may want to eat, the words he's about to say seeming obvious to him.

“We haven't been friends for a while already. I understood he's not the guy I met years ago, he changed, and I don't like to be around him anymore. Don't worry petal, it's not entirely because of you, I already wanted to part from him but you came into our lives so I endured it some more to stay with you… and it was worth it.” one of his hands shifts position behind him and taps the covers to signal for you to hold it. Your fingers interlace and he looks at you over his shoulder, slowly turning around, his body twisting slightly as he leans back again and kisses you sweetly yet still with some need.

Your breath is now steady, you're relaxed and it feels like Heaven, just like he promised.

"Pizza?"

You giggle and he follows.

“I love you y/n. I love you.”

[peachsayshi]

I have an a request!!! What about boy dad gojo taking care of his son while his s/o is sick? Maybe he takes him to work and face time her with his son when he has a break or between classes?? And his son misses her a lot cause it’s his first time seeing her sick🥹

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni   ➳  tags: fluff; dad gojo and son reader

"mama! wanna talk to mama!"

"easy, tiger," satoru consoles, using his long arm to pull the phone away from his son's grabbing fingers.

"dada, wanna talk to mama!" his son insists, inching his body forward which prompts satoru to adjust his legs so his boy doesn't climb off his thighs. using his other hand, the sorcerer lightly runs his fingers through his child's soft locks to calm down his excitement while and in the meantime taps away at the screen to video call you.

"there you go," he whispers as he brings the phone to his son's line of sight, his heart swelling when you finally answer the call.

"hi," you croak softly, your voice thick and hoarse while you rub your tired eyes. "what time is it?"

"it's lunch-"

"mama!" your son interrupts, his small hands curling over satoru's fingers as he holds both sides of the screen. "mama, miss you!"

"hey, cutie", you reply with a tiny smile, but satoru can see the exhaustion weighing heavy on your face. "miss you soo much,"

you've been sick for the last four days. a terrible cold that's kept you bedridden. satoru and your son have been isolating to make sure that they don't catch what you have, but your boys have been wallowing without you around. your son has been extra needy and keeps bringing up his "mama" every chance he can get. satoru is in the same position as well, hating that he can't cuddle up to you in the middle of the night, or that he can't wake up to your good morning kisses.

"mama sick," your son says with a furrow of his brows, moving his hand over the screen like he's trying to touch your face. "mama get better ok?"

he's still learning his words, trying to form whatever sentences he can with the vocabulary that he has.

you nod your head, "yeah, baby, I'll be better soon,"

your son smiles at the camera, his eyes twinkling with delight. "kisses!" he announces, before leaning forward and pressing his lips onto the phone screen.

you blow him back three kisses in return.

at this point satoru can't help but feel a little left out, so he arches forward to rest his chin on his son's shoulder, the two of them now centering the screen.

it's wild seeing them both together because they really do look like twins. your son's hair stands as a harsh contrast because it is identical to yours, but his eyes are a blend of your love. there's an icy blue that pierces through his natural color on the left side, a unique trait that distinguishes him entirely.

"can I get some kisses too?" satoru pouts at the camera, and your son obliges but placing one kiss on his cheek.

satoru can't help but grin, "thanks, rugrat, but I was hoping the kisses would come from your mama..."

"but mama sick," your son answers nonchalantly, twisting his body slightly so he was turning toward's his father's instead.

"she just blew you some kisses," he answers back with a raised brow. "I can't get any?"

your son blatantly shakes his head no.

satoru deadpans at the phone screen, and you have to use the blanket to cover your amused grin but you clear your throat as a cough escapes you, and satoru can't help but wince.

"how are you feeling? is the medicine helping at all?" he adds.

"yeah, it is. I'm feeling much better today actually."

"there's a pot of soup in the fridge " he continues, his cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink. "I made it last night"

satoru toiling away in the kitchen is a rare sight. the man grew up spoiled, and rarely ever had to take care of himself. you're the only person who knows that the first time he ever touched a stove was in his late teens, with shoko and suguru assisting in teaching him. he doesn't experiment much, but he was able to perfect a handful of recipes over time.

your eyes widen, glisten with absolute love. "thanks, handsome. I'll be sure to heat some up..."

"just want to see you back on your feet, angel," satoru murmurs, and presses his cheek against' the plush surface of his son's. "you've got us pining over here, isn't that right?"

your son nods his head, bringing one hand to hold his father's jaw. "sick bad, want mama t'get better now..." he acknowledges.

(meanwhile, you sneakily take a screenshot of the two of them in frame)

requests are open for dad gojo.

[softonshanks]

Can i request a Shanks x female reader in which she's the only female member on the crew and she's her period and everyone freaks out? I think it'd be hilarious thanks

Hey, thank you so much for your question. I really like this prompt, I tried to keep it funny as you asked, with a little bit of fluff. I hope you enjoy it (:

Characters: Shanks x female reader

Total word count: 1445 words

It was a sunny afternoon on the ship, but instead of enjoying the day on deck with the rest of the crew, Y/N was curled up in her hammock, clutching her stomach in pain. She had woken up that morning feeling awful, her abdomen cramping in a way she’d never experienced before. It didn’t take long for her to realize what was happening: her period was trying to kill her for good this time. Normally, it was just mild discomfort for her, but this time, it hit her like a tidal wave. The pain was sharp, radiating from her lower stomach down her legs, and it left her feeling nauseous and weak. The worst part? She had no idea how to deal with it on a ship full of men who had absolutely no idea what she was going through.

At first, she tried to tough it out. She didn’t want to make a fuss over something as natural as her period. She usually tried to keep it cool every month, and she always succeeded, but this time, by midday, she couldn’t take it anymore and retreated to her hammock with a groan.

Word spread quickly through the ship that Y/N was sick, and before long, a small group of panicked pirates had gathered outside her quarters. Benn Beckman was the first to peek in, his expression filled with concern.

"Hey, Y/N," Benn said cautiously, "uh, we heard you're not feeling well. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Y/N groaned, her face half-buried in a pillow. "It's just… cramps."

"Cramps?" Benn echoed, looking confused. “For what? Have you hurt yourself again trying to carry stuff way heavier than you?” he asked, worried.

"No, Benn,” she quietly laughed. “And I can handle heavy stuff,” she pointed out before placing her hand on her aching stomach again. “It’s just… girl stuff," she muttered.

That immediately sent Benn backtracking. "Oh! Oh, right, okay. Uh… anything we can do? Maybe… get you some water?"

Y/N chuckled weakly. "I think I'll survive, Benn. Thanks, though."

But Benn wasn't the only one concerned. Soon enough, several other crew members began showing up, each trying to be helpful in their own way—though none of them really knew what they were doing.

Yasopp walked in with a blanket. "You cold, Y/N? You need a blanket? I heard you're supposed to stay warm." She tried not to laugh while she told him, "Thanks, Yasopp, but I'm already warm enough."

Lucky Roo appeared with a tray of food. "Brought you something to eat. Maybe it'll help?"

Y/N glanced at the plate, her stomach turning just at the sight of food. "Thank you so much, Roo. I’ll just eat it later when I’m feeling better."

The men hovered around, trying their best to be supportive, but Y/N could see they were all clueless and a bit nervous. After all, they were used to facing sea monsters and enemy pirates—not a young woman dealing with period cramps. It was sweet, really, but she couldn’t help but laugh at how out of their depth they were.

Finally, Shanks appeared, a wide grin on his face as he shooed the others away. "Alright, alright, you bunch of goofs. Give the lady some space. We can't be crowding her like this,” he said, making Y/N burst into a loud laugh.

“As if you know what to do to make a lady feel better when she’s on her period,” commented Benn, taking a puff from his cigarette.

“Of course I do, I’ve had much more experience with the ladies than all of you,” the captain answered, laughing, while the rest of the crew started to make fun of him.

“Best thing to ease period cramps is to have sex,” he said seriously. Benn put his hand on his face, while Y/N, still in her hammock, threw her pillow at the captain.

“You wish it was, you pig,” she answered.

“Well, the Captain is actually right,” Hongo said, trying to regain his composure. “I mean, from a medical point of view, this is true.”

“SEE? Thank you,” Shanks said, throwing his hands in the air. “Anyway, there’s something that will work even better: laughing. So now all of you get out of here while I work my magic,” Shanks said, as the others slowly backed out of the room, murmuring well wishes before disappearing completely. “If he tries something on you, scream, we’ll come here and rescue you,” shouted Yasopp before closing the door.

Shanks approached her hammock and plopped down on a nearby chair, propping his feet up casually. Y/N, seeing the captain so close, pretended to scream, while he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

“That’s how you repay me? I’m here to make you feel better after all, I’m hurt,” he joked.

Y/N couldn’t help but crack a smile despite her discomfort. "Oh, really? You think you can make me laugh while I feel like I’m being stabbed repeatedly in the gut?"

Shanks winked. "Challenge accepted."

For the next hour, Shanks was in top form. He regaled her with stories of his adventures, mimicking the crew members’ quirks in exaggerated, goofy ways. He told her about the time he and Beckman had gotten lost on a small island while drunk and ended up at a fancy ball, pretending to be nobles. He even did silly impressions of Lucky Roo’s laugh and Yasopp’s serious face whenever he tried to shoot something, all while making absurd faces.

Y/N found herself laughing despite the pain, her body relaxing bit by bit with every joke Shanks threw her way. His carefree attitude and easy charm made her forget, even for a little while, how miserable she had felt.

Eventually, after another round of chuckles, Y/N sighed contentedly, her pain easing just a little. "Thanks, Shanks," she said softly, looking at him with gratitude. "You really helped me out today. You’re a really good captain, you know that?"

Shanks waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, I’m just a guy who doesn’t know how to leave someone alone when they’re in pain. But hey, I’m glad I could make you laugh."

Y/N took a deep breath, her smile faltering for just a moment. "It’s… It’s tough sometimes, you know? Being the only girl on a ship full of guys. You all are amazing, but there are moments where I feel a little out of place. Like when I get sick like this, or when I just want to talk to another woman…”

Shanks’ expression softened as he looked at her, his usual playful grin replaced by something more sincere. He reached out, placing a hand on her arm. "I get that, Y/N. And I’m sorry if we’ve a bunch of clumsy, noisy and confused man most of the time. But you belong here just as much as the rest of us. Hell, I’m happy you’re a girl because it means I have someone to stare at whenever I am in need of a pretty face.”

“Thought the only pretty face you loved staring at was Benn’s.”

“I know, right? His long black hair, his stare… the way the cigarette dangles from his lips,” he started seductively describing his first mate, causing Y/N once again to burst into laughter. He stopped, incapable of doing anything but listening to her delightful laugh.

“Yeah, Benn’s hot, but you’re lovely.”

There was a moment of silence as their playful banter shifted into something more serious. The tension between them, always present but never acknowledged, seemed to thicken the air around them. Y/N’s breath hitched as Shanks leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Shanks whispered, his voice barely audible. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. But when he responded, kissing her back with equal warmth, the hesitation melted away, and the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling, their foreheads resting against each other.

"That… was nice," Y/N said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.

Shanks chuckled softly. "Yeah… it was."

They stayed like that for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, before Shanks finally pulled back and grinned at her. "So, do you think I’ll have to wait until your next period for another kiss like that?”

Y/N shook her head. “Of course not, but don’t ask my permission next time.”

She watched him leave, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and happiness despite the dull ache in her abdomen, trying to sleep as she started thinking again about their kiss and less aboout the pain.

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

For the yandere class 1a I would not last a bit. Like I would just start bawling my eyes out. How do you think the class would react?

(I love your writing please take care of yourself)

Oh no because SAME. I am the biggest crybaby. I feel you, boo.

However, considering the class, there's lots of ways they'd react!

Also, I wrote an imagine for Class 3-A's Big Three because I'm extra like that and HO MAH GOD, they really stole the show on this one. I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T FOLLOW YOUR ORIGINAL IDEA! But I still hope you all like it~

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Characters Featured → Izuku (Deku), Shoto, Bakugo, The Big Three {Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire}, and some of the members of Class 1-A

Length -> 3.1K Words

(Plz forgive me. I splurged and gave all my love to the three main boys. I left the other class members in the dust. I just have a lot of creativity coming out for them right now! If there is a specific character you'd like, please send me another request!)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Deku is THE crybaby of the My Hero Academia universe, so I feel like you two would just cry a puddle together. In all honesty, while it hurts to see you filled with sorrow, he's thrilled that you feel close enough to them that you'd show enough vulnerability to cry! Even if your tears aren't about whether or not you trust the class or feel it is "safe" to cry, it doesn't matter to him. He'll cradle your head into the crook of his neck, rub your back, and hush your sobs with soft sighs. Deku loves having you close, he views it as a "bonding experience", so feel free to cry all you want! He's not leaving your side any time soon, so the two of you can cry together for as long as you'd like!

This is going to sound a little strange, but this vibe fits my image of SPECIFICALLY Yandere Izuku (or, at least, in my image of him)! You know Gyutaro from Demon Slayer? And you know how he acts when he is comforting Daki? That is kind of how I am envisioning him coddling you. Slightly teasing, but it comes mostly from a place of love and concern. The sadness in his voice (whether it is faked to amp up his teasing or not, in Gyutaro's case) adds to the image I have of Deku crying alongside you. Izuku is totally one of those people who is like, "Don't cry, because if you cry, then I'LL cry *proceeds to cry*."

"Aww, no, it's okay!" Izuku sits down next to you as you are crumpled on the ground, exhausted and upset. He loops his strong arms around your shoulders and holds on tight. He feels tears well up in his own eyes, but he can't seem to shake the giddy joy bubbling in his stomach from being close to his one and only. He sniffles, but a wide smile stretches up his cheeks, "It's alright, dear. Let it out. I'll sit with you as long as you need~!"

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Shoto has always been stoic because of the harsh environment he grew up in where any emotion shown is an exploitative weakness (thanks, Endeavor), so he's going to freeze up when he sees tears bubbling down your cheeks. Even as a Yandere, emotions are hard for him to wrap his head around. He can barely understand the soul-crushing feelings he has for you! So, even though you are his everything in this world, he will be rather reserved on the comforting aspect of things. Shoto is thankful in these moments that he has the rest of his class, specifically those who are more in-tune with emotional responses like Izuku, Uraraka, and Mina, to rely on.

Though, he will try to help in his own Shoto-way! Would another inconceivably expensive gift help dry your crocodile tears? Don't worry, it's his dad's card that's paying for it all! What would you like? A couple new games for your video game console so you can play together? The finest, richest, and sweetest chocolates in all of Japan? How about an all expense paid trip on the family yacht for the weekend with the whole class included? Anything you want is yours, all you have to do is name it! Though, these gifts do not come freely—he will tax you AT LEAST a two hour cuddle session in your room per each gift. IDK, seems pretty fair to me!

"Here," Shoto clears his throat, a pristine, mint green box with a perfectly constructed golden bow resting on the lid sits in his outstretched hand. You rub your eye with the heel of your palm, sniffling to clear your nose as your eyes bounce back-and-forth between Shoto's unnerving, stoic expression and the small box. On the outside, his face shows indifference, but on the inside, his poor heart is doing a dozen cartwheels after running a ten mile race. The look you're giving him (mind you, is simply a look of pure confusion) is just too cute! Don't you know what you do to him?!?!

"It's your favorite sweets. For you. Don't worry about the money, it isn't a concern." Shoto looks away, a soft dusting of blush coating his cheeks. You almost want to accept it just to get him out of your personal bubble, but you think back on the pile of all his previous expensive gifts that are stacked high in the corner of your dorm, and decide to try to deny it. Before you can utter a shaky rejection, he snatches your wrist and begins dragging you off in the direction of your dorm room, no doubt getting you ready for your practically daily cuddle session.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Bakugo is a tricky one because it depends on the situation he catches you crying in. On one hand, he doesn't like to see you sad. There's some primal anger (it's different from his typical Bakugo-rage) that gets spun up to 100% in him whenever he sees you racked with sobs and curling in on yourself. The statements sprinting laps in his mind revolve solely around "tell me who hurt you so I know who to murder". Don't think he'll go soft on you because you're the extra who has his heart doing flips. Even if you are hesitant to reveal who mistreated you in fear of their, or your own, safety, Bakugo won't let up. He will poke, prod, threaten, and glare the answer right out of you. Once he has a name, you'd better get out of this rabid dog's way, because he will mow down any obstacle in his path on his way to the enemy. If you enjoyed the company of the person who made your sensitive self sad, you're going to have to find a lovely bouquet for their funeral.

HOWEVER! If HE was the one who made you cry...he is going to tease you about it. FRIENDS, LET ME EXPLAIN let me cook! Since becoming infatuated with you, he has learned to lighten up the bullying nature of his words. He isn't perfect, but he has certainly gotten better with his communication, BUT ONLY FOR YOU r.i.p to Deku's sanity bc he tried for YEARS to get this Pomeranian to change with no success, and you stroll along and make Bakugo clean up his act in SECONDS. That being said, he is, and will probs forever be, a sadist at heart—and he flourishes off of that devilish, delicious satisfaction over being the one responsible for making you have so much of an emotional response to his words that you actually CRY.

You'd be standing there, face tilted towards the ground. You’re attempting to shield the tears leaking down your pudgy cheeks from his judgmental view, but he’d know. It��s like a sixth sense he has—being able to just know when someone is showing their weaknesses to him. Being a brat is in his nature, and he’s the type of person who if you give him an inch, he’ll take the mile. Bakugo would feel an unconscious teasing sneer creep up onto his face at this pleasant view in front of him.

"Haaa???," he'd shove his hands into his pants pockets, lean down to catch your eye sight with his, forcing you to witness the glee he feels at your expense, "You're crying? Already? Ha! What a weakling. It's a wonder you made it this far without us to carry you through your mistakes. You should just give up on the whole independence thing, stop making a fool of yourself." He then confidently struts over to your side, nudging you forward with a gentle shove of his shoulder against yours as a warning to start walking back to the classroom. Katsuki watches with a side eye as even bigger tears gloop down your face, but only now he says nothing. He wishes you could understand where his mean words were coming from.

Trust me, Bakugo does say all of these things with twisted love in hopes that you'll stop being so determined to get away from him them. Bakugo's abrasive and brash, but he's no idiot. He sees how badly you want to get away from them, but he just can't find it inside himself to do the heroic thing and let you go. If this is how you react to the teasing of someone who loves you, then how can you survive in the real world against not-so-caring strangers?! The conclusion he comes to is that you can't. Don’t worry—he doesn’t mind becoming the one to take care of you, even if he is forced to be the big, bad wolf in your eyes.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS, BUT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT THE OTHER BIG THREE TOO BECAUSE I LOVE THEM AND I HAVE A SPARK OF CREATIVITY FOR THIS SCENARIO. PLEASE ACCEPT THIS AS MY SUBMISSION FOR CLASS 1-A AND PARDON MY LAZINESS FOR NOT WRITING THE REST OF THE STUDENTS IN THIS IMAGINE!

Our beloved Class 3-A Big Three also happen to have their eyes on you! Trust me when I say if you thought your classmates were overbearing, you're going to face a whole different overprotective beast with these three.

