#Wicked San Diego | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roosterforme · 1 year

Text

So Fresh, So Clean | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At first, Bradley is mortified when the guys force him to stop at a carwash featuring bikini clad women from a college softball team. But when he meets you there, he starts to think he should thank his friends instead.

Warnings: Fluff and swearing

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

I wrote this for a request and for @wicked-remarks Summer Festival! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Dude, stop at In-N-Out. I'm starving," Payback whined from the passenger seat as Bradley zipped down the road in his Bronco.

"Nah, just stop at Starbucks," Jake argued from the backseat. "I need more caffeine."

"We're going to be late," Bradley groaned, passing the fifth fast food place while Payback whined and pointed out the window.

"We told Nat we'd be there around noon," Coyote said from the back. "I mean, if we stopped for food, we could grab something for her too."

Bradley rubbed his hand over his face, wondering why he had agreed to drive all of these idiots. "Guys, if I stop, I'm only stopping once. Then straight to the beach. So decide what you want."

Then Coyote started stuttering at the same time Payback said, "Holy shit! Pull over! Pull over!" Bradley looked where Payback was pointing, and then he saw a sign that said University of San Diego Softball along with a car wash and a lot of scantily clad women.

"Fuck caffeine. We're stopping here!" Jake said, practically climbing into the front seat. "Come on, Rooster!" He started trying to grab the steering wheel, and Bradley had to smack his arm away.

"Seriously!" Bradley yelled. "Stop reaching for the steering wheel!" He slowed down as all three of his passengers started loudly begging him. "You want to look at a bunch of college girls who couldn't care less about you more than you want burgers?"

"Hell yes!" Payback sang as Bradley put his turn signal on and pulled into the parking lot where the collegiate softball team was holding a very popular looking car wash. There were so many cars lined up, and a lot of men milling around. Bradley parked next to a pickup truck and eyed the women in wet tee shirts and bathing suits while Jake pounded on the back of his seat.

"They are practically naked! Get out so I can get out!" Jake whined.

"Chill!" Bradley said, loud enough that he had the attention of all three of them. "You guys need to be on your best behavior. I'm not kidding!"

"Look at them," Coyote said, pulling his sunglasses lower on his nose and whistling. "These girls are hot."

Bradley groaned. "Yes, I see them. And don't call them girls. They're women. And please don't touch any of them. Oh my god, I'm already so embarrassed."

"Let's go," Payback said, opening his door. "Time to flirt."

"They don't want to flirt with you," Bradley muttered. "You're thirty five."

"I dunno about that," Jake drawled, fixing his hair. "That redhead looks like she might like a daddy."

"Oh my fucking Lord, we are going to get kicked out of a fundraiser," Bradley groaned as he climbed out of his door and was nearly trampled by Jake.

"Relax man, I'm about to pay for your car to get washed," he said, shoving Bradley out of the way to get over to the redhead holding a hose. "Hey, sweetheart, my name's Jake...."

Bradley headed in the opposite direction, cradling his forehead in his hand. The last thing he wanted was to try to chat up some nineteen year old. He was almost thirty seven, for fuck's sake. But if they wanted to humiliate themselves, that was fine with him. But it didn't mean he needed to watch.

He thought he had found a nice spot to stand and wait while listening to a car stereo blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. He was out of the way of the guys who were being roped in to helping the girls wash cars now. Jake's shirt was mysteriously missing, and Payback was spraying the hose while a few of the girls screamed.

"Grown ass men," Bradley muttered, pushing his aviators up higher on his nose.

He heard soft laughter and turned to see you standing next to him. And of course you were gorgeous. And young. And looking up at him with a smirk that he should not have found adorable.

"Yeah, well, the deans at the college are always amazed by how much money our car wash fundraisers make every summer," you said, smiling at him. He found himself smiling back.

"My friends almost made me wreck trying to get me to pull over, so I guess that does make sense," Bradley replied with a nod. You were the only one on the team who was still dry, and he could see the straps of your bathing suit tied above the collar of your USD Softball tee shirt. You had on some tiny denim shorts and flip flops, and Bradley bit back a groan and forced himself to look away from you.

"Your friends look like a bit of a handful," you told him. Bradley was treated to the sight of Coyote dancing to the music in the spray of the water.

"Just show them women in bathing suits, and this is what they turn into." You were laughing and gaping up at him, as Bradley quickly added, "They're harmless though! I promise! Your teammates have nothing to worry about! They just like to flirt."

"Teammates?" you asked, head cocked to one side.

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, really trying so hard not to look directly at you. Fuck, this was getting difficult. He could tell that your bathing suit was red through your snug fitting white tee shirt, and now he was looking at your chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose over his sunglasses and rolled his shoulders, trying to focus on the dirt being rinsed off a filthy car. "Your teammates? Uh, are you a senior? Or team captain or something?"

Your laughter rang out as you said, "No, not exactly."

"Oh. Uh, what position do you play?" He knew he was rambling now. Really, he should just get out of here.

"I used to play third base."

And now Bradley was biting his knuckle, because he was thinking about getting to third base with you, unzipping those little shorts in the backseat of his Bronco and slipping his hand inside. "Oh god," he swallowed hard. He was worse than the rest of the guys who were currently covered in soapy water and surrounded by softball players.

"I'm their coach."

Bradley froze, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "You're the coach? The softball coach?"

"Yeah. They're not my teammates."

Bradley turned to face you and let his eyes drift down your body and back up to your face. You did look a little older than twenty two. And that's probably why you weren't actively washing the cars. He must have been staring for too long, because you were smirking again as you held out your hand and introduced yourself. "Head coach of USD women's softball."