Mirio and Nejire basically share the same brain cell when they are together, so they just pass it on to whoever needs it most in the moment. However, when it comes to a mopey you, it is all hands on deck. They split the brain cell so they can effectively help you! They are all questions all the time, so you will be bombarded with them yelling all of these sentences in a matter of a few seconds:

"Oh no! Oh, my baby! What's wrong, sweetheart gumdrop darling???" - Nejire

"Who do I have to teach a lesson to? Don't give me that, sunshine! You're too nice for your own good! It is our job as heroes to enforce good citizenship, after all." - Mirio

"What can I get you? A warm tea? A blanket? You want a hug? I can do that easy! Hehe!" - Nejire

"Wait, I wanted to hug them first!" - Mirio

"Give it a rest, Mirio! They need comfort right now, not a fight!" - Nejire

Yeah, they're just two kids bickering over their favorite toy. They genuinely want to help you! Honest! It's just hard to not fight over you when you are simply the cutest thing they've ever seen. Nejire is also going to squeal from the cuteness you're exuding. She thinks your puffy, sad eyes and cheeks warm from an embarrassed flush is the most adorable look on you, so she isn't going to be that upset with you being down.

Tamaki is similar to Todoroki in the sense that he has no idea how to comfort emotional people, but instead of finding the courage to say or do something to help you, he is going to be HIGHLY on edge. He'll inch close when you first run up to the three of them in the hall to see what is wrong, as he is concerned why you are crying so much, but if you spare him even ONE glance, he will scamper away and face the wall in apprehension. Idiot! How could he look at you so brazenly?! Is he shameless?!?! He is such a terrible lover friend. Oh, you must hate him now for seeing you in such a vulnerable state. No! He doesn't want that! He...he l-l-loves you! He doesn't want you to go away! Oh no, what if yOU NEVER SPEAK TO HIM AGAIN OH GOD—he basically flies off the handle with worry. He's staring at the wall, shaking, afraid to do anything that may upset his flower any further.

Mirio actually has to be the one to come over and check on the poor shaking leaf of a boy for Tamaki to find the courage to say anything to you. Granted, Tamaki doesn't actually tell you the words he wishes to share with you himself.

Nejire is in the process of chatting your ears off to kingdom come and swinging you around in a tight hug when Mirio jogs back from his brief chat with the statue-esque Amajiki. Mirio shines a gorgeous smile at you as he relays Tamaki's message, "Hi, again, love! Tamaki wants to tell you that he is upset that you are crying, and to please use his handkerchief to clean your face! He insists." Mirio pries off Nejire's vice grip from you, and gently places the neat handkerchief in your palm. It is simple, white cotton with an intricate lace design stitched on the edges. You do notice that there is a dainty lilac flower embroidered with thin string on each of the four corners of the cloth.

You quietly thank Mirio, and send another thank you over Mirio's shoulder to the still shaking Tamaki. Tamaki does acknowledge your thanks with a violently tremoring thumbs up. You wipe the long tear streaks off your face, blow your nose, and take a couple of deep breaths to calm your fragile heart.

"So, what's going on, lovebug? Why all the tears?" Nejire has finally chilled out enough to ask serious questions instead of just fawning over your cuteness.

"It...it's—I don't—ugh...I-I'm s-sorry...," you're hiccupping for air, tripping all over your sentence as you feel the hot tears of embarrassment come back. You grit your teeth as another shuddering sob comes out. You can't believe you're crumbling like this in front of your superiors. Your upper classmates. You should know better than this! You're not a baby anymore! They are practically your teachers! How stupid you must look wailing and moaning like a newborn. You turn to run away, but two pairs of callused, powerful hands grab your shoulders and arms.

"No, baby, it's okay! You don't have to be sorry. Please tell us what's going on." Nejire pulls you close to her again, cupping your head into her shoulder and rubbing your back as encouragement.

"You're okay, (Y/N), no one is going to hurt you. Not while we're here. What's up?" Mirio stood beside you as a comforting hulk of a man that made you feel warm and safe. The fluttery feeling of seeing you with glassy eyes and running to him for safety like he was your hero and true love began wearing off, and the new feeling of wanting to bring immense harm to whoever had the nerve to mess with his sunshine took over. This situation wasn't just you tripping over your own two feet in the hallway in front of your teachers or something simple like that. This must be serious. He needs you to tell him what happened now before he does something irresponsible and with little thought behind his actions.

Even Tamaki perked up to hear what you were going to say. Again, he truly does want to help! He's trying to be brave for you. He didn't peel entirely away from the wall, but he did tilt his head to the side to better hear your tale.

Inhaling a few more deep breaths, you opened up, "It's...my class. They just—they won't leave me alone! Mina and Hagakure always want to play games with me, hug me, poke me, ANYTHING! They never give me space! Momo and Iida won't stop asking me if I want a private study session even though my grades are beyond fine. They even tried to force their way into my room last night to "check up" on me after I didn't want to have dinner with all of them!"

You continued after gently blowing your nose again into Tamaki's handkerchief, "I feel like I'm being watched all the time, even when I'm not around any of them! Last night, I woke up at like 3 AM and I SWEAR I saw Tokoyami's Dark Shadow in the corner of my room just...watching me. I tried asking him about it today, but he kept brushing me off. But he didn't deny any of what I said! I'm...scared. Not to mention Sero, Denki, and Kirishima won't stop messing with me! They keep tugging on my vest, breaking off buttons on my shirt, pulling at my bottoms, touching my hair—I keep asking them to back off, but they just won't stop." You hiccupped through your tears again, but it looked like you had more to say, so the three of them stayed quiet.

You started again, now with a much quieter voice, "But the worst is those three. Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugo. I'm always bothered by at least one of them all the time. Izuku hangs all over me and it's like he doesn't listen to a thing I say! I ask him to leave me alone, he says I don't know what I want and continues to push me. Todoroki won't stop giving me things I don't need or want that I can't repay back. Shoto says I only need to pay him back in "quality time"—which is basically him holding me prisoner in my own bed every other night. And Bakugo...I swear, I don't know if he sees me as an enemy or a doll to be tossed around. He's always talking down to me, insulting my fighting style or pointing out if I'm distracted. He goes out of his way to make fun of my appearance or if I say the wrong thing. He's...actually the reason I came looking for you three. I just don't know what to do anymore."

It was safe to say the three of them were livid to hear about all the torture you were being unwillingly dragged through. Mirio and Tamaki most of all. Mirio was infuriated to hear how Izuku had been treating you. Him, who Mirio had full trust in and respect—both of those qualities had tanked in a matter of a few minutes of hearing your recollection. Tamaki couldn't believe how Kirishima was behaving when he'd sworn to be the "manliest man to ever step foot in the Hero Alliance". Nejire was more upset to hear how her girls were having so much fun playing with little cute you without inviting her, but she was beyond fuming when she discovered how the disgusting boys were getting close to you. She felt like her words could melt metal with how fiery they felt building up in her throat.

"Hmm, how awful," Mirio had a terrifyingly dark look in his eye, one that made a shiver scamper up your spine. You'd never seen him so upset. All your tears dried as you heard him utter to his two friends that were now standing at his sides, "I think it's time we paid another educational visit to our promising young heroes, hmm~?"

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You know, I do this every time. I start writing, I don't stop writing, and when I'm done, it's hardly an imagine anymore. This is practically a whole bloody fic at this point! And I get so mad at myself for doing it too because this took me all day to write LMAOOOO. BUT! I hope you all like it! I adore The Big Three, so I hope to write for them again. They are cool hehe :3

With Love,

Kraken 🐙

[jamsmemes]

( * MIXED BAG PROMPTS !

mixed bag of sentence starters with a side of silly. likely taken from twitch streams / messages.

❛ what have you had for dinner today? ❜

❛ what does that do? ❜

❛ you promised me. ❜

❛ i haven't been here for a while, i have some questions. ❜

❛ i did mess up. ❜

❛ it was a setup. ❜

❛ i would have had no mercy. ❜

❛ is it good? ❜

❛ you're like a month early. ❜

❛ that's an odd take. ❜

❛ so mean. ❜

❛ worth a shot. ❜

❛ we are out of lobsters. ❜

❛ it will never happen. ❜

❛ thank you for everything you do. ❜

❛ what are the options? ❜

❛ don't know about that one, chief. ❜

❛ i agree with that. it's a good idea! ❜

❛ that is really unfortunate. ❜

❛ i don't remember, sorry. ❜

❛ i don't know about this. ❜

❛ that was honestly not bad at all. ❜

❛ if it works, why is it bad? ❜

❛ you said what you said, no take backs. ❜

❛ i think it's time to let go. ❜

❛ that could have been really good. ❜

❛ i swear i heard it. ❜

❛ i'll give the people what they want. ❜

❛ blood for the blood god! ❜

❛ great catch! ❜

❛ it's always this way now. ❜

❛ it's not as good as people say it is. ❜

❛ oh dear god, that sounds horrifying. ❜

❛ that hair cut is beautiful! ❜

❛ any words of wisdom? ❜

❛ you look great today. ❜

❛ if it takes you that long for a response, the answer is no. ❜

❛ you can't take it seriously. ❜

❛ how was your experience? ❜

❛ how's life, you beautiful bastard? ❜

❛ what's a movie that stuck with you? ❜

❛ with great power comes great responsibility. ❜

❛ friendship is magic. ❜

❛ i could've saved more. ❜

❛ corny or not, that is a very profound. ❜

❛ get out of here. ❜

❛ it's not all on you, you can only do what one person can. ❜

❛ we all need to do what we can. ❜

❛ the world's burdens aren't yours to bear alone. ❜

❛ you're so appreciated. ❜

❛ i think you've done a fine job. ❜

❛ i'm sorry, what the fuck is going on? ❜

❛ what a strange experience. ❜

❛ how lucky are you? ❜

❛ are you drunk? ❜

❛ part of recovery is understanding there's going to be real absence. ❜

❛ little progress is still way better than no progress. ❜

❛ this is going to go down as the fucking worst time ever. ❜

❛ i feel your pain. ❜

❛ can i get a cookie? i'm hungry. ❜

❛ that made me cackle. ❜

❛ well, hello there cutie! ❜

❛ you got this. ❜

❛ you better rest up today and treat yourself. ❜

❛ i was not aware of that. ❜

❛ well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions. ❜

❛ this part of life is hideous. ❜

❛ it's only been five minutes. ❜

❛ i have no clue, i'm sorry, i was being silly. ❜

❛ thank you for guiding me through my toughest days. ❜

❛ get well soon, we need you. ❜

❛ i hope the best for you. ❜

❛ why are you running? ❜

❛ this is the best thing ever. ❜

❛ what am i watching? ❜

❛ what a clown show. ❜

❛ you are great. ❜

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny Punches a Clown part 9

masterpost

Danny is led up an unnecessarily long flight of stairs into a fancy house. The floors are all hardwood with rugs interspersed throughout the rooms.

     Hood starts leading him down the hallway and he can see paintings and antiquities, so many rooms. He is reminded vaguely of Vlad's mansion back in Wisconsin, but this seems larger, and better decorated. They end up in a living room of sorts, lots of different chairs and couches wand a huge TV lining a whole wall.

     Danny sits in one of the armchairs. Agent A soon comes in, with another tray of food. This tray seems to be for more than just him though. Hopefully. He could never hope to finish that many snacks by himself. 

     A isn't wearing a mask this time. “No masks upstairs, Master Jason. I'll keep the boy company until the rest of you get here.”

     Hood (Jason?) leaves and A introduces himself as Alfred. Apparently, he is the butler of the people that live here. Makes sense that people rich enough to live in this house would have a butler.

     Alfred lets him sit and eat for a few minutes in silence. The room gradually becomes more full as people come in and take their seats. They all introduce themselves as they come in and sit down. Damian and Dick sit together on a couch, with a girl he knows he’s never met before, Cassandra on Dick’s other side. Jason comes in and takes another armchair. Tim sits on a couch, a blond girl, Stephanie, and another boy, Duke, sit next to him. They all start working. Seems like Stephanie and Duke are in college, and Tim works at a big company. 

     Once the oldest person yet comes in, Bruce, and sits on an armchair, they all stop whatever else they were doing and turn to face him. He’s pretty sure he’s met most of them before while they were in masks, but other than Jason he doesn’t really know who is who. 

     “Can you tell us more about where you’re from now?” Bruce asked.

     Danny looks around the face in the room. They’ve all been helpful and kind. And he’s so tired of lying all the time. They’re most likely going to kick him out once they get their answers anyway.

     “I’m from a different dimension. I fled here after a fight.” Danny admitted.

They already seem less shocked than Danny would have imagined, and they aren’t calling him crazy yet, so this is going great!

     “There is a… war, almost? Starting in that world.” Danny gets fully into storytelling mode, as none of the others seem like they’re going to interrupt his thought process. “It all started with my parents actually. They started building a portal to the ghost zone, and that’s when it all went downhill really. Especially for me. I had my best friends over, they wanted to see the portal, so I took them down to the basement.”

     Danny took a deep breath. “My parents had put the on button inside of the portal, and when I went in… I hit it on accident. The portal turned on with me inside.”

     Everyone in the room remained quiet, and Danny couldn’t bear looking at their faces right now. He did his best to move on. “The portal was open, and ectoplasm started seeping into our town, we didn’t realize at the time, but that becomes a bigger problem later. At the time, we -or I- was busy becoming a one-man army against an invasion of ghosts. My parents started developing weapons. The government declared any being whose body could process or contained ectoplasm was non-sentient and could be kidnapped, experimented on, and/or killed at will. The Anti-Ecto Acts. The government branch dedicated to ghosts, the G.I.W, invaded Amity. Me and my friends had been capturing the ghosts causing problems and sending them back into the ghost zone. Now, we had to do that while trying to play keep-away with my parents and the government, while trying not to get captured myself. The government decided they wanted to send a nuke into the portal, trying to kill all ghosts at once."

     “I had to stop it. I was gathering all ghosts left in Amity to bring them with me to the Zone. My friends were going to close the portal behind us, destroy it. My parents had just finished their new gun.” Danny’s hand went to his side. “They chased us. I made it through the portal, with as many ghosts as I could find. Theoretically, the portal was closed once I left.”

     Danny was quiet long enough that the others realized he was done. 

     “I’m sorry that happened.” Danny heard, he looked up, but didn’t know who had said it. They all seemed sad.

     “And you’re… A ghost then?” Jason asked.

     “Only half.” They all looked bewildered at that. “It’s complicated."

     “So, you can’t go home?” Bruce asked.

     Danny shook his head. “If all went well then the portal doesn’t exist anymore, not that I could leave this dimension without a portal. I’m stuck here.” 

     “You’ll be staying with us then.” Bruce nodded firmly. “Metas are protected in this world, Danny. I’ve worked on a team with a ghost before. You’re safe here, Danny.”

[awhisperofbluevn]

Happy (belated) new year !

Okay, I'm a little late, but we're still in January so it's still time ! Take thie merman drawing as an apology !

To be honest, with all the festivities, I just wanted to take a break with social medias.

With that being said, let me wish you all a happy 2025, and hope it will be a successful year for us all !

Now I think is a great opportunity to make an update about the development and my plans for the game in the future.

It's probably going to be a bit long, so I'll leave the rest under the cut for those who just want to enjoy the merman's face.

I'm going to say it now, but I don't know when the full game will be done.

To be honest, it probably won't be in 2025, as I'm still very much alone to write, program and draw. I don't want to put too much pressure on myself for a first game but I still want something clean in the end.

Honestly, I'd want to make a complex game with different routes depending on the kind of relationship you have with the love interest and the MC's personality, add a million different choices so each player have a different exprience, but I think that's still too complex for me at this moment, so I'll have to lower my ambitions. I can only offer very basic personalization options for the MC and a classic system of affection points. But maybe for a future game when I'll gain experience, who knows...? (yes I do have ideas, but one project at a time)

Now what I can say is that I'm planning two to three big updates in total (excluding small updates to correct bugs and fix typos).

I'm not exactly sure because while I do have the main story in my head, I don't know how long each part will be yet. I'd like to make them at least as long as the current demo, but I'll have to actually write it to know exactly how to divise those parts.

Now, about what I'd like to add/change in the current game :

The menu. If I can, I'd like something more dynamic and less... I don't know. I think it looks too basic.

CGs for bad endings. Not a priority, as I'd rather work on the main route and it's just going to add to my workload, but I still think it'll be nice.

A gallery button. I don't know how to do that yet, but I think it'll be cool for people to see all the CGs and see which ending they didn't get, plus it just makes sense if I add bad ending CGs.

A guide for all endings. Again, not a priority since there's currently not much content, but it will be done when the game will be at a more advanced stage.

Finally, I can't share much for the next update, but I can tell you what to expect !

New characters.

New backgrounds.

New CGs.

And probably more, but I don't want to make promises too quickly.

I don't know when the next update will be exactly, give it a few months.

And that's all I can share with you !

I'll go back to answer asks soon enough, my askbox is still open !

Once again, happy new year to you all !💙

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A heart that hurts is a heart that works - Something Rotten sequel.

first part can be read here

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x afab!reader x Dark!Tess Servopoulos

Words count: 3829

Rating: Mature, absolutely NSFW and again, this shit is triggering. Please, read the tags carefully and if you're a minor don’t interact.

Tags/warning: This happens the morning immediately after the events of Something Rotten, pov second person, no use of y/n, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, heavy degradation, angst, smut, DUB CON/NON CON, reader is barely described, she has breasts and vagina, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, it is mentioned that Joel's clothes are too big for her (pics are just for aesthetic and don’t represent reader), the only thing is that reader's father died of lung cancer (like mine), depressive thoughts, as said in the first part: reader is held prisoner by Joel and Tess, on her leg is carved the word “pet” (Tess did it), use of a knife, groping, a large amount of bites, mention of wounds, mention of bruises, no kindness whatsoever towards reader, Joel and Tess are both EVIL, fingering (Tess receiving), oral (Tess receiving) spitting, nipples sucking and biting (it's not my ff if there is no attention towards nipples OKAY), unprotected p in v (both f receiving, wrap it up IRL), pussy slapping, cum eating, Joel comes on reader’s face, pissing, a little more scissoring, a little bit of chocking, squirting, brief insert of reader's thoughts in italics… I think it’s all 😅 If I notice I've forgotten something important I'll add it right away.

A/N: Title comes from a Placebo song called Bright Lights. It seemed right to continue with them since "Something Rotten" is also one of their songs. Anyway, I leave you the entire playlist that I listened to while I was writing both this and the first part and again thank you very much to those who recommended songs to me ♥️

There is something of my experience and pain in this so please be particularly kind. English is not my first language and I have no beta, I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much to anyone who reads it.

[I started a tag list, if you want to be added let me know, I never tag people because I don't want to impose anything on anyone but if you like it I'm happy too ♥️ ]

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Your mind is completely clouded. You open your eyes and for a moment you don’t remember where you are, you rub your eyes, feeling your aching body awaken, the pain of every joint coming back to you. You reach out and press a spot on your stiff neck, a stab of pain shooting up your brain like a gunshot and then sliding down your spine, making you grit your teeth to stifle a moan.

You shut your eyes as images of what happened flash before your eyes, a piercing pain taking over your head.

You don’t know how much time has passed but when you manage to sit up, biting the pain between your lips, you see a bright light coming in through the dirty window, a speck of dust stirring in the beam of light that illuminates the messy bed, the crumpled sheets and the two people lying on it. Tess is on her side, her arms folded, her hands resting on the pillow, near her head. There is always a kind of tension in her, you see it even when she is sleeping, in her huddled body that seems ready to attack and unleash its claws on anyone. She is wearing nothing but panties and Joel’s shirt left open, revealing the outline of her breasts. 

She should disgust you, but instead as soon as you see one of her nipples poking out from under her shirt salive pools into your mouth. You put a hand to your forehead, overwhelmed by yourself, by what you feel and by a shame that creeps up inside you and makes your temples throb.

This is so wrong. Yet you would like to lace your lips on that little button and suck it, if only she would let you do it, if only she would let you lie next to her gently, allowing you to be the good pet she expects you to be.