He took your smaller hand in his. "My name is Bradley, and I'm really hoping you're going to tell me you're like twenty eight years old?"

"I'm thirty," you said slowly, still holding his hand and looking at him with a confused smile.

"Even better," he said, smiling happily and pulling you a little closer by your hand. "So, you played third base? Which school?"

"University of Oregon."

"Shit. You must be good."

"I'm very good," you told him, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter.

"I'll bet you are."

"Do you play?" you asked, really sizing him up now.

"Yeah, just on a Navy rec league. But I'm very good, too."

"Bet I can guess which position you play," you told him before you bit your lip, and Bradley swore he was never going to let go of your hand.

"Okay. Go ahead and guess."

"But...if I'm right, you owe me a drink," you said coyly.

Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Then you better fucking get this right."

With a bright laugh, you told him, "You look like a shortstop."

"Damn. You are good."

"I'm right?" you asked, and he nodded. "You owe me a drink."

Bradley took his sunglasses off with his left hand, and your smile grew. "Listen, as soon as you told me you're not a student, I was absolutely going to ask you out. So all you did was make it easier for me."

You pressed your lips together in pleasure, and it was so adorable. "You're still holding my hand."

"I know," he confirmed with a nod. "When are you free? Tomorrow?"

You licked your lips. "I'm coaching a game tomorrow, Bradley. You know, since I'm not a student."

He smirked at the way you were sassing him before asking, "Is it home or away?"

"Home. At USD."

"You gonna invite me to watch?" he asked, and you looked so damn pleased with yourself now.

"Would you be coming just to ogle the players?" you asked, nodding toward the soaking wet women who were now spraying the hose at Payback. "You know they wear their uniforms to the games instead of bathing suits, right?"

He narrowed his eyes and glared at you playfully. "It's much more likely that I'd be ogling their coach."

"Oh, I like that," you told him. "You can come then. And we can get that drink afterwards?"

"Absolutely," Bradley said, and he finally released your hand as he added, "Can I get your number?"

"Mmhmm."

He retrieved his phone from his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to you. He watched you enter your contact information, and then you handed it back to him, letting your fingers linger on his. "Text me later today, and I'll send you a ticket to the game."

"Sounds good, coach. I can't wait."

You glanced to the side and then met his eyes again. "It looks like your car's done. And your friends look like an actual disaster."

Bradley groaned as he saw the three of them getting the soap hosed off so they could leave. "Yeah, let me go babysit them for the afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you will." And then you put your hand on his chest and kissed his cheek before you turned away to help one of your players who was calling for your attention.

Bradley tucked his phone away and watched you as he made his way toward the Bronco. You waved to him and he smiled back before turning to assess his three sopping wet friends.

"Rooster, you idiot!" Coyote said, dripping water on the pavement. "You just stood there like a lump, man."

"We got phone numbers," Jake drawled, holding his wet phone while Bradley snorted.

"Yeah, we did," Payback said, high fiving Jake. "And we're going to meet up with Sylvia and Taylor later tonight at a bar on their campus."

Bradley just shook his head. "Wring out your shirts and get in the Bronco. Nat's already going to kill us, I hope you know that."

"Worth it," the three of them said in unison. And while Bradley waited for them to dry off a bit, he sent you a text.

Can't wait for tomorrow.

And right before he pulled out of the parking lot, you wrote back.

XOXO

And there was a ticket to the USD softball game for tomorrow afternoon attached.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Jake said as Bradley drove down the road toward the beach. He had his phone to his ear as he added, "Taylor gave me a bogus phone number!"

Payback scrambled to unlock his phone, and a second later, he had it on speaker. "Oops, it looks like the person who gave you this number is not actually interested in you! Better luck next time!"

"Damn," Coyote said, completely crestfallen. "Sylvia gave us a bogus number, too."

"I spent fifty bucks to get this thing washed for nothing!" Jake complained, gesturing around the Bronco.

"I can't believe we all struck out today," Payback whined. "We should have just stopped at In-N-Out."

Bradley bit his lip and shook with silent laughter. "Yeah, you all struck out. What a shame." But he was already thinking about where he was going to take you out for a second date.

-----------------------------

The way Rooster flirts, just holy shit. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

2K notes · View notes

bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

Text

Making Love Out of Nothing At All - Nick Bradshaw x Reader

A/N: I've been sitting on this for a month since I left San Diego and now I'm finally doing it. We're calling this an AU fic where Carole's just non-existent and everyone lives happily ever after.

pairing: Nick "Goose" Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: p in v sex (unprotected/no mention of protection - he's a silly goose, ok?), fingering, oral (f receiving), public sex, car sex, goose goes down on you like it's an olympic sport, praise kink, body worship/compliments but no mention of specific appearance really?

word count: 1.3k

minors dni below the cut!

Every time I see you all the rays of the sun are all streaming through the waves in your hair, and every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight.

The dim street lamps illuminated the parking lot of the club in a dusky glow, the cool Pacific breeze licking at your bare legs as you hurried behind your boyfriend to his car, a 1983 Ford Mustang that he’d been saving up for since graduating from the Naval Academy last summer. He had whisked you out of the club so quickly that you were almost certain you spilled the contents of your drink on his best friend, Pete in your hurry out the door, rather than simply handing him the glass as you’d intended.

Nick turned to face you, his infamous smirk spread across his lips as he placed a hand firmly on your waist, drawing you in closer to him. He leaned his back against his car, easily towering over the convertible’s frame as he stood. At an impressive 6’4, Nick’s body engulfed yours as he pulled you in, ducking his head down to leave hungry kisses in a trail from your jaw to your neck, his hands feverishly roaming over the outside of your dress, finding anyway he could to gain access to what was underneath.