Shifting your gaze to Joel doesn't help soothe your twisted mind. He’s on the other side, lying on his back, in his boxers, your eyes wander on the defined muscles on his chest, the softness of his belly, and a strip of sunlight hitting his abdomen highlighting hair leading to his groin. 

He seems carved out of a block of marble, skimmed by scars, exuding power and sex, the tips of your fingers graze your swollen lips and you still feel his taste, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his relentless thrusts, his hungry eyes on you. 

They must have fallen asleep, which gave you some respite even if you don’t feel rested at all.

You look at your thigh and it's still there, the pulsing sign that you should leave, just run while you can, sneak out of this place quietly and look for somewhere to hide. But you feel like a mouse in a cage, your body not moving an inch. You’re still untied; it would take nothing to reach the door and close it behind you. But what if they woke up? If they felt the bed lighten with your weight? You know they'd have you back in an instant. 

Your brain, you can't decide whether very stupidly or very wisely, thinks that it is better not to make any risky moves to stay alive. 

Helpless and desperate you lie back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the silence broken only by Joel's soft snoring.

Your arms spread across the bed as you sink into your thoughts and your fingers casually graze the knife abandoned on the sheets. The coldness of the blade sends a chill down your spine.

You have to do something for yourself. At least try. You cannot be so spineless. You move one leg off the bed, your eyes fixed on your captors, seeming not to notice anything so you move the other leg as well, letting yourself slide cautiously along the edge of the bed, finally resting both feet on the floor. You pick up the closest garment you can find on the ground, it's a Joel T-shirt, wide and long enough to cover your butt. You just have to get up, you can do it. Leaning your weight on your legs feeling your knees crack in the effort, you wonder what in your body is not sore. You are on your feet. Joel and Tess are motionless in the same position as before. You walk on the floor resting your toe and then your heel, silent and terrified like a prey trying to evade before falling into the lion's jaws, hoping that the wood will not creak under your gait. You reach for the door. You almost make it. Just rest your hand on the handle and lower it. A moment and you're out of here. As soon as your hand touches the cold metal you hear a voice behind you, “Where do you think you're going?” 

You feel your heart falling out of your chest, freezing where you are, your eyes at the door, your breath getting heavy.

“Turn around”

You do it slowly, praying you don't feel a blow immediately afterward. Joel is standing in front of you. “Please” your voice is a barely audible whisper ”please.”

Joel reaches out, grabs you by the wrist “no fucking way” 

He doesn't add anything more, he takes you back to the bed, forcibly lays you down and lies on top of you. His eyes look at you fiercely, he drops down next to your ear “maybe I was wrong about you, you're not the good pet I thought you were. Let me teach you your priorities straight“ he growls, his voice low, sharp. 

His body weighs down on you, completely overpowering you, his legs blocking yours, his hands resting on the sheets on either side of your face. 

"I give you credit for that. You were brave to think you could sneak away. But also incredibly stupid." His voice vibrates close to your ear, it is eerily calm and controlled, sounding as if it came from the darkest part of him, straight from his gut.

A lump rises from the pit of your stomach to your throat, sickening. "I'm sorry," you stammer, Joel's eyes lighting up with that sinister hue you now know like the back of your hand. 

He retrieves the knife from above the bed and places the blade under the fabric of the T-shirt, cutting through the sleeves and tearing it from the neck to the hem, reducing it to a shred of fabric lying beneath you. You tremble when the icy blade touches your skin.

His boxer-covered erection presses against your thigh, against your wound. 

Again you wonder what substance your mind is now made of because feeling him against you, demanding, claiming your body, makes your pleasure slide down your legs. You can feel it on your skin, a shiver, a wetness, a trickle of you leaving you to become his. You mold under him, relaxing your muscles, ceasing to resist, submitting to his stern eyes nailing you to the bed. 

He takes your hands and intertwines them possessively with his own as his legs push between yours, forcefully spreading them apart.

He crawls on you like a rabid dog, inhaling your scent on your neck, down to your sternum, reaching your breast, licking the skin above your ribcage “You were Robert's, weren't you?” 

His teeth close on one of your nipples, biting it, your back arches pushing against his mouth, demanding more. “This? It's mine now.” he whispers in a rough voice ‘This is mine too.’ he adds, twisting the other nipple, he moves one hand to your mound, grabbing it ”What about this wet pussy? She's mine too. I own you now. Make sure you don’t forget that, you little cock slave”

And you feel it again. The desire coursing down your body, clinging to your nerves, flowing into the middle of your thighs. 

It lingers on you deeply. And you’re pleading at that. Before you sense your own voice saying it, like it doesn’t belong to you, coming out of someone’s else body “Please” you babble “please, more” as he run a single finger through your folds.

Everyone you knew died. Every person you loved is gone, ruined by the spreading epidemic. Except your father, who passed away a few years before the pandemic broke out, obliterated by lung cancer. You still remember his jagged, exhausted breathing getting more and more labored, small and thin, until it died out completely. You still remember the smell of the hospital room, the dimness, your gripped heart, your silent tears. It was something you never wanted to see, the moment when death takes someone.  It stays inside, digs deep into you, rattles in the walls of your brain until one day it subsides and remains a creeping awareness you have to live with. A brick in your pocket that will forever weigh of absence, of pain, of lack.

And when you thought maybe you could make it, one day when the brick seemed lighter, pandemic came and your mother turned into a monster. From a fragile woman, still bent by your father's absence, to a ferocious beast with bloodshot eyes that tried to break your neck.

You had had to tear it down yourself, with your own strength, that thing your mother had turned into. And you couldn't explain it for days, or how you had done it, or what had happened. People were running around terrified, not knowing where to take refuge, not knowing if it would ever end. Until they came and loaded you onto trucks, promising to escort you to a safe area. What you were not told was that there was no solution, for some of you there was not even a place in the QZ. The epidemic took away not only the people you cared about but also your dreams, every hope you had for your future, every plan to become a good teacher, to accompany young minds in creating a better world. There is nothing left to create, only destruction.

You could have offered yourself as a teacher in the Qz but you had decided not to bow to a system that spread only government propaganda, instilling in kids that there was nothing else to believe in but FEDRA. 

And even in the face of desperation the cruelty had not stopped, some soldiers had tried to take you at night, traumatized and without strength, you had been saved only by the good heart of one of your neighbors who had defended you. You had jumped out of the truck, along with him and some other people, looking for an alternative that would never come. They had fallen like skittles, one after another. You were tired of seeing it, the cold hand of death reaching out to everyone around you. 

Your heart still aches horribly, but after all, a heart that hurts is a heart that works. And you're still alive. 

He takes the finger away and shoves it in his mouth, enjoying the taste of you and then he’s close to your ear again grazing you with his beard and graveling “I knew you were a little slut,” Joel's heavy breath warms your skin, driving your being back into your body. “When I'm done with you you'll want nothing more than to be my brainless whore”

You’re bucking your hips against him, mindlessly, while he takes your body with his mouth and hands, furiously licking, biting and groping your flesh, moving impatiently over you on the bed and waking Tess up. She takes a few seconds to focus, abruptly recovered from a deep sleep, but then you hear her dry voice, “oh, are you having fun without me?” 

Joel does not tell her that you tried to escape. which in itself is a miracle for you. He turns to her just a moment, leaving your nipple with a loud pop .

“Come” he tells her, and it's almost sweet. Almost. Tess comes crawling up on the bed like a feline and looks down at you, smiling cruelly. 

“Lie on top of her, make sure this bitch doesn't move” Tess nods, he makes room for her, and she crushes you with all her weight, her scarred back against your tits, as if you were a mat, clinging to your arms as Joel watches the scene smugly "Quite a picture" he growls.

He pulls down Tess's panties, tossing them aside. He does the same with his boxers.  “This is exactly what I want. Two pretty cunts all for me” 

He stoops to observe you both, his eyes roaming your sexes, his thumb touching you first, a creamy river in between your folds, and then Tess. She snorts “will you hurry up?”

“mmm you're not wet enough honey, but we can fix that”

“Honey”, you think he is the only person who can call Tess that. Anyone else would be out of balls in a heartbeat. 

He buries his face in her cunt and you feel Tess stiffen on top of you, her whole body reacting to the first touch of Joel's tongue. You seem to catch a glimpse of submerged fragility behind all that violence and resentment she always displays.

She grips your wrists in a vice as her hips rise toward Joel and a low, deep moan escapes from her throat. 

Joel's fingers run hard and calloused over your folds, collecting what drips from you and spreading it over Tess's pussy, mixing your essences, then returning to lick her. And you can feel her, crumbling on top of you, conceding willingly, every muscle in her asking for more.

Each lapping of Joel's tongue on her vibrates over your body like a wave, Tess's butt sliding over your folds, crawling over your clit, giving you reflex stimulation.

“Mmmm just like that, baby, that’s fucking good” 

She whines so sweetly under his ministration, an undertone so vulnerable and tender in her voice you almost think she turned into another person. And you are in the front row watching this, a silent witness to the other Tess, the one who still has a shred of humanity hidden within her.

It’s unique, you think, how sex with the right person, a person we care about, a person we share a path with, makes us. Defenseless, no mask to wear against the world. Even Tess, perhaps the coldest woman you’ve ever met. 

“Nice and drippy” Joel murmurs, nuzzling at Tess’s cunt “fucking gorgeous” 

He dips his nose in there, moving through her folds up to her clits, brushing the tip over it. “You smell so good, babe, such an nice mess for me to feast on” 

“Fuck” Tess gasps “just fuck me” 

“Yeah baby, I’m going to stretch you both so damn right” 

Tess rolls her eyes in twisted need, impatient like the bossy woman she still is and you whine like the shy mess that you are. 

So different and yet ready for the same cock. 

You noticed the way Joel’s voice soften when he speaks to Tess, the intimacy between them is palpable, in this moment you’re just an appendage. 

You want that desperately, belong to someone, to him, to her, to feel his voice and his whole body going unshielded for you. 

Joel spits into his palm and takes his cock in his fist, pumping it and then tapping the tip on her cunt, once, twice, three times, rubbing it on her folds, lubricating it with her juices, before getting it all the way inside her. Tess's body arches so desperately over yours, merging with Joel's as he begins to thrust inside her.

She thrashes on top of you, clinging to your forearms, pushing you back against the mattress, her hips swaying over yours again giving secondhand attention to your clit, now so swollen and needy that each thrust you emit a moan in sync with her, shyly participating in her pleasure. You bend your neck slightly to one side to look at Joel standing before you, bronze and sculptural, a cruel god who leaves you breathless. His chest glistens in the dim sunlight streaming in through the window, revealing tiny droplets of sweat beading on him, a grin painted on his face, brows furrowed, lost in Tess's wet walls, focused on pounding on her special spot again and again.

“You like that huh? You like this cock splitting you, yeah, I know you do, fuck you’re so drenched I could take a bath in it, all slippery and warm...mmm baby, just like that. Take it.”

He rests a hand on her belly to hold her more firmly, a sense of possession different from that manifested with you, purer and deeper, made up of silent, recurring gestures between them. It's as if you feel it all the way down into your stomach as he sinks into her, the forced closeness making you almost delirious, sensitive and wanting.

Tess is almost at her peak, sliding on you now unceasingly, her back kneading your breasts, up and down, your nipples impossibly hard against her skin, she stammers "there- there- I'm almost there- oh fuck"

"Not yet, baby, hold it back" he challenges her and she growls in disappointment and frustration, as he comes out of her. Joel brushes against you "it's time to put this slut in her place. You want it huh?" he roars as he looks at you "I can see it from here, you're flowing like a fucking river, clenching around nothing like a whore” 

His eyes sparkle with evil. He spits on your cunt, a glob of saliva right on your clit. He spreads it quickly over your entrance and thrusts into you unceremoniously, all the way down, in one breath-breaking stroke. "You're full now huh? Clench around my shaft, bitch” 

You feel your walls strangle his cock, eager to hold him inside, to belong to him, to be broken through. "Yes" you moan, not even sure why you had tried to run away from this anymore. Tess wouldn't even need to hold you with her whole body but you'll never say it, the way she bounces on top of you drives you crazy. You are back on the scene now, eager, drunk with a dark, all-consuming desire burning in your veins.

He grips your hips hard, digging his fingers into your thighs, going out and back in you harder, deeper each time, using your cunt as his personal toy, beating on your cervix as if he were to fill it with bruises. And you don't care, welcoming each thrust as if it were the last thing you will ever receive.

Your mouth proceeds alone, bellowing and wailing each moan like an off-key song you can't stop singing, irrepressible, obscene, feverish.

"You're tight for a whore, pet, but don't worry, I'll take care of it." Joel grunts, Tess echoes you, her harsh voice protesting uselessly to let her finish, her legs wrap around Joel's waist claiming him but he is focused on ruining you now with the cruel and unrelenting force he has not reserved for her.

Her nails sink into the skin of your arms, you feel them barely disconcerted by Joel's stabs but a tiny part of your brain knows they will leave more marks on you. 

There is nothing gentle about it, no attention, no care, just animalistic thrusts that make your body shake like an earthquake. 

You are less, obviously less, but you are still something.

Tess turns on you, looking into your eyes, lowering a hand to your clit, rubbing it furiously and then colliding it with her own, clit against clit, pressed together in sloppy kissing, hips rocking back and forth, sliding up to the point where Joel joins obscenely with you, seeking on her own the finish Joel has not yet given her by using your body.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she screeches, "here we go little slut, give it all to me" biting your skin on the marks Joel left, on your neck, on your tits, sucking your nipples between her lips, unrestrained. She's a wild amazon riding you, untamed, fierce and mean, teeth, tongue and hips demanding no permission and taking from your body what they want. 

And then again her hand descends between you to rub her clit as her knuckles press against yours, squirting letting out a guttural sound, flooding you, Joel's cock and the sheets. 

Joel growls at the vision “oh that’s fucking right, babe, yeah spurt all over me, FUCK, so good”

And you lose yourself, your sanity flying out the window with your attempts to escape, you are caged by Tess's body, hammered by Joel's cock, you feel their eyes on you looking fiercely, them calling you their slut again and again, that's all you can do. 

Tess pulls away from you, Joel holds you firmly by the hips, his face contorts into a grimace, he bites his lower lip as he thrusts himself possessively into you, reaches down and puts a hand around your neck, squeezing your pulse point, smiling cruelly as your air diminishes and your mind becomes rarefied “keep it up slut, milk me” and she scolds him “you can't cum inside her”.

“Fuck” he snorts "you're right". The grip on your neck loosens and you gasp, panting hard, trying to regain oxygen.

Joel slaps your pussy hard with his hand open, ordering: “on your knees, pet.”

You sit complacently on your lap on the bed, uncertain of what he wants to do. Tess is at your side, sneering. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.” He says harshly, Tess's hand bends your back, making you squat, waiting. 

“Good kitten” Joel grunts stroking his cock up and down, the angry red tip aimed at you. You don't realize it in time that long, thick, streaks of cum hit your face, your mouth, slide down your chin. You close your eyes just a moment before you feel his semen hit your eyelashes and run thickly down your cheek.

“Mmm now you look just like a proper slut” Tess giggles wickedly, then pauses "In fact no, we can do better". She grabs you by the arm, drags you naked as a maggot into the bathroom, and gets you on your knees inside the tub. “Hold still” she barks at you. You close your eyes, trembling, not knowing what to expect, until you feel something warm hit your forehead, run down your face, partially wash the cum off. An acrid, pungent smell makes its way into your nostrils. As soon as it reaches your lips you realize. 

You open your eyes, clouded by Tess's piss, her degrading gaze penetrating your bones along with Joel's laughter, standing in the bathroom enjoying the show. 

“Now you're perfect.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter

[fluentmoviequoter]

Speed Limit 2525

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: When Tim Bradford goes head-to-head with a bomber, he finds himself on a bus carrying a bomb and you.

Warnings: spoilers for Speed (1994) (I think this qualifies as an AU/rewrite), angst, bombings, nightmares, death and fear of dying, teasing, fluff, a little make out scene at the end? basically every warning that applies to the movie and The Rookie. I also made up a story about "Reaper"

Word Count: 11.7k+ words

A/N: This isn't completely proofread, but I'll be back soon to check it. I hope you enjoy!🤍

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

Shoot him.

Tim doesn’t feel the trigger depress, only the hot desert air beating against his face. Though the trigger doesn’t move, a bullet rips through the barrel and into Tim’s only surviving squad member. He yells to warn his teammate, but no sound comes out. The wind is loud in the desert, yet the sound of Tim’s friend falling against the sand seems to echo for miles.

“Bradford,” the injured soldier coughs. “Wrong target, Reaper.”

Tim’s chest is tight with guilt and anxiety when he wakes. The sheets are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his shallow breaths distract him from freeing himself. Before he has time to orient himself, Tim’s phone rings and snaps him out of his post-nightmare, adrenaline-fueled state as he reaches across the empty pillow to answer it.

“Bradford,” he says.

“Get to the station as soon as you can,” Sergeant Grey demands. “Your Metro captain has me calling everybody in. We’re sending patrol units out, too. It’s gonna be a long day, Tim.”

Tim forgets about the nightmare and the memory within as he rushes to get ready. Tim’s tunnel vision focuses on work, and everything else fades away. Middle-of-the-night calls aren’t unusual, especially for a Metro Sergeant like himself, but this many officers getting a wake-up call is. Whatever is happening is big, and it doesn’t sound to Tim like it will be over any time soon. He makes it to the station in record time, and his commander is directing the other Metro officers when he enters.

“We don’t have time,” she says suddenly. “I’m running this force from here. Sergeant Grey will fill you in on the way. Get to the target location and stick together. Bradford, you’re with Temple!”

Tim nods as Harry Temple walks to his side. Harry was one of Angela Lopez’s first patrol partners, but he decided Metro was a better fit when the time to move forward in his career came along. Like Tim, he was in the Army before becoming a police officer, and he and Tim have some shared experiences. Neither of them is overly eager to bond over them, however.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Tim asks Harry as he turns on the lights and sirens in the shop.

“All I heard was ‘elevator,’” Harry answers. “I’m assuming they’re more to this than that.”

“Listen up,” Sergeant Grey says over the radio. “This is your official brief. When we roll up to the scene, we go straight in. No time for questions after we exit these cars. Fifteen people are trapped on an express elevator. The owner of the building is also inside. A bomb took out the cables, and our bomber is demanding three million dollars, or he blows the emergency brake, too. Cell phone service is spotty in the building, so we can’t rely on that to track anyone or anything.”

“Cell phone service is nonexistent in the elevator. A defensive move against trade secrets,” someone adds.

“What’s our clock, Sergeant?” Harry radios.

“He gave one hour when he called, which leaves us with twenty-eight minutes.”

“The only thing that’ll stop the elevator is the basement, right?” Tim adds.

“The city plans to avoid that. They’re working to release the money.”

Tim stops the shop beside the curb at the front of the building. He leaves the lights on as he and Harry remove their weapons from the back and meet the rest of their tactical team in the lobby.

“We can’t just unload them,” an officer says.

“The bomber wired the elevator doors and the hatch to trigger the bomb. So, he’s crazy, but he ain’t stupid,” Wade explains as he enters.

“Harry volunteers to examine the device,” Tim interjects. “He was on the bomb squad in the Army.”

Harry turns to glare at Tim as he says, “Right. And since Bradford also has Army experience, he’d like to provide a second opinion.”

“Fine,” Wade says. “You two check it out. Hey! Where’s the nearest access panel?”

“32nd floor,” a nearby employee answers on his way out. “It’s in the hall by the storage closet.”

“Report only. We’re in a holding pattern until we get word from your Commander back at the station. Confirm building evac and keep your radios active.”