“Mhmm,” you giggled, shaking your head, “Slow down, baby. You can’t just do it in the middle of a parking lot,” you protested.

“Says who? I don’t see anyone around? Besides, that’s what the car’s for, honey.”

Nick opened the door for you before playfully pushing you on to your back across the backseat. He placed his palms flat against the seat as he hovered himself over you, his lips once again making contact with your skin. A series of hot, open-mouthed kisses peppered your neck and collarbone as his hands palmed at your breasts, grasping them over the fabric of your dress. He grinned as he hummed against your skin, taking delight in the way you squirmed and giggled with every kiss.

“You smell like heaven, you know that? Whatever this new perfume you’re wearing is, I love it.”

“Coco by Chanel,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as your hand guided his face to look at you.

Leaning up, your lips met his in a tender, yet playful kiss, grinning against his lips as his hands continued to explore your body. His long, slender fingers ran along your leg, brushing against you in a way that made your skin feel like it was on fire, burning with passion at his touch. You took in a sharp breath as he hiked the skirt of your dress up your thighs, the fabric pooling at your waist. His hand slid in between your bodies, brushing his fingertips against the soft, delicate lace of your underwear, that was quickly becoming dampened with arousal.

“Someone’s already worked up, isn’t she?” He said as he flashed you a wicked grin, chuckling to himself at how wet he’d made you without really putting in any effort.

“Shush,” you protested, shaking your head, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Nick grinned as he pulled himself up to his knees, spreading your legs slightly to make room as he hooked a finger into the waistband of your underwear, lazily dragging them down off your leg. He tossed them aside, discarding them somewhere in the front seat before quickly leaning his head down, his tongue flattening as he licked a long, slow strip against your sex, a groan of pleasure catching in his throat as he tasted your arousal. You panted his name, a sigh of ecstasy escaping your lips as his tongue slowly began working at your clit, concentrating on soft, yet precise movements as he encircled the sensitive bud.

“Tastes so fucking good, honey,” he husked as he lifted his head up slightly, his dark brown eyes looking up at you with a lustful stare as he delved two fingers into your dripping wet heat, curling them slightly to hit your spot.

“Nick, fuck,” you hissed, your back arching as he effortlessly pumped his fingers into your spot, his tongue lapping at your arousal, “Getting so close.”

“I know baby, I know, let it go for me,” he encouraged before dipping his mouth back down between your folds, sucking on your clit harshly before running his tongue over it again.

You whimpered as your thighs began to shudder and shake in pleasure, your back arching further as Nick drew you closer to your orgasm. You began moaning out his name over and over, saying it as if it was a spoken prayer as he dragged your orgasm out, his tongue lapping at you, cleaning up the arousal that dripped and threatened to stain the seats beneath you. He grinned up at you as he pulled the neckline of the white t-shirt he was wearing underneath his brightly coloured Hawaiian print shirt up to wipe your juices from his mouth.

“Have I told ya how pretty you look?” He hummed, his fingers tracing circles on your abdomen, admiring you as if he saw you as a work of art.

“No, but I like hearing it.”

“So fucking pretty, honey. Just look at you,” he gestured to you with one hand while the other palmed at his tightening jeans, the denim fabric becoming more and more restricted with his touch, “I’m not done with ya yet though, honey.”

He grunted as he got out of the car, taking you by the hand and marching you around to the hood of the car. After a quick glance around to ensure no one would be able to see, he gently guided his hand across the small of your back, spinning you around before pushing you down over the hood of the car. He shimmied his jeans down off his waist, just enough to free his cock from the strain of his boxers.

He stroked himself a couple of times for good measure before flicking the fabric of your dress up off of you, lining himself up with your entrance, he pistoned himself into you, causing you to lay your palms flat against the cold, grey metal of the car. He paused to let you adjust before drawing his hips back and thrusting forward again, causing you to choke out a gasp as you felt your walls stretching to allow him to fit.

“Nick, shit,” you panted, balling your hands into fists as you tried to keep your emotions and feelings in check as he fucked into you.

“That’s it sweet girl, takin’ me s’good,” he purred, his hips continuing to crash into yours, hands guiding your ass to make contact with his hips with each movement.

“Fucking, Jesus Christ, baby, I’m so close, right fucking there,” you sputtered, your thoughts becoming cloudy and incoherent with each passing second.

Nick’s controlled movements began to grow sloppier as he drew closer to his orgasm, unable to focus his precision any longer, his rhythmic thrusts devolving into clumsier, yet just as hard, movements. He moaned your name loudly, the syllables ringing out like some sort of sweet melodic praise as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasms out together, harmoniously as you both fell apart. His large hands caressed your body, pulling you gently to stand up and lean your body against his. He held you close for a moment, kissing at the nape of your neck breathlessly, his skin hot to the touch and slicked with sweat.

A laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, almost in disbelief as he looked at you.

“God, you’re incredible, you know that? Absolutely fucking incredible,” he purred, stroking your hair as he held you close.

#nick bradshaw x reader #nick bradshaw x you #nick bradshaw fic #nick goose bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw x you #nick goose bradshaw x reader #nick bradshaw #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #nick bradshaw smut #goose bradshaw #goose bradshaw x reader #goose bradshaw x you #goose bradshaw smut #nick goose bradshaw smut

111 notes · View notes

fandomfluffandfuck · 26 days

Note

Okay, so I’m not even an Evanstan person, but I went to SDCC this week and just flew out of San Diego. When the plane was moving out to the runway, I noticed an area with smaller planes, which mostly seemed like private jets (presumably at least some for the celebrities/wealthy people visiting the convention).

And I couldn’t stop thinking about Chris or Seb inviting the other on a flight back to LA, using the excuse that they don’t want to be alone and it’s easier, but they make sure that the pilot is the only one aboard and join the mile high club. 👀

Specifically about Chris getting on his knees for his boy, reminding him that they only have 15-20 minutes and he’s got to stay quiet. It just felt right up your alley, so if this prompt inspires anything, I’d love to hear it!!

related to Seb at SDCC, and them together at the Hollywood Walk of Fame

also, you'll probably enjoy this little fic

Lmao, I love that the evanstan reunion has so much power that it's roped you in, too. Also, aw, you're so lucky! I hope SDCC was good (even though it's been a long time since then by now 😅)!

But, oof, yeah, I can always think about Chris on his knees for Sebastian--a mile high in the air or otherwise 😮‍💨

Sebastian flew in late, late on the 24th in preparation for the Hollywood Walk of Fame ceremony for Kevin, so Chris didn't have the time to see him until the day of the ceremony, the 25th, and just those few hours of knowing his man was in the close vicinity to his LA home was--not to be dramatic, but--torturous.

And then seeing him for the first time in months among cameras and crowds, with the least amount of privacy possible-? That, too, was torturous. It was all he could do to reel himself in against leaning in for a much too long hug and I-missed-you-like-a-drowning-man-misses-air kiss. Considering how he felt internally? His clapping and dorky grin was "all too obvious," according to both Sebastian's (in-person) and Anthony's (over text after the videos circulated and broke Twitter) teasing? That was chill. As chill as he could've been. Calm. Collected even.

Still, no matter the few days to themselves between their Hollywood Walk of Fame obligation and Sebastian's needed appearance at Comic Con on the 27th for Marvel, Chris has not had enough time to acclimate to his boyfriend being close enough to touch. Life size and physical, not seen through a screen.

So, can he be blamed for watching how Seb bounces his leg on their private plane, always at least a little nervous about flying, and thinking nothing but terrible, inappropriate things about how to calm him down? All of his ideas are physical and incredibly touchy.

Chris doesn't think he can be blamed. And he's not going to ask for a second opinion, at least, not until after Sebastian's brain has put itself back in working, non-melted order once he's gotten scrambled. It doesn't matter that they're flying back to Chris' LA home for more private, alone time. Nah. That's not important. What is important is that Seb is right here, and he's practically vibrating with nervous energy, and Chris is just a man.

A man who's missed his man badly.

Plan formed and mind made up, wicked, Chris oh-so casually fishes his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and navigates to the clock app and setting it for 20 minutes. They've barely been up in the air, so that should be just about right. The pilot already told them how long the flight should be, so he's not playing with fire... not fire that's too hot, at least.

Then, phone in hand, timer ready to go, Chris leans back to give himself plenty of space to unclick his seat belt with deft fingers and slide down onto his knees. Easy as that. With how in his head Seb can get around flights and his anxieties with them, Chris is even surprised he notices him getting up to trouble.

Seb does notice, though, looking down at him with wide eyes, "what're you--what are you doing?" He asks, his voice quieter than strictly necessary. It's just them back here, no flight staff, just them and the pilot. The perk of private planes.

"What does it look like 'm doing?" Chris snarks back playfully, walking slowly forward on his knees. Closer, closer, and finally fucking close enough to place his hands heavily on Seb's knees. He doesn't let his hands stay there, though, stationary. He pushes his legs apart, hands heavy and pressing, giving him no room to think. As soon as he got his hands on Seb, he stopped jiggling his leg. Both of his feet are firmly on the ground now. Perfect. This is the distraction he needs, the stale, chilled air around them just beginning to fill with tension.

"Here?" Seb squawks, vaguely indignant, his eyes searching their space and finding no one else.

Just them.

"Mmm-hmm," Chris drawls, grinning mischieviously as he lets his hands wander up his thighs, daring to go far enough to undo Seb's seat belt for him. Seb inhales sharply, in reaction to being seemingly less safe or because Chris' hands drag across his dick, he'll never know exactly, maybe both. But, because he's a gentleman, Chris unbuttons his pants while he's at it.

That leaves just the thin layer of his underwear between Chris' mouth and his beginning-to-wake cock. Instinctively, Chris' mouth waters. He can't be this close to that cock without getting the desperate urge to suck it and swallow it down his throat. Just thinking about it, God, he's getting hard himself. Seb heavy on his tongue... the smell of his arousal, heady and dark... the way he tastes when he leaks... how he feels when he twitches... the way he looks when he's about to cum and is trying to hold back desperately, squirming, making these pleading, aborted little whines that say he just can't fucking take it, it feels so good, with his face screwing up and pinching, so much pleasure that it almost reads as pain...

Focus, Chris, he tells himself. They're on a time limit here. He hasn't got the luxury of waxing poetic about his favorite dick.

"Don't worry, darlin'," Chris pets his hands up and down Sebastian's thighs, heating him up with the friction and watching, enraptured, as Seb's eyes get steadily darker, those pupils widening deliciously. "You don't gotta do a thing, 'kay?" Sebastian blinks at him, already going a little dumb. Cute. "Just sit there and look pretty while I make you feel good."

Seb swallows audibly, lost but so willing to take every word Chris says as gospel.

"Yeah?" Chris asks for affirmation as he pinches the inside of his thigh through his pants, teasing him.