“What about the other elevators?” Harry asks the employee.

“In an emergency, all passenger cars go to the nearest floor and shut down,” he says.

Tim frowns and moves his gun to his side. “Looks like we’re walking up the stairs.”

Harry nods before sprinting up the stairs behind Tim. Tim outpaces him but waits at the access panel for Harry to arrive with his small tool kit. He begins removing the nuts from the metal cover while Tim watches the hallway. Harry gives Tim a signal and Tim lifts the metal sheet. Light filters into the elevator shaft as Tim crawls through the opening and moves to the top of the elevator, where the bomb rests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the L.A.P.D.,” Tim announces loudly. “There has been an elevator malfunction. Just relax and we’ll have you out of there as soon as possible.”

Harry looks up from the bomb and raises his hands in question.

“I didn’t lie,” Tim defends.

“I don’t recognize this work, Tim. Whoever our bomber is… he’s a pro and the work is solid,” Harry says.

“Bradford, Temple, hold position,” Wade radios. “We’re waiting to hear back from the bomber.”

Tim looks at his watch and muffles a curse. Their time is nearly out, and Tim continues to look at his watch rather than think about the lives in the metal death trap below his feet.

Harry sees the look in Tim’s eyes and decides to distract him. “Terrorist in a crowded room, five pounds of dynamite. He’s got a deadman’s stick. What do you do?”

“How close am I?” Tim asks, looking away from the elevator.

“Twenty feet.”

“Taser. He can’t let go with enough volts surging through him.”

“Alright, hot shot. Fifty feet?”

“Nice try.”

“Airport, then. Gunman with one hostage, using her for cover. He’s almost on a plane, you’re a hundred feet away.”

“Why is the hostage always a woman in these scenarios? Watch too many romcoms in the academy?”

“What do you do?” Harry repeats.

Tim kneels to examine the bomb once more and remembers his nightmare. Shoot him. He shakes his head before answering, “Shoot the hostage. Take her out of the equation, he can’t get to the plane, and I have a clear shot.”

“You are out of your mind, Bradford.”

“This is wrong,” Tim says suddenly. “He’s gonna blow it. How much do you think this elevator weighs?”

“Why? You wanna try to bench it?”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge the teasing as he adds, “We can do something about the hostages.”

“No shoot them, right?”

“Roof,” Tim reads as he points to a roof access sign. There’s a heavy-duty winch secured to the corner of the roof, and Tim runs to it as he says, “We don’t shoot them. Just take them out of the equation.”

Tim pulls the cable from the winch toward the elevator housing on the roof. He drops it in and watches it fall several feet before it catches.

“It’ll hold,” Tim tells Harry. “It’ll hold,” he repeats, quieter.

“Six minutes,” Harry alerts.

Tim throws his legs over the edge of the housing and lowers carefully onto the elevator cable. He hooks the winch hook to his tactical vest before moving down in the elevator shaft. Wade and the Metro team argue with the city council about releasing the money in the lobby, and no one has a clue that the shooter is listening to their radio frequencies. Without cell phones, they’re completely reliant on their radios to stay in touch with one another. Tim ignores his radio as he flips so he’s headfirst as he nears the trapped elevator.

“One more pop quiz,” Harry begins. “Psycho Sergeant Tim Bradford rigs an elevator to drop thirty stories. What do you do?”

Tim rolls his eyes before gesturing for Harry to hold the winch cable steady. A small pile of C4 waits beside his feet, but Tim ignores it as he secures the cable hook to the frame of the elevator.

“Why did I take this job?” Tim murmurs.

“Hey, a few more decades and you get a tiny pension and a free watch,” Harry answers.

“Hit the switch, Temple.”

Harry runs to the winch, hoping that the cables used to wash windows are strong enough to catch a free-falling elevator. He flips the switch, and the winch begins pulling in the cable. As the extra cable Tim pulled into the shaft begins unspooling, he moves up to the open access panel.

In the basement, a man missing a thumb presses a button on his handheld device. Instantaneously, a red light illuminates on the bomb. Tim sees it and throws himself through the access panel just before the bomb goes off. The passengers begin screaming, but the winch catches the falling elevator before it reaches the bottom of the shaft.

“What is happening, Bradford?” Wade asks, his concern evident over the radio.

“He’s early!” Harry yells as he returns from the roof.

“We have to get them out of the elevator. They can’t be lower than 28,” Tim exclaims.

When he and Harry meet the rest of their team on the 28th floor, they see that the elevator is stranded between floors. Only the floor is accessible from their current position, but there is no time to run up and down the stairs and look for the perfect access point. The elevator passengers lower to the floor and Tim and Harry pull people out one at a time. Tim pulls the last woman to safety seconds before the winch fails and the elevator plummets to the bottom of the shaft. After the sound of impact, Tim and Harry lean back against a wall and pant from the effort they exerted.

“Is your watch slow?” Tim asks.

“Nah. He jumped the gun,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “We had three minutes.”

“He blew more than the elevator. He blew his three million dollars. Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth it.”

Tim sits up as he declares, “He’s here.”

“He could have blown that thing from anywhere, Tim.”

“He knew we were doing something, that’s why he acted early. That means he’s close.”

“He’s not gonna corner himself in the building. The building we evacuated.” Harry leans his head back against the wall and thinks for a moment before he adds, “He’d want to be here, yes, but stay mobile… The elevators.”

“All of the passenger cars stopped, and we checked them.”

“Did we check the freight elevators?”

Tim’s eyes widen in realization as he and Harry push themselves to stand and run to the freight elevator doors. Once Tim pries the door open, he slides down the cable and lands on top of a car. Harry reluctantly follows and freezes when a noise echoes inside. Tim doesn’t notice Harry behind him as he prepares to enter the elevator. Before he can, a shotgun is fired between them, and Harry falls into the elevator. The man inside knocks him out with the butt of the shotgun, and Tim waits until the elevator moves up to drop in through the roof panel. As he lands, he looks up and sees a shotgun barrel in his face.

“I don’t suppose anybody would pay me three million dollars just for you,” the nine-fingered bomber muses.

He pulls the trigger, but the gun is empty. Tim removes his Glock from his side and demands the bomber lower the shotgun. He does so but opens his coat to reveal dynamite strapped to his chest and a deadman switch detonator in his hand.

“Hotshot,” the man begins. Tim’s jaw clenches as he realizes the man listened to their conversations over the radio, but he can’t say anything before the bomber says, “Terrorist holding a police hostage. He’s got enough dynamite to blow the building in half. What do you do?”

“Fifty cops are waiting for us in the basement,” Tim states.

“Standard flanking, I’m aware.” He presses a button on a device wired into the elevator controls. “So, maybe we’ll get off early.”

The elevator stops at a parking level, and Tim watches as the bomber pulls Harry toward the door. His eyes open slowly, and Tim keeps his eyes on Harry rather than the man pulling him.

“Well, end of the line, Bradford. This day has been a real disappointment, I don’t mind saying.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t kill everyone?” Tim asks.

“There will come a time, hotshot, when you will wish you’d never met me.”

“I’m already there.”

“Look! I have your partner, I’m in charge! I drop this stick and they clean us up with a sponge!”

“Go ahead!” Harry yells. “Drop the stick!” “Shut up!” Tim demands.

Harry looks at Tim and mouths, “Shoot the hostage.”

Shoot him. Wrong target, Reaper. Tim takes a deep breath and shifts his arms to shoot Harry in the leg. He collapses onto the floor, and the bomber steps back in shock before running into the garage. Tim steps over Harry to shoot behind the feeling suspect. As the man reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder to smile at Tim before he disappears. Tim can’t check on Harry as the garage explodes and the force pushes him back against the wall. As Tim collides with the concrete behind him, everything goes dark. And everything changes.

After Harry’s unplanned and involuntary retirement party, Tim nearly oversleeps. His alarm pulls him from a dreamless sleep, and he winces at the sound before turning it off. Before he showers, he decides to go for a quick run to clear his head. Once he’s dressed and ready for the day, he drives to his favorite café. It’s one of the only places in Los Angeles where you can get a decent cup of coffee and breakfast without being surrounded by millennials working on their screenplays. Tim nods at another regular, Vince, as he enters.

“Hey, Tim. You look awful,” Bob, the owner of the café, says.

“Thanks, Bob,” Tim grumbles.

“Pretty boy party too hard?” Vince asks Tim.

“I- I don’t remember that well.”

“Wake up alone?”

“Always do.”

“Must be nice,” Bob interjects. “The last time I partied like that I worked up married.”

Tim shakes his head as he accepts his order and walks out behind Vince. He sets his coffee on top of his truck as he retrieves his keys from his pocket. Vince’s bus starts behind Tim and pulls away from the curb. Tim turns to wave at Vince before unlocking his door.

After it crosses the first intersection, the bus explodes. Tim stumbles as he looks toward the source of the noise. He runs to the bus as it rolls to a stop and fights against the flames to help Vince, but it’s too late. As Tim lays his hands on his knees in shock, he notices an abandoned cell phone lying on the sidewalk behind him. It rings continuously, and Tim doesn’t hesitate before he answers the phone.

“What do you think, Bradford?” the bomber from last month asks. “You think if you and Harry find all the driver’s teeth they’ll give you another medal?”

“Where are you?” Tim demands.

“Twenty-second delay. I’m in the air duct when the garage blows. Did you think I wouldn’t come prepared? I spent two years on the elevator job. Two years. I invested myself in it. You couldn’t understand the commitment I have. A child, Tim, you’re a child. You ruin a man’s life’s work and then think you can walk away. You’ve got blinders on, but I got your attention now. Didn’t I, Tim?”

“Why didn’t you just come after me?”

“This is about money – 3.7 million. Not you and your ego. None of it had to happen, Tim, and I hope you realize that. How long do you think the driver’s wife and kids will wait before they get worried tonight?”

“When I find you, I will kill you,” Tim threatens.

“There’s a bomb on a bus, hotshot. Once the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If the bus drops below fifty, it blows up. What do you do?”

Tim doesn’t answer but looks around for any sign of the suspect.

“What do you do?” he repeats.

“I’d want to know what bus it was,” Tim answers. He’s accepted the challenge and knows that it has to end with a death: either his or the bomber’s.

“You think I’m going to tell you that, Tim?”

“Yes.”

“Very good.” The man sounds happy, and Tim presses a hand against a nearby wall to control his anger. “Now there are rules, Tim; we have to do this right. No one gets off the bus. One passenger leaves, I will detonate it. Now, if I don’t get my money by 11 a.m., there’s also a timer.”

Tim looks at his watch: 8:05 a.m. “I can’t pull that money in time-“

“Focus, Tim! Your concern is the bus. Don’t call, the radios are jammed. Number 2525, running downtown from Venice. At the corner of Lincoln and Pico…”

Tim drops the cell phone and runs to his car to follow the bus. The lives on that bus are in his hands, and he doesn’t plan to shoot any hostages today.

“Please stop! Sam!” you yell as you chase your bus.

You don’t want to ride the bus, but since your most recent speeding ticket, it is your only mode of transportation. In the few weeks since your license was suspended, you’ve gotten to know the driver, Sam, and some of the regular passengers. You hope that camaraderie is enough to convince Sam to stop for you. The brakes on the bus squeal as it stops, and the door opens.

“This look like a stop to you?” Sam asks.

“You are an amazing man, Sam,” you say as you walk onto the bus. “The men in books and songs have nothing on you.”

You swipe your bus card and take a seat before saying hello to Ortiz, a regular passenger. Comfortable in your seat, and glad that none of the passengers are in a talkative mood this early on a weekday, you relax and hope to get your car back soon.

Tim drives his truck in and out of traffic, onto the shoulder, and into the emergency lane as he tries to catch up with bus 2525. Other drivers honk their horns, flip him off, and yell insults through open windows, but Tim doesn’t notice or care. If he can stop the driver before it reaches 50, then the bomb will never activate. The only danger would be the man with the detonator.

You look up as Sam slows for a traffic jam.

“Can’t you just drive over them?” you ask with a smile.

“Is it always like this?” a man asks from the back of the bus. “It’s my first time here, and it took me three hours just to get out of the airport.”

“Yep,” you answer. “It’s usually worse.”

“That’s why I never drive,” the woman behind you interjects. “I’d never have a car in this city.”

“I have a car. I miss my car,” you lament.

“In the shop?” the tourist asks.

“Something like that. Sam, seriously, the bus is huge, just run them over,” you say again.

When Tim sees the bus has stopped because of a stalled car ahead, he sighs before he pulls onto the shoulder. He exits his truck and runs toward the bus, but the accident clears faster than he expected, and begins moving before he reaches the door. Hitting his fist against the side, Tim yells for the driver to stop.

“Can’t blame him for wanting to get on the bus,” you mutter as you watch him slap an open palm against the door.

“Get off the doors, man! Wait for the next one,” Sam yells before he speeds up.

Tim removes his badge from his pocket a moment too late. He continues chasing the bus, and you look down at your phone as the other passengers watch the unknown man run down the freeway.

Nearly half a mile from his truck and with no other option, Tim stops and waits at the edge of the road. He sees a speeding sports car approaching, and he moves into the middle of its lane and raises his badge.

“Stop!” Tim yells over the traffic.

The young man driving the car slams on his brakes to avoid hitting Tim. Several cars behind him blow their horns, and he raises to yell over the convertible’s windshield.

“What the-“

“L.A.P.D.,” Tim interrupts. “Get out of the car.”

“This is my car! It ain’t stolen and you have no right!” the driver argues.

Tim pulls his gun from its holster and says, “It’s stolen now. Move over.”

The man nods quickly before he jumps over the console and settles into the passenger seat. Tim sits behind the wheel and swerves into another lane as he ignores the owner’s pleas not to scratch the car. Tim drives the expensive, sporty convertible exactly as he had driven his truck, and the man in the passenger seat covers his eyes in fear for his car more than his life. As Tim steers the car beside the bus, he lays on the horn. Sam looks over and immediately recognizes him, and his eyes widen to prove it.

“I’m a cop!” Tim yells.

Sam lowers the window and raises his voice to ask, “What?”

“L-A-P-D!” Tim spells slowly. “There’s a bomb on your bus.”

“There’s a what?” Tim’s passenger exclaims.

“I can’t hear you,” Sam says.

“There’s a bomb on the bus!” Tim repeats.

Sam shakes his head, and Tim looks at the convertible’s speedometer. He’s over 50, so the bus must be, too.

“Drive!” Tim yells as he gestures for the bus to keep moving. “FIFTY! STAY ABOVE FIFTY!”

Sam nods rapidly and trembles a bit as he holds the speed steady. The commotion draws your attention, and you turn in your seat to watch the man who desperately needs a ride or is crazy.

“Call the Mid-Wilshire division station,” Tim says as he hands his phone to the man beside him. “Ask for Detective Angela Lopez.”

“Okay, okay.” The man speaks into the phone briefly before passing it back to Tim.

“Angela,” Tim says.

“Why are you calling me on your day off?” she asks. “Harry’s here, if you’re looking for him.”

“He’s alive.”

“Who?”

“The bomber! He’s back.”

“Harry!” Angela calls.

“Tim, did he hit the bus in Venice?” Harry asks as he approaches Angela’s desk.

“Temple,” Wade interrupts. “We just got a ransom demand from your dead terrorist. Says he rigged a city bus. Where’s Tim?”

“Where do you think?” Harry replies.

Tim ends the call and navigates around the back of the bus to drive alongside the door. Traffic is increasing with the morning rush, and he doesn’t want to risk getting stuck in another slowdown. He honks to get Sam’s attention, and gestures for him to open the door.

“Drive straight,” Tim directs him. “Stay in this lane.”

Sam agrees before Tim speeds up to get ahead of the bus. He opens the driver-side door and hits the brakes, so the bus rips the door off the car. Tim presses the accelerator again to catch up with the bus as he is yelled at by the owner of the car.

“Take the wheel!” Tim says.

Tim waits until the car’s owner moves back into the driver’s seat to jump into the open bus door and pull himself up the stairs.

When the bus rips the door off a convertible, you finally look up. The man driving the car beside the bus is attractive, but you’re a little concerned for his mental well-being. Sam seems willing to help him, and you don’t understand why. When he jumps from the car and onto the bus, you stand and grip the bar above your head. He locks eyes with you before holding up a police badge.

“Everyone, I’m Sergeant Tim Bradford, L.A.P.D. We’ve got a slight… situation on the bus,” he explains.

“Are you crazy?” you ask.

“Ma'am, if you’ll please sit down, we can deal with this in an orderly-“

“But what are you-“

“Ma’am.”

His tone and the look in his eyes convinces you, so you sit down as Tim walks toward the back of the bus and looks at the other passengers. You watch him move and wonder if he’s truly a cop or just insane.

“Just stay in your seats and remain quiet,” Tim says. “Then we’ll be able to defuse the, uh, the problem.”

A passenger you’ve spoken to before, Jay, leaps from his seat and points a gun at Tim.

“Jay!” you yell worriedly.

“Get away from me!” Jay demands.

Tim pulls his gun and matches Jay’s stance. Two women at the back of the bus scream, and you look between Tim and Jay from your seat.

“I don’t know you, I’m not here for you. Let’s not do this,” Tim says calmly.

“Stop the bus, Sam,” Jay calls.

“He can’t. Look, I’m going to put my gun away.” Tim holsters it slowly and raises his hands to show they’re empty. “I don’t care about what you did. It’s over. I’m not a cop right now. See? We’re just two guys on the bus.”

Tim tosses his badge to the floor beside your feet, and you look at it before raising your eyes to Jay again. You understand why he calmed down so quickly; Tim Bradford has a soothing voice, and his presence is assertive but caring. More importantly, you can relax now, because his badge looks real. Jay’s hands begin to lower, but your fellow passenger Ortiz jumps onto his back before Jay puts it away.

Tim rushes forward as Ortiz tries to pull the gun from Jay. A shot goes off, and everyone ducks before a second shot fires.

“Sam!” someone screams.

You turn toward the front of the bus before moving to help Sam. Tim disarms Jay with minimal effort while another woman joins your side.

“Move him,” you say.

“He’s bleeding,” the woman argues.

“We have to stop the bus!”

At your words, Tim spins quickly to face you.

“No!” he yells. “Stay above fifty.”

“Sam is wounded,” you begin.

“You slow down, and this bus will explode!”

Tim holds your eyes and nods slowly. He’s not kidding, you realize. Turning quickly, you look at the speedometer, which falls to 51. While Sam is still in the seat, you push your foot onto the gas pedal and watch the line rise above fifty.

Tim handcuffs Jay to one of the poles before he explains, “There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it will blow. If anyone tries to get off, it will blow.”

The women on the bus surround Sam and help him get comfortable as they try to slow the bleeding. As they pull Sam from the driver’s seat, you slide into position and steer into another lane to keep the speed over 50.

“We’re only gonna make it through this if everyone stays calm, sits down, and listens to me,” Tim adds.

You don’t hear everything he says, with your complete focus on the road ahead and the speedometer on the dash. Your knuckles are white because of your grip on the wheel, and you don’t hear Tim approach behind you. He lays a hand on the headrest behind you and leans down.

“This is great. A bomb on wheels,” you muse sarcastically.

“Can you handle this bus, ma’am?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just like driving a big Toyota, right?”

“Can you handle it?”

“I’m fine. What’s the plan? Is there a plan?”

Tim nods and stands to his full height. He watches you take a deep breath before turning to the rest of the passengers.

“Everyone, I need your cell phones,” Tim announces.

“No way, man!” the tourist yells.

“There is a terrorist out there with a bomb, and I don’t need any of you live streaming or interfering with the radio signal he could be using to detonate a bomb. So, I will only say this one more time. Phones - and anything else with a cellular connection – now.”

The passengers nod and offer all of their cellular devices. Tim accepts an empty bag from a woman beside Sam and places everyone’s belongings inside. He returns to your side and removes his phone from his pocket.

“Do you have anyone you need to call?” Tim asks softly.

“No. I- I don’t want to think like that,” you answer.

“We don’t have to. Everything’s going to be okay. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

You nod and Tim lays a kind hand on your shoulder to add, “But I need your phone.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s- uh- it’s in my back pocket. Right side.”

Tim’s hand brushes your lower back as he pulls the phone from your pocket. He apologizes, though you can’t imagine why. You’ve only known Tim Bradford for a few minutes, but his words mean something, and you can only hope he keeps the promises he’s making.

“You’re a cop, right?” you ask.

“That’s right. Metro Sergeant,” Tim says. “But you can call me Tim if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Uh, no. Thanks, and you can stop calling me ‘ma’am’ while we’re at it. I just- I should probably tell you that I’m taking the bus because my driver’s license was suspended.”

“What for?”

“Speeding.”

Tim shakes his head and hides his smile before calling the station again. He leans forward, but keeps his hand beside you, to look at the news chopper circling above the bus.

“Lopez, it’s me. I took phones from all the passengers. Where do we start?” Tim asks.

“Alright. Harry and Wade are with me,” Angela replies.

“Check the speedometer, Bradford,” Harry says. “Has it been messed with? Any wires or anything that don’t belong?”

“Sorry,” Tim whispers as he leans in front of you to check the dash area. “No, it’s clean.”

“Then it’s gotta be under the bus. Probably rigged to one of the axles.”

“I can’t get under the bus to check right now. The whole you stop, you die thing. Remember?”

Tim doesn’t sound like he’s kidding; in fact, he sounds grumpier than when he first boarded, but his comment makes you laugh. He pats the back of your seat before turning.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Sam calls weakly. Tim kneels beside him to listen, and Sam stutters, “There’s a- an access panel… in the fl-floor.”

“Hold on, Angela,” Tim says into the phone.

He unscrews the panel and pulls it aside. The asphalt moves quickly under the bus, and Tim looks around before handing his phone to a passenger. You look up in the mirror above you to watch Tim briefly before returning your attention to the road.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Stephen. I’m a tourist,” Stephen introduces.

“Welcome to the City of Angels. Hold my phone, please. Tell my partner what I see.”

Stephen nods and raises the phone to his ear as Tim moves so he can see under the bus. He takes a deep breath; Tim knows a bit about bombs from his time in the Army, but it’s Harry’s expertise.

“Okay, there’s a bundle here,” Tim yells over the wind. “Pretty big.”

“There’s a pretty big bundle,” Stephen relays.

“Brass fittings. I think I can reach the circuit wire.”

“He can reach the circuit wire- No, don’t do that, Sergeant Bradford. It can be a decoy, he says. What else?”

“Hold on,” Tim murmurs before moving further underneath the bus. He sees the extent of the bomb and pulls himself back up to take the phone. “Angela, Harry, there’s enough C4 on this bus to take out everyone on the highway. There’s a wristwatch: gold band, cheap.”

You look back at Tim quickly before inhaling sharply. “Sergeant,” you call.

“What do you think, Harry?” Tim asks.

“Bradford!” you yell into the bus speaker.

Tim moves to your side and places a hand on the dash to lean forward. His face is right beside yours, and you wish you were nervous because of him and not the bomb underneath you.

“Everybody’s stopping,” you point out. “What do I do?”

“Get on the shoulder.”

“This is an exit!”

Tim flinches as you sideswipe several cars.

“Tim!”

“Off. Get off!” Tim yells.

You nearly miss the ramp and pull the wheel to the right to merge onto another road. Honking the horn and yelling for people to get out of the way, you take a deep breath. At least you’re off the freeway. Tim tells you to keep driving as he answers his phone again.

“Where?” he asks. “Got it.”

“Do I stay here?” you inquire.

“Yes. Just straight on this, they’re trying to clear the roads for us.”

“I’m never getting my license back, am I?” you grumble.

“The police commissioner will buy you a car if you ask,” Tim says quietly. “You’re doing well, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

You nod and return both hands to the wheel. Tim removes the flannel shirt he’s been wearing, leaving him in a white t-shirt, and drapes it over the back of your seat. Your eyes catch on his biceps before you chide yourself for getting distracted.

One of the phones in the bag rings, and Tim yells, “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”

No one is willing to admit their fault or doesn’t want to risk dealing with Tim’s wrath and ending up like Jay where he sits on the floor. Tim digs through the bag and pulls the ringing phone out. The number is one he recognizes, but he hesitates before answering.

“Taking their phones was smart,” the bomber says as the line connects. “2525… nice passengers, aren’t they? See, that’s the beauty of being in this day and age. I know everything about everyone on that bus. So, if you or your little girlfriend, or even the tourist from Kalamazoo try to double-cross me…”

“The bus explodes,” Tim interjects. “I’m aware.”

“What’s with the attitude, Tim? You’re seeing one of the prettiest places in the world, riding a bus for free… Oh, no, I know. Can’t shoot a hostage that makes that cold heart beat again, huh?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want! 3.7 million dollars. I get the money, and then we can both get what we want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know what you don’t want. Tell your girlfriend to keep her eyes on the road.”

The call ends and Tim raises the cell phone in his hands. “He knows who is on this bus.”

“How?” Ortiz asks.

“Your bus passes, your phones, both, maybe. Look, one of the conditions of our survival is that no one gets off the bus. If he knows who you are, then we are even more obligated to keep that promise.”

“You didn’t even try to get us off the bus!” Jay accuses.

“Because he would have blown it. I understand what you are feeling, but I need you to trust me, trust the L.A.P.D., and work with me on this.”

“Tim is this your team?” you ask over your shoulder.

A police car pulls into the lane in front of you as several more flank the sides of the bus. The road clears around them, but more news choppers are joining the airspace above you.

Tim nods and looks at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. What happens now, though?”

“My teammates are working on it. We’ve got gas and open road, so keep driving.”

“Is it- can I be okay and really nervous at the same time?”

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t nervous.”

“You don’t look nervous.”

“My friend Angela says I never look anything; thinks I can’t show emotion because I can’t feel them.”

“Is it true?”

Tim looks at you and lowers to squat beside you. “No, it’s not.”

“How’s Sam?”

“The driver? He’s gonna be alright. Thanks to you.”

Someone calls for Tim, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly as he stands. You glance at him in the mirror as he returns to the access panel. A police helicopter drops to fly above you, and you wonder what the news stations and police officers know or think about the situation. The bus begins losing speed as you steer around a curve, and when you try to speed up again, you realize something is wrong.

Back at the station, Harry and Angela work with Wade and a bomb expert to search for a way to disarm the bomb and for their suspect. Harry has a description of the bomber, but there’s only so much they can learn about the bomb without seeing it.

“Sergeant Bradford!” you cry as you press the gas again.

“What?” Tim asks with wide eyes. You were calling him Tim, and your sudden change of formality and tone concern him.

“The gas pedal’s stuck.”

“What else can go wrong?” Tim asks under his breath. “Move your foot.”

You pull your foot from the pedal and steer as Tim presses his leg against yours to slam his foot down against the pedal. It doesn’t move, and the speedometer dips closer to fifty. Tim moves his hands to cover yours on the steering wheel and moves his leg between yours to try a new angle. You’re close to him, but the fear of dying keeps you from enjoying it in any way. He pushes the pedal again and his shoulders drop.

“There,” he announces as he steps back.

You take the wheel back and press the accelerator down again. The bus gains speed and you catch up to the police car before you.

“Lopez, talk to me,” Tim greets as he answers his phone again.

“You’ve got a hard left coming up,” Angela says. “Really hard.”

“Hard left up ahead,” Tim tells you.

“We’ll tip!” you argue.

“Who is that? Your driver?” Angela inquires.

“We’re not going to tip,” Tim says.

“Yes, we are!”

The curve in the road comes into view, and Tim suddenly agrees, “We’re going to tip.”

He leaves your side to move everyone onto the right side of the bus. The weight distribution keeps the bus from tipping, but as Tim helps you pull the wheel as hard as possible to make the turn, you forget why you were concerned. His presence is the only thing keeping you calm, and you wish he could just sit beside you the whole time.

“Angela, get those news crews off our tail!” he yells over the cheers of the passengers.

You look in the mirror beside you. The news crews must have arrived recently because you didn’t notice them before.

“On it. Harry’s working with the bomb squad. Keep it fifty,” Angela responds.

“Don’t try to make that a thing, Lopez,” Tim says before he ends the call.

“Hey, who’s doing this?” you ask Tim.

“The bomber? He’s just a guy who’s angry with me for foiling his last bombing attempt,” Tim explains.

“So, he’s trying again? Using you to get whatever it is he wants?”

“More or less.”

“What if you stop him again?”

“We do this again tomorrow. Until one of us dies trying.”

“That won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not available to drive tomorrow.”

Tim nods but doesn’t reply before a flatbed truck merges into the lane beside the door. His Metro captain and two officers are on the back, and the driver blows the horn to get his attention. Tim opens the door and moves out of the door to talk to them. You can’t hear much but suspect that they want to get the hostages off the bus, which Tim already said was impossible. Your sudden and unbending trust in him should probably concern you, but you will do anything and everything he tells you, even if that means staying on a bus with a bomb on it.

“He called the station looking for you,” an officer announces.

“Why? He has my cell,” Tim says.

“Maybe it died.”

“Just give him my number again! And keep looking; find this guy so we can move these people.”

Tim steps onto the main platform again and closes the door.

“Are they going to help us?” the woman holding Sam’s head up asks.

“Sure, they will. They’re the police,” someone jokes.

Another phone rings in the bag, and Tim pulls your phone out this time. He hadn’t thought to turn yours off because he was concerned about you and wanted to make sure you could drive like the bus needed to be driven.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Tim, you know I trust you. But it looks to me like you’re trying to move passengers off the bus,” the bomber says.

“I need one as an act of faith,” Tim argues. “The driver has been shot.”

“You shot another hostage?”

“He’s dying! If you want your money, show a little charity.”

The line is quiet for a moment before the bomber says, “Fine. You can try to get the driver off. I have more people to kill. Tell your girlfriend behind the wheel not to slow down or he won’t get a chance to bleed out.”

“We’re getting the driver off,” Tim announces after returning your phone to the bag. “Just him for now.”

Ortiz moves out of the seat to help Tim move Sam to the door and onto the truck.

“Get as close as you can,” Tim says. “A little closer.”

The side of the bus hits the truck and swerves, and you rush to apologize.

“It’s okay.” Tim says your name, and you know that he means what he says. “Perfect! Hold it steady!”

You sigh as Tim walks past you again after getting Sam to safety, but then you see a woman walking toward the door. The officers on the truck reach out to help her, unaware of what will happen if she steps off the bus.

“No!” you yell.

“I have to,” she responds.

“No! Don’t get off! Stop!”

An explosion echoes through the bus as the steps fall out and go underneath the bus. The female passenger disappears after she falls with the debris, and you look away quickly as Tim falls forward trying to catch her.

“You’ve got to get those choppers out of here!” Tim yells to his captain. “He’s watching!”

The bus is silent as Tim stands up and waits beside you. With your eyes on the road, he doesn’t see the tear that leaks out. When the passengers start arguing behind you, your grip on the wheel tightens.

“Hey!” Tim calls as he turns to face them. They silence, and he moves his attention to you. “How are you doing?”

Tim steps forward, sees the tears covering your face, and squats with an arm behind you. “What can I do?”

His voice is softer than when he yelled at the men behind you, and you can’t lie to him.

“I thought that was the bomb. When I heard it… I thought everything was over. But then I saw her fall under the bus, and-“

“You’re glad you’re still alive,” Tim finishes.

“I’m so sorry. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No. It doesn’t mean you don’t care. We’re still alive, and we’re all allowed to be thankful for that. The guy who put us here? He’s a terrible person. Don’t think that you’re a bad person. You’re not.”

“Tim,” you say before pointing to his Captain, who is waving for his attention.

“There’s a gap in the freeway. It’s big. We have to get these people off, Tim,” he says.

“You know I can’t, Captain.”

“Tim?” you ask as he walks past you. “What’d he say?”

“There’s a gap in the road,” Tim tells everyone.

“How big is a gap?” Ortiz asks.

“50 feet, a couple of miles ahead,” Tim says.

“Tim?” you repeat. “What if I shift down and just keep the engine revving?”

“He thought of that… Floor it.”

“What?”

“There’s an interchange, maybe there’s an incline. Just floor it.”

“Okay.”

“Everyone keep your heads down.”

The police car leading you falls off the side, but you continue driving toward the unfinished overpass. The needle on the speedometer nears 70, and Tim waits beside you. As you approach the end, Tim yells for everyone to hold on. He puts his arms around you and pulls your head down with his. You feel weightless for a moment, grounded only by his arms around you before the bus collides with the other side of the interchange. Looking up over Tim’s arm, you see more road ahead and press the gas again, so you don’t slow down.

Your forehead begins to burn and hurt, and you press your palm against your temple as the people behind you cheer. Tim checks on everyone before returning to your side, and he immediately realizes that you’re in pain. He moves your hand and presses the bottom of his shirt to your head. It’s stained with blood when he pulls his hand away, and you grimace at the idea of a wound on your head.

“Get off here!” Tim calls suddenly.

“Yes! Get off!”

You obey and soon enter the Los Angeles International Airport. Tim gives you directions to an emergency runway and explains that you can simply drive here. Without traffic or road closures, the only concern is staying above fifty.

Being in restricted air space is also a bonus, and you notice that the news helicopters are hovering at a distance. Tim seemed concerned about the presence of news cameras, so maybe the location will also keep the bomber from knowing exactly what is happening.

“Yeah?” Tim asks as he answers his phone.

“The airport. Well done. You had some close calls, but you did well, Tim,” the bomber says.

“What do you want?”

“My money. Help me get it before it’s too late, will you? The negotiators think I’m doing this for fun?”

“Are you not?”

“Oh, now you think you know me too?”

“I know you want money you didn’t earn. More than you deserve.”

“I did earn it! I got a medal, too, you know.”

“Let me off. If you want my help, I need to explain that you’re not bluffing. Just me.”

“Alright. But you have to come back. I can see everything; remember that.”

Tim ends the call and slides his phone back in his pocket.

“There’s a plan now?” you ask.

“Maybe. He’s letting me off,” Tim says.

“Hey, don’t forget about us,” you call as he steps off the bus and onto an SUV. “He’ll be back,” you promise the others.

While you circle the airport runways, Tim works with the other officers he told you about to find a way to disarm the bomb. Ortiz walks to your side and looks out at the airport.

“Ortiz?” you ask.

“He’s not coming back, I’m telling you,” he says.

“He didn’t have to get on in the first place. Hey, get behind the yellow line.”

Ortiz looks down and takes on short step back. “You let the cop up here.”

“What is that?” Stephen asks as he joins Ortiz.

“I have no idea,” you answer as you look at Tim standing on the back of a truck covered in machinery. It pulls over in front of you, and Tim lowers onto a cart attached to a winch, and you mutter, “I was right. He is insane.”

“How’d they get that so fast?” Stephen asks under his breath.

You focus more on driving in a straight line as Tim disappears under the front of the bus. He looks up at you just before he disappears, and you nod once. Knowing that he’s under the bus makes you more nervous to drive than you have been at any other point today. Driving in a straight line at the airport is more stressful because Tim is underneath a moving vehicle and touching a bomb. You know he has friends and colleagues who are helping him, but you feel more than a need to survive when you look at Sergeant Tim Bradford.

The winch on the truck releases suddenly, and the cable unfurls.

“Check and see if he came out the back!” you demand. “Can you see him?”

“He’s not back here!” Ortiz calls.

“Look under the bus! Back by the tires!”

“I don’t see him.”

The winch cable snaps and the back tire bounces over something. You press a hand over your mouth in shock, and Ortiz runs to the back access panel.

“Please tell me he’s alright!” you yell. “Do you see him?”

“I see him!” Ortiz responds. “He’s alright!”

You look back and forth between the empty runway and the back of the bus. Ortiz and Stephen pull Tim up onto the bus, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or relieved with him. Tim thanks Ortiz before walking to your side.

“How are you?” he asks.

“You scared me!” you accuse. You slap his vest to express your displeasure before hissing in pain. “What’s that smell?”

“Gas. We have a new leak.” “You caused a leak?”

“It was that or get run over. You can see the difficulty I had choosing.”

“Don’t try to be funny right now. I thought I killed you.”

“I’ll ask my captain to get a fuel truck.”

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not exactly comforting, you know that?”

“You just hit me and now you want comfort?”

You sigh and look at him again before saying, “Thank you, Tim.”

“Just doing my job… ma’am.”

Tim stays beside you while Harry and a S.W.A.T. team infiltrate the house listed on the bomber’s records. He was surprised by how quickly they found his identification, but now that they have the element of surprise, he hopes that this game is almost over.

 When he gets another call, you can only see the anger in his eyes as he listens to the person on the other end. The bomber tells Tim that Harry and the S.W.A.T. team walked right into his trap. You watch him and can only wonder what is making him so mad. His life is in danger, but something is capable of pushing him even further, it seems.

“I’m going to rip your spine out. If you know as much as you think you do, you know I can,” Tim threatens lowly.

“Oh, I do, Reaper. That’s why you should do what you’re told. You and I both know you can’t do it without Harry and his ability to follow a cheap watch, anyway. Get me my money and it’s over. Otherwise, you, lumberjack-ie, and the others are dead. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Tim says after a moment. “Howie.”

The bomber hesitates at the mention of his real name but doesn’t let it stop him. Tim listens to Howard Payne’s demands before ending the call. Tim turns around and kicks where the stairs used to be before pulling against the handrail in his anger. You try to get his attention over his yelling, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Tim! Please!” you try again. “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Tim slows his movements before gripping the rail beside you. His jaw is clenched as he looks at you, but your pleas soften his eyes.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“We’re going to die,” he says.

“No. You got us this far, right?”

Tim leans against the dash beside you and looks at you. His shirt is still behind you. Lumberjack-ie. Your little girlfriend.

“Lumberjacks wear flannel, right?” Tim asks.

“Uh, yeah. As far as I know,” you answer. “Why?”

“He can see you.”

“What?”

“Keep looking straight ahead.”

You turn your face to the windshield and watch the runway as Tim examines the top of the bus. He sees the camera at the top of the windshield and shakes his head.

“He said, ‘your girlfriend behind the wheel’ and ‘lumberjack-ie’. I didn’t even realize. There’s a camera in your face. He can see the whole bus.”

“He can see me, but can he hear me?” you ask.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Bus cameras can’t be very high-tech, Tim. Can’t your people get it on a loop or something?”

“You’re brilliant,” Tim murmurs before pushing himself off the dash and to his feet. “Guys, there’s a camera over my left shoulder. I need everyone to sit still. No big movements, no talking, just look concerned and sit still.”

He calls his captain and asks for someone to approach the news trucks at the fence to end the live broadcasts and use their equipment to make a video loop. His captain agrees and texts Tim with an update that the reporters are cooperating.

“Remember, stay relatively still. Just look scared,” Tim reminds everyone.

“That won’t be hard,” Ortiz grumbles.

Tim leans beside you while the video is being recorded. You drive in silence for a minute before noticing the blinking red light on the dash.

“Tim,” you whisper. “Look.”

“Cap, roll the tape. We need fuel,” Tim says into his phone.