Sebastian's eyes are still wide as if they haven't done worse in less private places. But, predictably, the comment about being pretty brings those eyelids down, just a touch heavier. His breath turns funny. Chris already knows what he's going to say, but he wants to hear it anyway. For fun.

"Okay," Seb breathes, nodding unsteadily.

"Yeah," Chris hears himself coo, encouraging him and letting his own hands travel to his slim hips, gripping his body like he's about to plunge into him and fuck him good, leaving ten fingerprint bruises in his body to remember him later. An ache in his hips like the ache between his cheeks from being pried open nice and wide and fucked good. The memory of all the marks he's left, all the times he's taken pleasure from his body, all the too-good fuck sessions they've had--they just make Chris' hunger for his cock worse. He's got to do something with his mouth. So, he talks a little more:

"That's it, pretty thing, just keep those hands right there--" digging into the armrests, not moving, just holding on. Chris really doesn't want him to do anything but what he said, sit there and take it. Be pretty. Really, that's all he knows how to do, be pretty. But, right before he ducks down to nuzzle at his dick, playing as if he's just suddenly, organically remembered, Chris instructs, "oh, and, don't forget: shhh," he blows hot air across Seb's lap, knowing the sensation will be such a tease, humid and feverish through his thin boxer briefs that barely cover his modesty.

Accordingly, Sebastian shivers.

Perfect.

"We wouldn't want to give the pilot any reason to come back here or ask what's going on back here before we land, hm?" Chris asks, maybe more cocky than he should be, but...

Seeing how Sebastian flushes red hot and goosebumps appear on his arms, hands firmly digging into his armrests, maybe not. He's just cocky enough. "N-no," Seb's voice cracks. Sweet.

Chris pinches his hip, just a tease of the sprinkling of the pain that Sebastian responds so well to--such a gorgeous thing that likes to hear he's pretty and likes to feel sensation. He likes good, he likes bad, he likes sweet, loving pleasure, he likes pain. He's such a good fucking boy for it all. Chris' favorite. His only. "A show as pretty as you can't be given out for free, now can it?"

Seb bites back a whimper.

"That's the spirit." Chris hums with twisted, perverse glee. And thus, unceremoniously, with one hand, he pulls Seb's thickening cock out from his underwear and using the other, he thumbs his phone, starting the timer he set.

"Wh-what?" Seb mumbles, his voice small and utterly confused. Mostly, he's distracted by the sudden threat of having his dick sucked--Chris jerking him off slowly, his mouth looming.

"Hmm?" Chris discards his counting down phone on the empty seat next to Sebastian, projecting thoughtlessness and ease as if this is nothing interesting. He's always on his knees for Sebastian in a private plane. Why would today be any different? Why is Seb acting so strange? This is just what they do. Of course.

"What?" Seb's eyes have strayed from him and, ineast, are glued to the timer.

Time... already... slipping... away...

"You heard the pilot, honey," Chris licks his lips, enjoying how Seb's cock is plumping up in his hand. He's getting harder and harder, swelling bigger and bigger as if on command, controlled by Chris. Christ. Isn't that a thought? A boy on command. Always ready to go whenever Chris calls. Fuck. "This flight isn't that long, and I'm not gonna let anyone have eyes on my boy. Someone has to be responsible."

"Oh." Seb's little, shocked sound is so fucking sweet. It drives Chris insane.

"Yeah," Chris replies, talking as if Seb is making any good points and not reduced to a sweetly tiny, simple vocabulary. "So. Do you wanna keep talking and making noise or..." he trails off, ripping his eyes away from Sebastian's and down toward his more than half-hard cock, responding to the treatment he's giving him.

Sebastian snaps his mouth shut so quickly it's audible, trailing Chris and dragging his eyes down too to stare at his own swelling cock. He's not wet yet, but he's gonna be--pre-cum and saliva.

Fuck yeah.

"That's what I thought," Chris chuckles low in his throat. "That's a good choice for a good boy," his soft laughter melts into a purr.

Then, going in for the kill--his murder weapon nothing more than his mouth--Chris brings Sebastian's just more than half-hard dick right into his mouth. Engulfing him.

He doesn't give Seb anymore warm up than the once over with his hand, jerking him a little. Nah, he wants to rip this orgasm out of Seb so he doesn't know what hit him, leaving him all achy and dizzy. Sweet and docile. Chris can wait until they get home if it means his pretty boy hanging off his arm, floating in a daze through the airport and into their waiting car before throwing him through their front door to have his way with him in their own fucking bed.

He's gonna spread Sebastian out and lose himself in his body. He's gonna feel so good, utterly limp, except where he's clenching tight around his dick.

Yeahhh.

Extra eager, the rest of his plan taking shape in his head, Chris takes his dick all the way down to the base just to feel his cock twitch and jerk and swell in his mouth and the top of the throat. Coming alive.

Pulsing.

Growing.

There's nothing that compares to the sensation of feeling his boyfriend take pleasure from his body--being a hot, warm hole for him. Chris shivers, feeling pressed in on by Sebastian's knees, warm and squeezing at his shoulders. He's totally hard now.

Solid.

Hot.

It feels so fucking good to swallow around him and run his tongue over the big shape of him. His veins throbbing. His foreskin drawn back. His head silky and smooth. His shaft just hard as shit.

God.

As Chris works, tonguing and sucking and swallowing around him, Seb is having an increasingly hard time keeping himself quiet. Good.

It's worse when Chris swallows roughly, again, and then hums around him. Feeling him struggle and hearing him struggle is a little too fucking intoxicating. Chris might as well be drunk on it. His taste. His strain. Him.