“We only have a minute recorded. That won’t convince him, we need more footage” Wade argues.

“No time. Get these people off before this bus runs out of gas.”

“Fuel tanker is running behind. Driver said big rigs need radio signals, and they’re still jammed. Crazy not stupid, right?”

“Right.”

“Now what?” you ask Tim. “Are you tired of that question yet?”

“I’d like an answer to it,” he replies. “Get alongside this bus, okay?”

You nod and drive steadily alongside an LAX passenger bus. Tim’s team lays a wooden board between the bus doors and helps people cross to safety. You listen to Tim encourage the passengers across and are glad he was the cop who got on the bus today. The rear tire blows out suddenly, and you pull the steering wheel back to the middle and yell for Tim to come help.

Tim falls on his way back to the front of the bus, but when he reaches you, he moves his arms across you to pull the wheel.

“Use this to hold down the gas pedal,” he says.

You take the device from his hand and lower it into place. Tim steps back to tie the steering wheel to the floor of the bus, and you steer to keep the bus straight while he works. The moment it’s secure, he pulls you to your feet and tells you to get on the metal access panel.

“I can’t do this,” you argue.

Tim raises his hands to either side of your neck and brushes his thumbs along your skin as he promises, “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you.”

You swallow nervously and nod before sitting on your escape route, a thin piece of metal that Tim moved with no problem. Tim moves to lay over you, and he wraps an arm around your waist as you hide your face against his shoulder.

“I got you,” he promises once more.

The bus turns and the access panel cover falls out of the bottom. You clutch Tim tightly as the metal door slides across the runway and into a nearby patch of dirt. He sits up and watches the bus slow as it nears a plane but doesn’t let go of you. Just before the bomb detonates, Tim pulls you down again and lays over you to protect you from any debris. Sirens echo in the distance, and you wrap your arms around Tim’s back.

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

“No,” you answer, your first honest answer of the day. “Oh, I hate the airport.”

Tim moves to your side but keeps an arm around your shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

“You can’t get mushy on me. You can’t show emotion, remember?” you tease.

“I think I might be able to after all.”

“Relationships that start like this never last. It’s just the high-stress, adrenaline pumping, all that.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe we can change that.”

“Uh, I think your friends are here.”

Tim looks up but doesn’t move as Angela and Wade exit a police car and run toward him.

“I was worried about you,” Angela says. “And here you are.”

“I’m sorry about Harry,” Tim offers. “I wish we could have changed it.”

“You good?” Wade asks. “’Cause I might be a nice guy and let you take the rest of the day off.”

“And stop worrying about what we could have done differently. You saved a lot of lives today, Timothy,” Angela adds.

“A day off sounds like a good deal,” you murmur.

Tim shakes his head before introducing you to Detective Angela Lopez and Sergeant Wade Grey. When he finally stands and sees the scrapes and gashes littering your skin, he forces you to let a paramedic treat you. Tim follows you to the ambulance but hangs back to talk to Angela. He’s lost a partner before, too, and knows what it’s like.

“I’m sorry for bringing everyone into this. Howard could have just come for me,” Tim concludes.

“I appreciate everything,” Angela responds. “But, you’re going to the hospital, too. Is that Chen?”

Tim turns quickly and sees Lucy running toward the police cruiser parked behind the ambulance.

“Sergeant Grey!” she yells. “We’ve got Payne on the line, and he wants to know when he’s getting his money. Whoa, Tim, are you alright?”

“He doesn’t know,” Tim says. “He doesn’t know the bus exploded.”

“Tell him thirty minutes,” Wade alerts all the nearby officers.

“Stay in the ambulance,” Tim tells you.

“But I-“

“Ma’am, stay in the ambulance.”

You nod and climb into the ambulance after refusing help from the paramedics. They continue bandaging a cut on your leg as Tim climbs in.

“I need to make a quick stop on the way to the hospital,” he tells the driver.

“Where?” she asks.

“The drop spot. Pershing Square.”

The driver reluctantly agrees, and you watch Tim as she drives. He demands you stay in the ambulance until he returns, and you agree but don’t mean it. You’ve been beside Tim for most of the morning, and you neither remember how to be away from him nor do you want to. You stand on the sidewalk beside the ambulance and watch people move around you. It’s another normal day for them, but your life will never be the same after today.

“Miss, you can’t stand here, you need to move back,” an older officer says as he grabs your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m waiting for Tim-“

“Tim Bradford, yes. He asked that I move you out of harm’s way.”

“But he told me to stay here.”

His hold on your shoulders tightens as he says, “And I’m telling you to move.”

“Payne is late,” Angela complains.

“He’s not late,” Tim says. “He’s never late.”

“Two hundred cops are watching that sculpture, plus a tracker in the bag. He hasn’t been here,” Wade explains.

“Turn on the tracker,” Tim requests.

“What for?”

“Just do it!”

Wade presses a button on the laptop before him, and the blinking light of the tracker travels across the screen.

“He’s got the money,” Angela says.

Tim runs out of their hiding spot and to the drop spot. He pushes the art installation over and kicks it when he sees the opening in the sidewalk beneath it. As he drops into the defunct subway system, he sees someone walking farther into the tunnel and pulls his gun.

“L.A.P.D. Freeze!” he yells.

The person stops, and he aims at their head before saying, “Pop quiz. Someone has a clear shot at your head. What do you do?... Turn around.”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll kill Tim Bradford,” Howard Payne threatens as he secures a vest covered in dynamite around your chest. “What are you going to do?”

“Wait- wait for him to come in and walk away. Then I listen to you,” you answer shakily.

“Perfect. Maybe you two can have your happily ever after all. You say one word that I don’t like and you’re both dead.”

Howard disappears down the subway, and you bite your bottom lip to refrain from crying or screaming for help. Tim may shoot you, no questions asked, but at least he will be safe. When you hear something crash above you and sunlight infiltrates the dark staircase before you, you take a deep breath and begin walking away.

Tim’s voice doesn’t carry the same comforting words or soothing lilt as in the bus, but you still recognize it and want to hear it as he yells at you.

“Turn around!” he demands.

You turn slowly and can see the moment Tim realizes he’s pointing his gun at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The apology echoes off the concrete walls as Tim lowers his weapon. You don’t see or hear him, but you can feel the change when Howard appears behind you.

“Be prepared!” Howard says as he walks up the stairs behind you and raises the detonator, a deadman’s switch. “What are you gonna do, Tim? I don’t think you can shoot this hostage.”

“Let her go,” Tim demands as he points his gun at Howard.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that. Move the money,” he tells you.

You transfer the money from the L.A.P.D. bags and into Howard’s duffel bag as Tim yells at him to let you go.

“You don’t need her!” Tim adds.

“I will let go,” Howard threatens as he moves the detonator switch. “You don’t get it, Tim. Do you know what a bomb that doesn’t explode is? It’s the cheap, gold watch they gave me after I lost a finger and a life to my country.”

“You’re crazy.”

You push yourself against the wall as you listen to their exchange, but you keep your eyes on Tim rather than the bomb just below your chin. Howard demands you take his money and enter another part of the tunnel system and you know that you’re going to obey because he’ll kill Tim if you don’t. You tear your eyes from Tim and walk exactly where Howard leads you.

As you enter a crowded stop, Howard fires several shots into the concrete ceiling as you drop your head and cover your ears. The subway passengers waiting for the next train flee in terror as you try to get away from Howard. Tim can’t be far behind, but when you’re pushed into a subway car, you’re tempted to think that no help is coming. Howard handcuffs your hands around a pole before the subway lurches into motion.

At the back of the subway, Tim struggles to pry a set of doors open before he falls into the car. He moves strategically through the empty rows of seats with his mind on you and ending this game with Howard Payne once and for all.

The subway conductor reaches for his radio, and Howard forces the deadman switch into your hands and tells you to hold it. He turns his back on you and kills the conductor as you struggle to move away.

“Look, you won. You beat Tim, you beat everybody, you can just throw me off the train. I don’t care,” you plead.

“You see this stick? When you explode, the police will come there. But that’s not where I’ll be, so I get more time. I promise it won’t hurt,” Howard replies as he pulls the detonator away from you.

A series of dull thuds echoes, and Howard looks up quickly. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Hey, Tim. Is that you?” he asks. “He’s so persistent. Wouldn’t be able to interest you in a bribe, would I, hotshot?”

Howard kneels and opens the duffel bag full of cash. You watch as a dye pack explodes in his face and paints his money purple. In his anger, he fires bullets into the roof, and you drop to the floor as Tim rolls out of the line of fire. Howard runs through a door, and you can only listen as he climbs onto the roof and begins struggling against Tim.

Howard has the deadman stick in his hand and can kill you by moving a centimeter to the left or right, but you’re more worried about Tim with every noise against the roof. You stay low on the pole you’re cuffed to, twisting your wrists and manipulating your fingers as you try to slip free. The struggle above you silences suddenly, and you watch the door nervously.

“Tim!” you call when he rushes in. “Tim. Where’s Payne?”

“Uh, he lost his head. Turn around,” Tim says.

You circle the pole, and Tim rips a wire free before loosening the straps of the vest.

“Let’s take this off,” he says before pulling the vest away from your chest.

“Tim, can you hear me?” someone asks through the driver’s radio. “This is Wade. Listen, the track isn’t finished.”

“What else can go wrong?” you murmur.

“Wade, I copy,” Tim radios.

“Do you copy? Try the emergency brake.”

“I copy!” Tim tries again before throwing the radio down.

He steps to the right and hits the emergency brake. After the train doesn’t even slow, he begins hitting other buttons, but nothing happens.

“None of this works!” he exclaims as he hits the control board.

He turns away from the useless machinery and returns to you. When he notices the handcuffs holding you in place, he slows.

“You can uncuff me and we can get off,” you say with an exaggerated nod.

“I don’t have a key,” Tim replies.

“You don’t have…”

You trail off and look at the handcuffs. If only you could slip your hands through them, you think. Tim begins pulling and kicking the pole as you try again to pull your hands through the metal cuffs. He pauses and lays a hand against your arm to look at how tight the cuffs are.

“Help me pull,” you grunt as you lean your weight back against the restraints.

“No, no,” Tim says quickly as he pulls you forward. “You’re just hurting yourself.”

You stand still and see a bead of blood running down your fingers. As you stare at it, Tim walks to a map on the wall. He remembers the nightmare again; a series of bad memories that end with him, “the Reaper,” standing alone in the desert before being rescued and awarded a medal. As he searches for a way to save you, Tim decides that he will never shoot the hostage again, and he won’t leave you behind, even if that means dying with you.

“Tim, please just go,” you beg.

“There’s a curve ahead. I can make it jump the track.”

“Tim! Sergeant Bradford!” Tim turns to you, and you repeat, “Get off this train. You can still jump. Tim, please. Please.”

Tim ignores you as he returns to the controls and increases the train’s speed. You slide your hands down the pole as you sit on the floor, and Tim walks silently to your side. He leans in beside you, and you raise your arms to wrap around his neck as you lean your head against his. He moves his arms around the pole to circle you and holds you tight as the train picks up speed.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper just before the lights go out.

The train car hits something and spins, but Tim tightens his arms around you. With every bump and move of the subway, you become more convinced that you’ll never get out of this position. Light enters the windows as you crash through something, and the car flips onto its side as it lands on asphalt. The impact loosens the pole, and you fall onto Tim, whose grip on you doesn’t waver for a second. As the car slides to a stop, you squeeze Tim and take a deep breath.

“You didn’t leave me,” you say before forcing yourself to open your eyes.

Tim cradles the back of your head before moving his hands to your back. You lean up gently and look into his eyes again.

“I told you to leave me!”

“I didn’t have anywhere to be just then. Rest of the day off and all,” Tim responds before pulling you down against him.

He kisses you, and you’re surprised that it is more than adrenaline. The kiss is more than a relief to be alive, and you want to feel Tim Bradford at your side every day for the rest of your life (which would have ended today if not for him). You move your hands to Tim’s short hair as you return his kiss. It’s relief, joy, love, and passion in a single touch. When Tim begins breathing heavily against you, you move up.

“I’ve heard relationships that start during intense situations like this never work,” Tim says.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Then I guess we’ll be the first.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Glass rains down on you as you kiss Tim again, and though your day went nothing like you thought it would, it’s now the best day of your life. Tim helps you stand as his team approaches the scene, and you stop him before you exit the car.

“You know if this was a movie, they’d make another one where the same thing happens again, right?” you say softly.

“We’re never taking public transportation again,” Tim states.

“Yeah. Hey, where is the truck you were driving this morning?”

Tim hesitates and tightens his arm around your waist before turning away to yell, “Chen! I need you to do something for me.”

[thelov3lybookworm]

Love Needs No Voice (Part 1)

Summary: The famous guy is a little too stubborn for Y/n's liking.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: The reader in this fic is mute. I just want to warn everyone, I have no experience or know anyone who has experience with muteness, so everything i write is based off of my research over the internet. If I write something that might offend anyone, please let me know so I can rectify my mistake. Its not my intention to hurt anyone.

That said, Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The timer Y/n and Nesta had set rang, signalling the end of the hour, and some people from the table nearby looked over before returning to their conversation.

Finally. Y/n heard her best friend whisper from next to her, relief evident in the way Nesta cracked her back.

Y/n simply smiled at her friend from childhood, stretching her back as she clenched and unclenched her fist, sighing when her body relaxed after an hour of no movement.

It was saturday today, meaning most students of the university were either exploring London, sleeping in, or sitting in the cafe near the campus, completing notes and assignments.

Y/n had had nothing else to do, and she wanted to finish all her assignments, so she had planned to come to the cafe, and Nesta had insisted to come along.

And even though it had been her decision to tag along, Nesta had been fussy the whole morning, whining about wanting to do something else, but not wanting to leave Y/n either. They had both settled on studying for three hours and then going out.

Nesta stood up, bending this way and that before sighing. "Let's go get something to eat." She mumbled.

Y/n thought about it for a second, then shook her head as the image of the famous boy flashed in her mind. She glanced around a little, then gestured at Nesta to go by herself.

"You're not hungry?"

Y/n again shook her head.

Nesta shrugged. "I'll bring you something."

Y/n waved, then turned back to her book, continuing to scribble her notes across it.

Y/n watched her friend make her way through the crowd of students toward the line that led to the cafe counter, leaning back in the cushioned seat she currently occupied.

The scrape of a boot caught Y/n's attention, and she stiffened a little, hoping it was not who she knew it was.

Alas, the fates were not kind to Y/n on some days, and today was most probably one of those days, considering she'd stubbed her toe almost over five times now.

The handsome boy that all the girls from the university fawned over dropped into the seat next to Y/n, a huge smile on his face.

Y/n suppressed her sigh.

Y/n should have known there was a chance she would encounter him today, considering one of his friends worked as a barista in this exact cafe.

The violet eyed boy had never noticed her until a month ago, and Y/n had used to believe herself lucky to be out of sight of the boy that basically smelled of money, who wore clothes that practically screamed My father is rich, haha, you losers.

But then on that fateful day a month ago, Y/n had decided to stay in the library finishing up some of her literature assignments, and that had probably been one of the worse decisions of her life.

Nesta had her cheerleader practice that day, and then she had been too tired to study, so Y/n had told her to go home. To go and get some rest, that Y/n could handle by herself.

How wrong she'd been.

After two hours of study, the sky had begun to darken in the distance, rain clouds gathering, promising heavy rain. Y/n looked out the window, and decided it was time to call it a day. She gathered all her supplies and notebooks, placing them neatly into her bag. Y/n was never one for messiness, and her mother and Nesta liked to joke that her need for organising everything perfectly will bite her in the ass one day.

That day, Y/n understood what they meant.

Y/n meticulously stored everything away, arranging her books in the order she wanted, all the while glancing out the window and hoping it wouldn't rain anytime soon.

After she was finally done, she raced towards the exit, finding another student standing there, staring out over the grounds, now wet with the heavy rain that began pouring. He wore a simple black vest and grey sweatpants, his dark hair tousled, his neck gleaming with sweat.

Y/n skid to a stop, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. She was too busy wondering how she would go back to the small rented apartment she shared with Nesta, not realising the person next to her was none other than the Rhysand.

Y/n frowned when she felt eyes on her, and she glanced from the corner of her eye to find the boy staring at her. She turned her eyes to the small puddle quickly forming a little distance away, glaring at it, a blush climbing up her neck at the intensity with which he stared at her.

"Hey. I'm Rhysand." He waited for a few moments, and when it was clear Y/n would not reply, he continued awkwardly. "Is anyone coming to pick you up?"

Y/n blinked, looking at the guy. She stared at him for a moment, then glanced behind her, checking to make sure no one was standing behind her and that he really was talking to her. He rose a brow at her actions, and she quickly shook her head no.

"So... do you have an umbrella?"

She again shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, her blush spreading down her neck when she realised that she was wearing the worst possible outfit ever.

Rhysand opened his mouth to speak again, but just then a sleek, shining black sedan pulled up, and he paused. A man in a full suit stepped out of the driver's side opening an umbrella, walking the few steps towards Rhysand.

The man said nothing, just stood holding the umbrella over Rhysand's head, who turned to Y/n with a cheeky smile. "And that is my very talkative body guard. Very cheery, that man."

Y/n stared blankly, wondering if she was supposed to laugh. His smile faltered, before widening as he stepped towards his car. This guy really was rich.

He made to get in, but turned at the last moment. "If you don't have an umbrella, how are you going to go home?"

Y/n simply shrugged, tugging her jacket tighter around her. A frown appeared on his face. He stood there, studying Y/n for long enough that she had to resist the urge to squirm. "I can give you a ride." He said, matter of factly.

When Y/n shook her head, he silently contemplated something, then turned to his bodyguard. "Give her the umbrella."

The man in the suit didn't even hesitate, simply waited for Rhysand to get settled before shoving the umbrella at her. Y/n stared at him, panicked. He stood unmoving, waiting for her to take the umbrella.

Y/n grabbed it, wishing more than ever that she could talk in that moment. She wished she could tell Rhysand to keep the umbrella, but he obviously would not have learned the sign language and there was no other way she could talk to him, and she didn't have the will to get out a pen and paper.

Rhysand rolled down his window, something like concern and curiosity swimming in his eyes. "You can return it to me tomorrow, if that's why you are so hesitant." Y/n nodded reluctantly, swallowing. He smiled. "Are you sure you don't want me to drop you home?"

Y/n shook her head, then ran off, knowing he would try to continue talking, and then eventually find out about her lack of voice, and then pity her. Then tell the whole university so everyone can make fun of her. That's what usually happened.

She didn't need anyone pitying her out bullying her. She did enough of that herself.

Someone nudged Y/n's shoulder, and she blinked out of her thoughts, turning to find Rhysand smiling at her.

Y/n swallowed, trying not to get lost in his beautiful violet eyes.

"How are you doing?"

Y/n studied him for a moment, then turned back to her notes. She felt him deflate next to her. "Why don't you talk to me? Why do you ignore me?"

Y/n fidgeted with her pen, attempting to block him out. It didn't work. His voice was just that hypnotic. "If you want me to leave you alone, just say the word." He mumbled, his voice sad.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a breath through her nose.

A tense silence descended around the two of them, and Y/n wondered if he had left. When she opened her eyes, she found him studying her intensely. This time, she held eye contact.

A few moments passed, and suddenly, he jolted, his eyes widening in shock. Y/n's brows furrowed, and she turned to glance behind her at the seats behind her, wondering if something was going on.

When she turned back to him, he still looked like he had seen a ghost, though now his eyes swam with emotion.

"You- you... you can't..."

His words did nothing to soothe Y/n's confusion, and she simply blinked at him.