Him.

Chris doubles down, grabbing at his hips and shoving himself down on his cock until he sputters. But, he holds himself down anyway. He wants to choke on it. He likes the way it feels in his throat--toe-curlingly hot and stretching.

Meanwhile, Seb's doing everything he can to stay silent, not wanting to be caught red-handed, rather, red-dicked maybe. Ha. He's struggling. Shaking, gripping his armrests tighter, tighter, and tighter, his knuckles going white, spreading his legs wide, trying to jerk up into Chris' mouth, but--

"Mm-mn," Chris makes a sound of disapproval, flicking his eyes up. He wants him to take it. Take exactly what he gives him. No more. No less. This orgasm is his. He's gonna fucking rip it out of Seb. He'll make him feel so damn good.

Sebastian whines faintly, trying not to. He's just so helpless.

Still, Chris scratches his nails down his pants-covered thighs, saving him from the worst of the bite--another heated threat. This time, Sebastian catches his lip between his teeth, but his hips aren't so easily controlled. Bucking up and shoving himself hotly down his throat. The friction is slick and good and thick. But, it's about the rules. The game. He wants Seb to play along.

He'll make him play along.

So, Chris pulls off, lapping at the tip of his cock, jerking him slowly not because he needs to like before, when Seb was dry, now he's soaked with spit. He's slowed down because he wants to. "Careful, baby, I might just put your belt back on you."

Seb makes a helpless little sound, choked up.

"Oh, you want that?" He plays dumb, as if he isn't intimately familiar with Sebastian's fetishization of bondage. Yeah, he's fucking hot for it. Always has been. Airplane seatbelts. Necktie. Scarfs. Anything else silly and improvised, or, serious and not improvised... like, heavy, padded leather cuffs.

"You want me to tie you down with seat belts across these fucking uncomfortable-ass chairs?" Chris chuckles, the vibrations enough to make Seb weak, even if his mouth isn't totally around his cock now, just lapping his head and sloppily kissing his shaft. "Should I get a plane with a private suite next time? Spread you out on the bed and have my way with you then? Bring some rope along in my carry on? Make you helpless and take it no matter what?"

"Ch-Chris!" A quiet whine of his name bursts from Seb's chest.

"Nu-uh," Chris shakes his head. "You gonna be still and silent so no one knows? Or do I gotta stop, Sebby?"

Sebastian quivers like a leaf in a wind storm. Head to toe. But he doesn't make a sound. So, that's answer enough, isn't it?

Chris gets back to work, sucking his fucking cock. He's not looking at the timer but Sebastian is. Chris can't decide, now, what he wants more. Does he want Seb to cum now and be all sweet and docile all the way home, pawing at him, begging to stop in the nearest bathroom and return the favor, his oral fixation acting up, bad, wanting to be sweet? Or, does he want Seb to not cum in the time and be disrupted so he's hissy and bristling like a feral kitten, dragging Chris through the airport all the way back to their bedroom, his claws sinking into his forearm, showing how fucking wound up he is? Oh, the options...

Around his dick, Chris grins, his mouth and throat full. He's sure he looks sloppy (and probably stupid, lips stretched so much) but he feels fucking salacious.

God, he wants to pull Seb forward by the hips so he can tap a few spit slick fingers against his tight little hole, but he doesn't. He doesn't want him to move. He's fucking serious about being a cute, pretty thing for him to swallow down, not moving and not making a peep. Also, he wants to reach down into his underwear to fondle his balls, but they both would have to move for that, too. So he doesn't. Instead, he just fucking sucks. Hallowing his cheeks. Humming. Swallowing. Pushing his tongue against Seb's pelvis and getting him deep. He wants Seb to just fucking lose it.

And he wants it to happen quietly, without him making a sound, no choice in the matter, he just feels too fucking good.

If only he knew how long was left on the timer...

Well, that's something for Sebastian to do, now isn't it? Chris will just leisurely fucking suck that dick, going hard because he wants to, enjoying himself, enjoying his boy's cock, and if Seb happens to cum? He happens to cum. If he doesn't? He won't. Anticipation is all for Sebastian. Let it wind him tighter. Who knows, maybe he'll break.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction #sub seb #dom chris #sub sebastian #subastian

13 notes · View notes

demifiendrsa · 1 year

Text

Adult Swim has greenlit “Lazarus,” a new Toonami series from renowned anime director Shinichirō Watanabe, known for his work helming episodes of “Cowboy Bebop,” “Samurai Champloo” and “Kids on the Slope.”

Produced by anime studio MAPPA, “Lazarus” also recruits the contributions of “John Wick” series director Chad Stahelski, who designed several action sequences for the series, along with the musical talents of saxophonist Kamasi Washington; producer, DJ and musician Floating Points; and producer, DJ and musician Bonobo. The trio will provide a jazz and electronic score for the project.

Watanabe will pull the curtain back on the series at the Adult Swim Festival in San Diego on July 22, 2023 at 5:15 p.m., as part of the Comic-Con event Toonami on the Green.

“Lazarus,” which is already in production, takes place in 2052. The series follows a Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist that develops a drug called Hapuna — a cure-all that has the unexpected side-effect of causing death three years later. A special force of agents is assembled to take on the malevolent Skinner.

“As I embark on this creative journey, I can’t help but feel that this project will serve as a culmination of my career so far,” said Watanabe in a statement accompanying the announcement. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Shinichirō Watanabe is simply one of the greatest living artists, and it’s a dream come true to be able to collaborate with him on a new original series,” said Jason DeMarco, SVP and head of anime and action series at Adult Swim. “Like all of his work, ‘Lazarus’ is packed with big ideas, incredible characters and a ton of heart. We can’t wait for anime fans to see this world.”

#Lazarus #Lazarus anime #Lazaro #Shinichiro Watanabe #Chad Stahelski #MAPPA #Toonami #Adult Swim #anime #TV anime

93 notes · View notes

startrekfangirl2233-writes · 10 months

Text

Spring, 2020 - JAG Headquarters Naval Base San Diego

Chapter 6 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: After too long, it's finally the day of your inquiry. You're to be judged by a panel of your peers and with the COMPACFLT presiding. You're filled with nerves. Of course, Lieutenants Marks and Greybanks have your back as do the Daggers. One conversation with Rooster gives you hope, hope that your soulmate doesn't hate you, and hope that this inquiry will finally go your way!

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish. The author has no idea how Navy inquiries go (so take all the legalese with a grain of salt).

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 4414

A/N: Hehehehehe! Now that I've gotten my wicked little giggles out of the way, I hope you're all ready!

But first! A disclaimer! I'm neither a law professional nor in the US Navy. In this more than any chapter for this story I've written, I implore you to ignore the pseudo-legalese and my fragrant lack of knowledge regarding military inquiry protocol.

And now to the fun part! We're going to get revenge on an odious little bird in this chapter! (Yes, I mean a particular character!) His number is up and everyone is very eager to see him BURN!

I'm sorry this chapter wasn't out at 6 PM EST like usual. What can I say except life happened?

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

The courtroom is far less imposing than you were expecting. The walls are beige and unadorned. The truly imposing people in the room are your opposing counsel and the fact that this trial is being presided over by the Commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Tom Kazansky. You’d think that facing down the COMPACFLT and a panel of fellow Lieutenant Commanders would take all of your attention, but you’d be wrong. The focus of all of your attention, and well, the attention of everyone else in the room, is on the cocky man sitting in the witness box. He's under oath, having promised to ‘Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’, but looking at his face, a part of you cannot believe he will do so. Whatever truths spilling from his mouth are likely to be false, nuggets of information so twisted and cruel that you can’t even hope the panel of Lieutenant Commanders in the room can make sense of it. The picture he’s painting of you is far from flattering, after all.

As Hawk tells it, you’re a temperamental female AMDO Lieutenant Commander with a penchant for throwing hissy fits on the job and sabotaging successful male pilots just out of spite for their physical prowess. It’s a convincing tale and makes you want to sink into the seat of your chair next to Commanders Marks and Greybanks as he smirks vindictively at you. As if he hadn’t dragged every inch of your leadership through the mud when he went through the events of the first AMDO inspection of the year, now you know there’s something else he has to mention for this trial. It hasn’t mattered how often Commanders Marks and Grebanks objected to Hawk’s rendition of the first AMDO inspection of the year. Admiral Kazansky had sustained all of the objections, but it seems to have been too little, too late. Nobody on the panel of seven looks remotely convinced of your innocence anymore.

“Moving on then. What, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, did you witness on the morning of December 18th at approximately 0530 AM?” Commander Wilson of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps is stern as he asks the question. When you’d expressed confusion to Commanders Marks and Greybank, you were informed that this was standard operating procedure in the Navy. The courtroom, for lack of a better word, is hushed. Whether you like it or not, Hawk has everyone on the edge of their seats, hanging onto his every word.

“I saw the Lieutenant Commander and the Lieutenants having words, Commander.”

“Which Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenants, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor?” It’s unsurprising when Hawk points to you as well as Bradley and Jake sitting in the gallery and states your full names. You were expecting this; both Commanders Marks and Greybank had prepared you for it. However, you weren’t expecting to see Bradley in the courtroom or the remaining Daggers. This closed inquiry indicates whether you will face a court martial. The only personnel in the room are those necessary for the defense or the prosecution. So that must mean that the Daggers are being called either as witnesses for the defense or a witness for the prosecution.

It hurts, seeing the new scars crisscrossing over Bradley’s face and the fragile way he shuffles in his seat as Hawks’ testimony enthralls the court. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re going to throw up. That distinctly sick feeling continues as Commander Wilson asks question after question, all of them intent on crucifying you. If he were in an F-18, you’d have the crosshairs on you and hear the tone of the missile lock. A victorious smile, poorly concealed, is on Hawk's face as his prosecution finishes questioning and takes their seats. Now, Commander Marks takes over the questioning for the defense.

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, we've heard what happened on the morning of December 18th. Why were you on base that early?”

Commander Greybanks leans forward when Hawk scoffs and starts scrawling notes on the legal pad before him. “We were scheduled to begin training at 0800 hours sharp. But I wanted to get some additional time on the flight simulators, so I was on base earlier that day.”

“Then why were you in Hangar Two, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, when per your earlier statement, you were going to the Simulation Center on the opposite end of North Island Naval Air Station?”

You let a furtive smile curl your lips for the first time since the inquiry began. It’s fleeting because you probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the hope that question gives you is enough. Hawk’s expression makes you feel even better because he looks like he’s taken a sip of curdled milk from an expired carton.

“I was just on my way to the Simulation Center from the locker room when I saw the lights on in Hangar Two. It was 0530 in the morning, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else there. So, I dipped in through the back door to ensure nobody was messing with the proprietary Naval technology inside the hangar.”

There’s a distinct tremor in Hawk’s voice as he says the words. It almost feels like he’s worried about something - hopefully, something that the Commanders will uncover.