"You can't, can you? I said if you want me to leave you alone, just say the word. You..."

Suddenly, it all clicked for Y/n.

He knew.

Y/n straightened, grabbing all her books and shoving them haphazardly into her bag. A book's cover even folded outward, but Y/n pushed it in, uncaring. All she wanted to do now was to run away, far, far from everyone that knew, from everyone that would soon find out.

Rhysand grabbed her hand as soon as Y/n stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Precisely at that moment, Nesta came bounding up to the two of them as he too followed Y/n up, a to go cup of coffee in her hand and a muffin in another. The muffin Y/n loved.

Nesta slowed down, raising a questioning brow at Y/n. Knowing everyone would soon find out, Y/n signed to Nesta.

He knows.

Nesta stiffened, then handed Y/n the muffin so she could sign back. Did you tell him?

Y/n shook her head, walking closer to Nesta and ignoring Rhysand as he called her name. He figured it out.

Nesta glared at Rhysand, then grabbed her bag from Y/n and dragged her best friend away.

Y/n felt eyes on her all the way until she reached the exit, and she turned to look back at the stunned boy once.

What she saw confused her a little, but she could not contemplate on it much as Nesta didn't stop.

He had looked guilty, but also...

Determined.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe

[redtsundere-writes]

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader

Part 7. Help Me To Help You

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Spynosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Reader is a baddie. Warnings: MDNI. +18. Cursed words. I only read it once, lmao. Smut. Raw sex. Vaginal. Oral. Humiliation. Reader is dom. Sukuna is sub. Word count: 4149 words. A/N: We are finally in the middle of this story. Thanks for all the support and the comments! Hope you like this chapter.

Less than 48 hours left until fight night. This time, the championship night would take place in Tokyo. It was always good to fight at home so we didn’t have to worry about traveling nor having jet lag. Sukuna and Naoya had gone through the judges and referees for the official weigh-in at the official UFC facility. Luckily, Naoya threw me a couple of flirtatious winks and didn't say a word during the brief encounter. If Sukuna found out that I betted my position as his coach, he would kill me without hesitation.

The band of the treadmill was moving under my feet. I couldn’t give up. The outcome of this fight rested on my attitude against the circumstances. My arms swayed with every step I took. I had to secure Sukuna's luck no matter what. I was losing my breath due to fatigue. Sukuna won the last fight against Toji Fushiguro thanks to me. My feet were moving on their own. Should I fuck him again?

“Hey!” Sukuna shouted in my ear, waking me up from my thoughts.

My feet stopped dead in their tracks on the treadmill, causing me to lose my balance and stumble. The band pushed me off the platform, sending me rolling to the ground. My head was spinning, so I lay down to recover. It's a lousy idea to get up suddenly after a serious fall, that's how you pass out. I knew it from experience.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today? You're acting weird lately,” Sukuna asked me, annoyed.

“Shut up,” I mumbled with a frown.

“Are you worried about the fight tomorrow?” he asked, irritated.

“Of course I'm worried! If you don't win tomorrow, I'll have to go back to the Zen’in’s!”, I thought, but I couldn't tell him that. I had gotten myself into this mess on my own, I was willing to get out of it alone and teach that jerk Naoya Zen’in a lesson.

“A little, but it will be alright. I trust your good luck ritual will work, by the way, do you have someone to fuck already?” I asked, trying not to sound too obvious.

“Keep your fucking voice down!” Sukuna scolded me between whispers, kneeling down next to me to look me at the eye. “Only Yuuji should know, but he opened his mouth and now you and Gojo know,” he whispered, after making sure no one around us was paying attention.

“Megumi knows about it too.”

“That nosy little shit,” he grumbled before desperately doing a facepalm.

I didn't think he was embarrassed by his lucky ritual. Yes, it was unconventional, but I didn't know it was a big open secret. Usually male athletes are not embarrassed about fucking multiple women, they even flex about it by bringing a different woman to their matches. I thought Sukuna would be like them, I was surprised he wasn’t.

“Get up now, you look stupid,” he said as he offered his hand to help me.

“Good thing I caught you resting, Sukuna,” Nanami announced his presence as he approached us. “Hey, weren't you supposed to leave 10 minutes ago?” he asked me directly. I looked at my watch, it was 2:10 pm. I had to leave soon if I wanted to get to my appointment on time.

“That's right! Thanks for reminding me,” I thanked Nanami before rushing to the lockers to change.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? Tomorrow is fight night!” Sukuna shouted angrily as he grabbed my arm to stop me from running away.

“It’s going to help you win! I promise!” I exclaimed to get him to let me go.

“Are you going to let her go just like that?” Sukuna asked Nanami as if he was my dad.

“She asked to leave early a month ago, she told me it was important. It's in her rights as an employee,” Nanami explained calmly.

I abruptly let go of Sukuna, and he grumbled in contempt. He knew Nanami was right. If he didn't let me leave, I could file a complaint against him with HR. I assured him he would thank me later, and he death glared at me. That was so him.

At the lockers, I took off my stinky clothes from sweat training. I opened my gym bag and took out the denim skirt I had packed. The last time I wore a mini skirt was on my first date with Naoya, a special occasion. “I can't believe I'm going to wear this again,” I thought as I saw how short it was, it barely covered my butt. I had to wear it, this would be a special day too.

2 hours later on a train ride, I arrived at my not so exciting destination. The Golden Pot, a Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of Kyoto, known for having the best wonton soup in town. I never thought I would return to this place. It brought back bittersweet memories of my relationship with Naoya, as I had the best dates of my life with him here. It was amazing how the person I once grew to love more than myself became my #1 enemy.

Naoya has a less troublesome luck ritual than Sukuna. Before every fight, he must eat a bowl of wonton soup to secure his stomach and his victory. He always did this in the evenings after the official weigh-in. When he travels out of the country, he usually eats it before taking the plane. Since he was fighting in Tokyo, I knew he would be at the restaurant. I zipped up my Team Black jacket and walked confidently into the place.

The aroma of ginger and garlic permeated my nose as soon as I walked through the doors. Like any Chinese restaurant, the place was decorated with red lanterns hanging from the ceiling and golden dragons of good fortune among the long tables. The sound of sizzling dishes and the animated murmur of customers enjoying authentic Chinese food crept into my ears as I searched for the stupid blond with my eyes.

I spotted him at the table where he always used to sit. A table in a booth with red cushions and an intimate atmosphere. He was alone and undercover as if he were a spy, wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses despite being indoors. I really didn't want to approach him, but I had to be brave. I had traveled all the way from Tokyo to confront him and put him out of his comfort zone, I couldn't afford to chicken out now.

“Is it good?” I greeted him reluctantly. Naoya looked up from his bowl and took off his glasses to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Taking his time to run down my bare legs, getting used to the idea that I was standing before him.

“Well, well… What brings you all the way to Kyoto?” He asked me with a smile.

“Since you came to visit me at the gym and my house, I thought it would be nice to visit you at your favorite place,” I replied as I sat down across from him.

“You are so cute,” he commented before eating a wonton.

A waitress came to our table quickly to take my order. She tried giving me a menu, but I already knew what I was going to order.

“I'm not going to stay long, I'll just have a wonton soup to go and an iced tea for here,” I asked.

“Are you in a hurry?” Naoya asked me, disappointed, once the waitress left.

“A little, I have to go back to Tokyo early to continue training Sukuna,” I answered.

“Do you care about him?” He asked me seriously.

“Of course I do, it's my job.”

“No, I mean, do you really care about him?” He corrected the question.

I frowned in response. It was true that Sukuna was on my mind 80% of the day, but that's because he is my job. I have to make sure he eats well, does the exercises correctly and is in his best mental state before every fight. I have seen him progress in the last four months that I have been training him, and I was proud of my work, but where was he going with that kind of question? Naoya sighed when he didn't get an answer.

“Do you like him?” he asked, confident that he knew the answer already.

“No,” I answered coldly, before he made up weird ideas in his head.

I couldn't imagine jumping from one idiot to another. Sukuna could be an amazing athlete, an extremely attractive man and a good protector, but he was still a traitor, a rude champion and someone who uses women to his advantage. We had grown up together these past few months, but I was not to be confused, he was still Sukuna Ryomen.

“This brings back so many memories. This is where we had our first kiss. We were so young and immature,” Naoya sighed as he imagined the scene.

“We are still young and immature, especially you. You still cling to the past and want to pull me with you,” I mumbled.

“What's wrong with wanting to take back what's mine?” he wondered, annoyed that I had broken his illusion.

“That I am not your property nor Zen’in’s,” I answered.

“We'll see about that tomorrow,” Naoya selfassured.

The waitress arrived with my order carefully wrapped in a plastic bag and the tea in the typical yellowish plastic cup of this kind of restaurant. I smiled as I saw the full glass in front of me, “This is what I came for,” I thought as I took a sip.

“You're right, let’s not argue now,” I thought out loud as I got up from my seat, ready to leave. “We'll see about that tomorrow,” I said with a confident smile.

I poured the iced tea over Naoya's half-eaten wonton soup. His eyes widened at the reckless act I was pulling. I was ruining his good luck ritual before his eyes. I slammed the glass down on the table in front of him to grab his attention back.

“You better not back off,” I threatened him in a low voice so that he was the only one listening to me.

“I hope you too, cutie,” he glared at me, this time he had stopped smiling to restrain himself from hitting a woman in a public place.

I left the place with my food and sighed relieved that the conversation had not escalated any further. I checked the time. It was almost 6 pm, I had to get to the train station if I wanted to make it to the next part of my plan on time.

SUKUNA POV

A sharp pain invaded my neck as I moved my shoulder again. A grunt of pain escaped from my lips as I moved it in circles as Shoko recommended. The hot water from the shower helped dull the pain. I should be embarrassed. I couldn't let such a superficial injury stop me. I had to give my 110% in tomorrow's fight as always. My honor and my title were on the line again. I shouldn't be worried though, no one knows that my shoulder is injured, and I have Y/n, who has been teaching me all of Naoya's moves. My chances of winning were still pretty high.

I let the hot water run over my body some more. I didn't want to get out of the shower, but I had to get ready to greet the prostitute I had hired in advance for tonight's ritual. I wrapped myself in my shower robe and went on to dry my hair, so I would have it ready for tomorrow. I was in my best possible shape, but aesthetics are also important for sponsors.

The doorbell echoed through the penthouse, letting me know that someone was waiting at the door. I frowned at the time. It was barely 8 o'clock, the hooker was supposed to arrive at 9. "Who the fuck is it this late?", I asked myself annoyed. I walked over to the door to see who it was.

It was a rather pleasant surprise to see Y/n through the peephole. She was waiting patiently outside the door with a plastic bag in her hands. I was going to open the door, but I saw her take off the team black gym jacket. My cheeks flushed slightly at the sight of her in something other than workout clothes. She was wearing the shortest denim skirt I had ever seen in my life and a pink shirt that allowed me to see her cleavage thanks to the height difference. I had seen her wear things that revealed her stunning body, but this was the first time I had seen something that made her look like a girl and not like someone who can kick my ass.

She started to lose her patience. She rang the doorbell again, bringing me back to reality. I was a weak man if just looking at her made me blush. “Fuck,” I thought, annoyed with myself, before opening the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I scolded her. “Who the fuck gave you my address?”

“What a nice way to greet your coach,” she joked, sarcastically. “Nanami gave me your address. I came all the way from Kyoto to bring you a good luck wonton soup,” she explained as she handed me the plastic bag.

As soon as she moved his jacket from one arm to the other, I noticed something about her outfit that I hadn't seen through the peephole before. It was a detail I shouldn't have minded in the least, but my eyes hyper-fixated on it anyway. The pink rim of her thong protruded above her skirt, gently draped over her hip. The fact that I even noticed it surprised me. I'd seen that on thousands of models at parties, why did it matter to me so much in Y/n? Had she done it on purpose? It was hard to tell, since I only know her in working hours. This was the first time we had met outside the work environment.

“Are you going to let me in?” she wondered.

“Did you really go all the way to Kyoto to bring me a measly wonton soup?” I asked as I inspected the contents. Y/n slapped my arm at the rejection of her gift.

“It's the best soup in the world!” she scolded me, offended. “Also, I went to ruin Naoya's lucky ritual,” she confessed, embarrassed.

“Are you fucking stupid!? That's why you left training early?!” I yelled in annoyance.

“Hey! You should be thankful that I'm taking every precaution to ensure my victory!” she finished off by raising her voice to reach my volume. She always has a stupid answer for everything.

“Your victory…” I tasted the phrase in my mouth. “Are you only doing this just for yourself?”

“My victory is that you remain as the champion,” she clarified.

“Well, you did what you had to do,” I told her, ready to close the door.

“You didn't answer the question I asked you earlier,” she reminded me, it was as if she didn't want the conversation to end.

“What are you talking about?” As soon as I blurted out the question, she blushed and avoided my gaze.

“Do you already have someone for your lucky ritual?” She asked, still avoiding my gaze.

“Yes, she's coming in an hour. You can go home now,” I said, tired of explaining myself to her. I tried to close the door, but she pulled her body into the penthouse to avoid it.

“Are you sure she will satisfy you?” She asked me, almost desperate.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I yelled, opening the door again. “You've been so weird since we made the strategy! Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I just want to make sure that your ritual goes well…” she whispered in embarrassment. That sounded like a damn lie.

“Y/n!” I scolded her. She was startled by the scream and then sighed in surrender.

She told me all about her history with Naoya in a low voice. From how they met to how he continues to stalk her to this day. She told me how she came to his house out of nowhere and betted on her freedom to get rid of him once and for all. “Are you such a dumb bitch?! How could you even think of doing that!” are things I wanted to scream at her until her ears bled from her stupidity, but I couldn't do it seeing her so emotionally drained. No wonder she was so desperate, this was the only way she had to be able to get rid of him. What a mess she was in.

“Help me out, Sukuna.” Her eyes begged me for mercy, I couldn't say “no” to that.

“Come in, it better be as good as in Dubai,” I threatened her as soon as I let her in.

“I will do my best,” she promised.

Despite being shorter than me by a head and looking so tender in that outfit that left almost nothing to the imagination, this little shit pushed me against the bed with all her might. In my own house! She had already seen me naked and knew how I behaved during sex. So it was easy for her to undo the knot of my shower gown and unwrap me as if my hard cock was her birthday gift. She didn't hesitate to take it all the way into her mouth. Each suck and lick felt desperate. I knew she wanted to make me come, so she could secure tomorrow's victory, but sometimes the idea of her being really desperate to have my cock inside her for lustful pleasure tickled my brain.

“You really want to impress me, don't you?” I asked her as I took off my robe completely.

I pushed her towards my crotch, hugging her by the shoulders with my leg to show her how flexible I had become since she had taught me floor techniques. The splashes coming from her wet lips, her eyes watering from having my monstrosity in her little mouth and her hands holding my thighs to keep her balance were a sublime image. I could come just seeing her in that state.

I pulled her to me with one tug to do what I had wanted to do to her since I saw her through the peephole. I ripped off her thin pink shirt to reveal the pink lace bra that matched her thong. “She came prepared,” I thought with a satisfied smile. I usually like to remove the bra because it gets in the way, but I decided to leave this one on because it was cute. The little flowers looked so pretty over her beautiful breasts. I yanked down her skirt and reached into her slutty cave. She clung to my body as she moaned my name as praise. My fingertips rubbed her sensitive clit as they bathed in the natural lube. Y/n struggled against her own body to maintain her composure.

She took possession of my body as soon as she climbed into my lap. I thought the fun was finally going to begin, but she decided to keep playing with my senses. She took possession of my cock to rub the tip against her clit in slow circles. I bit my lower lip to keep from moaning like a bitch in heat.

“Don't be shy, I want to hear you,” she asked before gently twisting my nipple.

My eyes popped open as I felt her fingers against my sensitive spots. I think it's the first time I've ever been touched like that. She smiled as she realized the same thing I did. She approached me slowly to kiss my nipples gently. We had only slept together once, and she already knew my body better than I did. Oh Naoya, he really fumbled the bag. Poor bastard. She flicked her tongue and gently sucked on my erect nipples from the cold of the night. I closed my eyes to enjoy the tickling that ran mercilessly through my body as I moaned for her.

“How cute. Your cheeks match your hair and my underwear,” she whispered in my ear as she saw the blush that covered my face.

She shoved my cock in her all at once, bringing back memories of Dubai. This time, my back was no longer suffering from being pushed against a small wooden table. She rode my cock like a pro, making sure the tip had the biggest impact point. Her breasts bounced in my face, her moans were music to my ears and her hips were moving to the beat of a forbidden song. I wrapped my arms around her waist to hold her close to me and made sure my cock went all the way into her cervix.

She kissed me passionately without ceasing to impact her hips against me. It was wild, rushed, and powerful. She pressed my body against hers like a snake mercilessly choking its prey. I had no intention of fighting her, I could die in between her thighs and I would be so fucking happy.

I wasn't going to last any longer if we kept going like this. My mind kept repeating the national anthem to last longer in heaven, but it wasn't working. Y/n knew what she was doing, and she was doing a great fucking job. My cock was high and wet in her pussy, I wanted more, I needed more of her. My hips were moving on automatic to penetrate her fully. Her tits bouncing in my face was the best sight I have ever witnessed in my life. Y/n felt so tight and delicious, I was about to explode. Before I could help it, I came in her. My cock was slowly pumping her full.

“Are you done?” She smirked.

“Shut up,” I sighed tiredly. She pulled away from me to go to the bathroom to clean herself. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the bed. “I'm not done with you yet.”

”Huh?” She asked, confused.

“I may be satisfied, but you're not,” I told her before spreading her legs apart.

I wasn't used to eating pussy from hookers, they just made me cum and left, but seeing my coach's face all flushed and surprised made my night. She really didn't expect me to go deep into her body to finish what I had started. I dipped my head into her crotch to part her lips with my tongue. She stifled a moan and closed her legs at the tickle that ran down her back. Her thighs pressed against my face, drowning me in her delicious pussy. Y/n arched her back to bring her clit closer to my nose and thrust my tongue deeper inside her.

It was sour and sweet at the same time. I didn’t like the taste much, but I was a fan of the texture. I looked like a fucking junkie once I got used to the slimy sensation on my tongue. She pulled me by the hair to suck on her clit. I opened my mouth wide to eat the food God blessed me tonight. Y/n looked like a hot mess and I loved it. She moaned, writhed and called my name with lust.

“Just like that!” she moaned as she pushed my face, a sign that I was doing a good job.

I kept doing exactly what she asked until she squirted on my face. I jerked away confused as to what had happened. I wiped my face to see Y/n lying there like a happy starfish, arms, and legs spread across the bed tired.

“Good job,” She moaned in satisfaction with her eyes closed.

I was going to answer, but the doorbell grabbed my attention. It must be the prostitute. I wrapped my robe around me again and grabbed my wallet from the nightstand. I didn't want to waste time with her, I wanted to go to sleep soon so I could be well rested for the fight. I opened the door to find a blonde girl who reminded me of a bitch I know.

“Hi, handsome. It's nice to meet you, I always see you on the sports channel and…”

“Look, thanks for coming, but let's cancel. Someone already emptied my balls. Take 100 dollars and leave,” I said, throwing the bill at her and slamming the door in her face.

I went back to the room only to find y/n completely asleep under the covers. She looked exhausted, I shouldn't wake her up. I sat next to her on the bed and sighed tiredly. My horniness was decreasing, and I questioned whether I should let her sleep or ask her to go home. I looked at her again. She looked very comfortable and content tucked into me in the wet covers from our fluids.

“Looks like I'll be sleeping in the guest room,” I thought out loud.

Next →

Masterlist.

Open commissions!

Tag list: @maskedpacific @thepurpleempath @mazzd4 @charlie-xo

(Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!)

[neversleepagainau]

SURPRISE! I'm NOT dead! Long post ahead, but TL;DR, I'm not dead, and for the first time in 3-4 years, I finally feel like I can freely work on projects for myself again. Like this AU! I'm trying to pump out update 1 ASAP, evidenced by this sneak peek right here! I don't have a timeframe yet, so bear with me- I'm working on it far more actively right now, the backgrounds are by far the hardest part of what I'm doing with this ask blog. That being said, this van interior background is the backdrop for many of the images in this first update, and will be the backdrop for many updates in the future, so this was a big hurtle to jump! It feels a lot easier to sink my teeth into the rest of this update as a result, so definitely keep your eyes peeled for more stuff soon. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask, and I'll answer them! Or, if you still have questions for the characters, feel free to ask those too! (As always, none of this was traced! All of it is freehand, and yes, I bust my ASS trying to make these backgrounds as close to the original as possible! Yes, I am absolutely insane for doing that!) (further, more personal explanation on where I've been for literal years below the cut)

Unfortunately, these past years were spent being deeply manipulated, lied to, and then ultimately abandoned after discovering the truth, which has been an incredibly difficult experience. It's been the thing that's stood in the way of many of my personal projects, as I put my passions and happiness aside for the benefit of others. This AU, unfortunately, was a direct victim of that. Now, however, in the wake of things, I'm slowly regaining everything that I had lost to this manipulation. I'm regaining a deep desire to revisit the things I loved doing, and the last thing I really worked super hard on for myself was this AU, right before everything went to shit. Finally, though, I'm here. This time, I plan to stay. If you're here, reading this, all these years later, thanks for being here. I can't tell you how much it means to me, and I really hope you'll enjoy what I have in store! <3

[wolfofcelestia]

One of my last reblogs got me thinking about this so here is

How all four Zaynes + Sylus would treat you for low iron

Warnings: mentions of hunting, blood, suspicious food and drink. Everything aside from Doctor Zayne's section is not rooted in reality so don't take this as medical advice. If you feel tired all the time, go ask your doctor about it and get a blood test. Trust me, you're not supposed to be tired all the time.

Doctor Zayne

By the book treatments. You'll get iron pills and recommendations for iron-rich foods. If your stomach can't handle the pills, he might recommend iron infusions, all supervised by medical personnel. On his free nights, he'd take you out to dinner or cook for you to make sure you eat iron-rich foods, even if it's only in his presence

Dawnbreaker

He'd repeatedly remind you to rely on him. Just stay in bed, he'll take care of the rest

In his world, everything you need to live is packaged in nutrient drinks or in pills, so he'd gather all these less than tasty nutrient drinks and pills but he'd also go to the outskirts of town, where the wild animals have taken over a part of a forest. They don't entirely live in harmony with the wanderers there. Some say they're no longer animals, but meat is meat, and only fresh meat will do for his beloved, especially when she's sick

He'd come home with freshly butchered meat, and the blood from the meat in large bottles, hoping she'd be able to get some benefit from drinking such a valuable and rare fluid

Foreseer

He wouldn't treat you. You don't belong in the tower. You'll only get sicker here.

"Go back to your people. Only they can help you. I have no means or the experience to cure you here."

But you won't leave. Stubborn, even in the face of an illness that makes you weaker and weaker by the day. But you've experienced this before. It's nothing new

Soon, you and Jas annoy him enough to convince him wild game is actually high in iron and, with his powers, he'd easily be able to hunt one near the tower

It would be his first meal with someone. A warm, hearty meal with the girl he's seen his other selves eat with so many times before

Master of Fate

"Close your eyes and hold my hands. Imagine my energy flowing out of my body, crossing over our hands like a bridge, and being absorbed into your body. Take as much as you need."

The Master of Fate is also a master of ancient energy magic, so something like mana or energy transfer would be easy for him if you're ill or need a boost

This won't fix the cause of your low energy of course, but this would be a start to get you on your feet

Once you have enough energy to travel down the mountain, he'd bring you to a healer, someone who works with and sells all sorts of dried herbs and Chinese medicines

Protest all you want but these bitter, smelly concoctions are going into your mouth one way or another. He'd laugh at your reaction and call you a child for making a fuss about taking your medicine, and he'd promise you a sugary treat if you take it like a good girl

Sylus

"Are you ignoring Zayne's advice again? You're really putting him through his paces, huh? I'd have my own personal doctor take a look at you but I have a feeling you'd listen to him even less. Well, if it's iron you need, then tonight we'll have steak. And we'll have steak for as many nights as you like after that. I'll have the chef work on a meal plan with you."

With your steak dinners, he'd offer you a particular red wine. It tastes a little sharper, a little richer... The way he watches so carefully when you take a drink, and the way he smiles at you when you swallow... You'd be suspicious about it, if it weren't for the fact that you did in fact feel much better after each meal

[delreyshit]

As a surrender

Summary: Your relationship with Ghost is not the best. But feelings are undeniable for him. Everything changes when your life seems to be in danger. Note: Not very explicit but it does contain sexual scenes(oral sex). The perspective in which I wrote this is not what I'm used to, but I hope you like it.

Warning: the reader can identify with the character of “Lisa Muñoz”, this is just a name I use for the background of the story but if you still don't like the fact that the reader is not textually represented, I'm sorry.

When you joined the task force, it was Ghost that caught your attention the most. A man with a suit that made him look even more corpulent than he already was and a mysterious mask, which hid his identity, caught your attention as soon as you met the lieutenant. You were delighted by Ghost's mysterious attractiveness, but, that vanished a few seconds after they spoke for the first time. You remember very well, the first time you met, you didn't talk at all, he was minding his own business and you just admired his masculine body and... Did I mention strapping? For someone not very tall like you, that man could be intimidating with his presence. The second time you bumped into each other, that's when the mutual contempt and hatred between you broke out.

“Lisa… Who the hell is Lisa Muñoz?” Ghost's irritated voice was heard, between the walls of the operating room.

The murmurs were not long in coming, people felt nervous, which made you feel reckless as you rose from your seat. His eyes rested on your weak figure. He folded his arms, waiting for you to approach him.

“Do you need something, Sir?” you asked, feeling the bile rise in your throat fearing to be the source of his bad mood.

“Yes, I need to know how on earth you were employed. Your report is awful, I've never read anything so terrible before.” He fanned the envelope in your face, cutting the few feet of distance between you.

“The report is thorough. I doubt there's anything important missing in there.” You replied, somewhat annoyed by his sadistic attitude.

He watched you, impressed that you confronted him instead of giving him some apologies for, as he saw it, a barely perfunctory job. He pushed the enclosed folder to your chest and with a tense jaw said, “Do it again, I want it ready by eight o'clock tomorrow. If you don't deliver something that meets my expectations, I'll make sure my superiors fire you.”

The jerk had you all night working up at least 3 different versions of an old mission report (just in case he didn't like any of them). The next day, when you turned in your very hard work, he didn't bother to tell you, “I guess that's what I can settle for. It could have been better…”

A total jerk, no doubt. Sometimes when you were in a good mood, you tried to empathize with him by being “nice.” You always failed because, to whatever it was, Ghost would respond rudely. He didn't like you and you didn't quite know why. The truth was far from what you thought, Ghost was captivated and even almost in love with you and your loving way of being. He hated himself for that, being close to you he was vulnerable and didn't like to experience emotions like that. In his eyes, from the first moment he saw you, you became the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. I mean, Ghost wasn't a virgin man or anything like that, God knows everything that man has done, but with such a complicated life he never thought about love. You were always good at doing your job and people love you, especially men and he always knew that. That's why every time he sought you out to belittle what you did, all he would say to you were poor excuses so he could talk to you and of course it was his jealousy showing through. He never knew how to handle his feelings, which is exactly why he thought it was best to be a bully to you.

His hateful attitude changed when you started accompanying him on missions, he often worried about your health and despite teasing you for feeling nervous. Although when the two of you started to suffer from the uncomfortable atmosphere, he could think of nothing better than to tell jokes. They were strange and boring, but you felt almost blessed that he wasn't treating you harshly for a few minutes. They used to distract you from the fear and started to help you and Ghost get along better, gradually you felt closer.

Neither of you imagined that the next mission you would be alone on would turn your relationship upside down.

“When can we rest?” you asked with a yawn. “I don't know… But you should have slept before we started the mission.” Ghost muttered, from the other radio.

“I'd like some coffee.” “Maybe, when you get caught you can ask the narcs for a couple of beans, surely they must have some.” “What do you mean, when they catch you?” You asked quizzically. “They won't have a hard time catching you, Lisa. You're sleepy and alone, plus you always screw something up.” “Fuck you. I'll still beat you to the package. “You whispered as you walked down a narrow hallway.

“We'll see about that, doll.” He mocked you back.

You stopped your steps when you reached the entrance to a large lighted hallway/balcony. You walked to the edge of the metal floor and peeked out, careful not to fall, taking a close look at the drug-filled tanks.

<<What the fuck is all this>> you thought.

“Apparently you were right, you got here before-” Ghost's sudden voice from behind you took you by surprise. You panicked and by instinct your body lurched as you spun around. Your feet slipped and you fell. The muffled cry that came from your lips, calling out to him, sent Ghost running to the shore.

“Shit, shit, shit…” shouted Ghost, frightened for you.

He didn't hesitate a second longer and jumped in your search, to your rescue. Your body plunged into a tank full of grams and like quicksand, the tons of dope pressed down on your body, drowning you quickly. Ghost fell with momentum into the same tank you were already in. The strength of his body helped him avoid being trapped. The lack of oxygen kept you asleep for quite a while, as Ghost struggled to pull you out. When he finally found you, his big arms grabbed your hips, pulling you close and pressing your body against his, keeping you from being separated by the pressure.

He swam to the outside and while he held your fragile body with one hand, he levered the edge of the tank with the other to get you out. He held you like a sack of potatoes as he walked across the rough floor. He stopped on a roofed place and, with great delicacy, supported you on the pavement. He sat on you while holding your jaw. He took off a glove and with two fingers searched your neck for any sign of a pulse.

<<She is unstable, fuck>> he thought as he sighed in anguish.

“Lisa.” He mumbled a couple of times. However, you didn't wake up.

He lifted his mask up to his nose and slowly bent down until he was level with your face. His hands moved to your nape and jaw, holding you firmly as he pressed his lips together, giving you oxygen.

You moaned in pleasure as Ghost's soft caresses spread over you, opening your eyes as you smiled. Ghost pulled away, embarrassed and confused.

“What the fuck?��� “You fell for it, you fool. You thought I was dying and-”

He didn't listen to your taunts, he understood perfectly well that you had wanted to scare him, give him a bit of his comeuppance. Bravely, he leaned in to taste the flesh of your lips again. As soon as your mouths met, your tongues danced with each other playing foully. Ghost lay on top of your body as you both rubbed each other with need. When you separated for lack of oxygen, a thin line of saliva held you together. You regulated your breathing, dazed.

“I think we need to finish the mission…” you whispered, still unwilling to let go of Ghost.

“No way, the mission can wait.” He answered you.

You didn't notice when your thighs were pressing against Ghost's head.

“You taste fucking sweet.” He babbles drunkenly for you as his tongue sucks intensely at your hole.

Your fingernails scratch the hard cement of the floor and your back arches with each suck Ghost makes on your needy hole. His fingers move between your belly and your extremely sensitive clit, warming you with every mark he leaves in his wake.

“Come on, baby. Lubricate my face.”

His warm breath crashing into you, drooling as he urges you to cum makes you dizzy. He playfully digs his teeth into your swollen lips, making you moan incoherent sounds. You were so shattered when he thrust a thick finger into you, that with tears running down your cheeks you come hard into his mask and mouth.

No doubt it was going to be a very long night….

Extra note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in case there are some mistakes, I try to get better every day. Also if you think I need to work on something, don't doubt to let me know.

[ahllohehn]

Hello! This is an opportunity for you to yap about ANYTHING you wanted to. That's it, use it however you'd like :D

Post about my Scarian Fashionista AU that I absolutely doubt I'll finish so have my draft notes of my plans before I completely gave up;

“Too common.”

“The design is tacky.”

“Now it’s too simple.”

“Grian, dear, are you even trying at this point?”

“Enough with this. If all your designs are just gonna look like this, I’d rather you already leave and reflect on this.”

Grian flinched as he watched the office door slam on his face, leaving him to glare at nothing but polished wood as he trembled frustratingly in place. 

When he had signed up for a course on Fashion Design, he thought he had been overqualified for the course. After all, he already had plenty of experience in regards to fashion, so he thought that all he needed was to push through and just let his passions and ideas roam free then he’d get his degree easy peasy.

Too bad that reality is often disappointing, and often likes to humble him offensively.

Grian grit his teeth and was about to kick down his professor’s door until a voice piped up and dragged him away before he could create some long time regrets, “Woah there, buddy. Getting a lil’ too heated there, yeah?”

Pearl giggled as she held the shorter man down by his shoulders, disallowing him any opportunities of kicking down the door and potentially murdering their professor.

The future murderer squirmed under her hold for a while before begrudgingly setting his foot down, “I wouldn’t be like this if they weren’t so– so! Urgh!”

The rest of his words were lost as his emotions took over any sort of coherent thought, only having enough awareness to express his frustrations by groaning and whining. He waved his clenched fists and stomped his feet on the carpeted floor like a child throwing a tantrum.

With how he was acting, any student could mistake him for some short freshman first realizing the cruelty of college life. Fortunately, Pearl wasn’t any student and saved him the embarrassment of having to be compared to younger students.

“I know, I know. But if you were gonna get kicked out from university, I’d rather you get kicked out with an honorable reason,” she patted Grian’s back comfortingly, “And murdering a professor because you had a disagreement on some concept designs is not an honorable reason. It would be embarrassing, actually.”

Grian puffed up his cheeks and took a deep breath, steeling himself as he quickly turned on his heel to start brisk walking to a random direction, “Walk,” he announced vaguely, but Pearl was quick to understand and she followed after the other at a slower pace.

Clearly, this wasn’t their first time being in this kind of situation. In a world where standards heighten with every year, every decade, and every fad and trends, designers like them need to get ready for all kinds of heavy rejection, criticism, and judgment. Same can be said for any person who studied and worked under anything visual.

Hopes and dreams were meant to stay as hopes and dreams.

If you even attempt to express those to the world without having the bravery to back it up, it would inevitably face destruction in the hands of the high expectations of the public, and soon enough you’d be left with nothing but an empty shell that has sacrificed it all because they believe in passion over standards.

To battle the frustrations and heavy emotions that came as a result from these sacrifices, Grian and Pearl have learned to make a habit of doing simple things like strolls and walks. Because if you physically tire yourself out, then you wouldn’t have the energy to even impulsively think of rebelling against the norms of society. 

And also because walks are nice. The campus gave them a lot of space to explore, so why not use it, right?

The pair found themselves strolling the halls of the building with Grian leading and Pearl calmly following behind. She didn’t make any attempts to catch up and walk beside the man because one cannot simply match an angry Grian’s pace. The shorter man had so much adrenaline from months upon months of suppressed anger that it was simply impossible to even walk with him properly without getting sore legs the next hour. 

Pearl could only thank whatever god is above for making Grian as loud as he is, “Too common, too tacky– Her face looks too common and her personality is too tacky!” now starts Grian’s monthly ranting session.

“When I try to follow the current trends, she says the design is too overused and plain. But when I try to actually make something unique, she thinks it’s too ambitious and gaudy! It’s like she’s never happy!”

The brunette behind him snorted, “Maybe she wants an equilibrium? Something that’s just right?” she offered, to which her friend rolled his eyes.

“Something just right? Who is she? Freakin’ Goldilocks?!” Grian screeched and ruffled his own hair in distress, slowing down a few steps as he kicked his feet in anger.

Although this kind of reaction would probably gain him some few worried looks, Pearl herself was already too used to this scene and she simply giggled in response, “Maybe she is, you never know.”

Grian sighed out a groan and crossed his arms. His energy slowly simmered down as he eventually slowed down enough to be walking beside Pearl, “How are you so calm about this? I would’ve thought you’d be angry walking with me, but instead you’re just…. Well, walking.”

Pearl grinned wide and puffed up her chest proudly, “Well, contrary to my experiences for the past few terms, things are actually looking up for me!” Grian raised an eyebrow at this, squinting his eyes at the other with either a suspicious look or a look of envy. Probably both.

He tried to act nonchalant about it, like he’s totally not yearning to say the same thing for himself, “All because you’ve got some inspiration, huh?” His question had a teasing edge, making Pearl bashfully laugh.

“Some is undermining it. Gem has been a great source of inspiration. It’s like I’m being spoon fed a new idea everyday,” Pearl boasted enthusiastically that even Grian couldn’t help but flash a smile, “Huh, good for you then. It’s nice that you’ve atleast rekindled any sort of happiness that Professor Goldilocks may have burnt out,” he snorted.

Silence settled for a while with Pearl glancing at Grian like she was trying to figure out what to say to him. She only finally spoke up what was brewing on her mind when he acknowledged her gaze with a tilt of his head.

“Why not get a muse of your own?”

Grian’s face scrunched up at that question, “Of my own?”

“Yeah.”

Grian gave it a thought and he shook his head, “With how I am? I’m better off continuing to do things alone,” he grumbled. 

He was already used to coming up with inspirations for himself on the spot. Because, unlike now, he was actually pretty passion-driven before, fueled with nothing but the dreams he’s held onto since he was young. It’s only unfortunate that he ran out of it because his professor was discouraging and hated everything he came up with, so he started living on thinking that everything he’s doing is inadequate, that he needs to improve his thinking before he could improve himself. It was a ‘he’ problem that he is more than capable of handling alone.

At least, that’s what he’s been persuading himself to think. But the more he thought about the idea of having a muse, the more appealing it sounded. 

Or maybe that was his loneliness speaking.

While Grian was having inner conflicts within himself, Pearl continued to spit out encouraging words herself, “I mean, it’s not like it won’t be worth it,” she nudged the shorter man with an elbow to gain his attention back to her, “We’d need to gather models for our finals anyway.”

The blonde blinked in confusion, “Finals?”

Pearl gave him a weird look, “Our finals, Grian. The one where we’d have to get models to personally show off our designs by the end of the term.”

His expression froze along with his thought process as his brain began to file through any memory regarding his final project.

When he did finally register everything, Grian stopped in his steps to facepalm with both hands, letting out his nth muffled groan that same hour, “I… actually forgot,” he admitted with a whine before releasing his face and staring at Pearl in panic.

The end of the term fashion show. It sounded so ridiculous that it completely slipped Grian’s mind that it would actually be a contributing factor to his grades.

“Where am I even gonna get a muse, much less a model?!” He squeaked out, now resorting to pacing around the empty hallway in circles with his hands tugging on his own locks in distress.

Pearl stood to the side and  couldn't even get a word in before Grian continued on with his monologue of panic, “I can’t just– Kneel and reach out for the sky and pray some god would hear my prayers!” He sounded manic.

The blonde stopped to stand at the ceiling to floor windows that decorated one side of the hallway, gesturing towards the sky through the said window in front of him, “Like, they can’t just drop down a beautiful being out of nowhere!”

As soon as he said that, his dark eyes looked down from the sky and unconsciously magnetized towards a figure outside on campus grounds, seemingly on the lookout for something.

Not that Grian was curious to know anything about what said figure was trying to do. All he knew at that moment was that they.... (I didn't finish this. Just imagine Scar just appeared lol)