“What about the conversation the Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenants were having piqued your interest, Lieutenant Junior Grade?”

“I couldn’t quite hear it, Ma’am, but it was something to do with Lieutenant Bradshaw’s jet.”

Hawk takes a sip of water from the glass in front of him before he continues.

“I was not close enough to hear exactly what was wrong with the jet, Ma’am. But Tinkerbell was under the jet looking at the landing gear - the front landing gear in particular.”

“So what did you hear, Lieutenant Junior Grade?” Commander Marks is sticking to the facts, not letting Hawk philosophize in a manner he’d clearly like to if the way he swallows with each statement is an indication. She’s also quite content to let Hawk’s continued use of your callsign rather than your rank slide. It bothers you because you’ve earned your rank with blood, sweat, and a not-insignificant quantity of tears. But she must have a reason. Both the Commanders must have a reason because Hawk’s clearly discomfited at Commander Marks questioning him instead of Commander Greybank.

“As I mentioned, Ma’am, I heard nothing until Lieutenant Bradshaw got loud. He mentioned something about wanting to still fly.”

“Then what happened?”

“Tinkerbell happened, ma’am.” There’s a distinct snarl on his face as he says your name. “She refused to let Lieutenant Bradshaw fly.”

“Was Lieutenant Bradshaw’s absence explained before that day’s exercises?”

“It was ma’am, by Tinkerbell of all people. She explained it as an acute mechanical failure on the front landing gear - not that I believed her.”

“And what happened after that?”

“Nothing, in particular, Ma’am. We flew in our assigned patterns through the morning and into the afternoon. It was the first hop after lunch that something out of the ordinary happened. Lieutenant Bradshaw came on comms at half-past two that day. He told us he’d been cleared to fly by Tinkerbell and that he’d be joining us up in the air.”

You feel like you’ve been sucker-punched again. Suddenly, you’re back on the tarmac, jet fuel exhaust wafting past as you scream into the comms. That panic, that pain, that feeling of hopelessness, and the fear is washing over you again.

“Twenty minutes later, I was watching a fireball burst against the side of the mountain. Tell me why it was that one of the US Navy's best aviators had to crash because one female AMDO couldn't do her job properly?”

“The defense has no further questions about the incident occurring on December 18th, Admiral Kazansky.”

“Very well, let’s take a half-hour recess and convene back here at exactly quarter past 11. We’ll resume with the questioning of Lieutenant Bradshaw at that time.” The Admiral looks tired - it can’t be easy presiding over inquiries.

The moment you are dismissed, the Commanders lead you to a secluded bench in the open central hall of JAG headquarters.

“That was rough.” It’s a matter-of-fact comment and not one that either of the Commanders is expecting a response to.

They let you sit in silence for a minute, at most, before Lieutenant Greybank hands you a bottle of water. “Do you still intend to testify to the status of your soulbond with Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

“If I need to.” You sigh, noticing the Daggers spreading out through the courtyard. Jake and Javy look like they're searching for you. So does Bradley - which you are not expecting. “It’s my last resort, sir, ma’am. If we need to mention my soulbond and soul-markers to sway the panel, then we will. I’m not ready to let my career go without a fight.”

“Alright. We’re going to go talk to Commander Wilson. I feel we have a few more pieces of evidence to submit to the Admiral and the panel, then.” You stand and salute the higher-ranking officials as they walk away before sitting back down as you let your eyes flutter closed.

It’s warm in the sun-roof ceilinged room. If you ignore the chatter of people at the coffee cart across the way, you could almost delude yourself into believing that it’s the middle of summer. More importantly, you can believe that all of this is behind you. You let yourself relish in the heat and imagine a summer day where you're curled up under the lone oak tree in your backyard. There are birds chirping, and if you focus, you can just hear the soft susurrations of the ocean over the wind rustling through the grass.

Your fantasy comes crashing down around your ears when a body settles onto the bench next to you. You know who it is before you even open your eyes, the soulbond buzzing like a hive of agitated bees under your skin just in his proximity.

“Hi, Bradley.” Your face feels hot as you take in his face.

“Hi, Tink.” He sounds so subdued, so lost as he greets you.

“Are you doing alright?” You blurt the words out before you even think about them. You've meant to ask it since you heard he woke up.

“I'm okay, Tinkerbell.” He chuckles then, something soft yet mirthless. “Gotta take it one day at a time. Though I think I'm officially not a looker anymore.”

The scars are arresting, slanting bright red, and standing out from his still-golden skin. But they're not ugly; far from ugly, in fact. The new skin growing over the burns is pink and tender, the color of his lips when he bites on them as he's deep in thought. They make him look mature, almost otherworldly, sitting there in his white dress uniform with his cover perched on perfectly coiffed curls.

“That's a lie.” You’re so tired of hearing the lies, of the stress, and of the sleepless nights, more like exhaustion, that the words trip out of your mouth unbidden. Your brain catches up with your mouth just a touch too late, but before your mortification can set in, rich laughter fills up the space between the two of you.

“Tell me what you really think; why don’t you, Tinkerbell?” Something about being this close to Bradley Bradshaw makes you feel brave and bold.

“It makes you look mysterious.” His laugh makes you smile.

“I owe you an apology.”

“I have to apologize to you.”

You start speaking at the same time he does, your voice tapering off into shocked silence when you hear that he’s saying the same thing you are.

“What do you have to apologize for, Bradley?” Your voice is quiet as you stare in shock at him. He looks just as confused as you are.

“I could ask the same thing of you. But if I do, I’m pretty sure we’ll be asking each other questions until this recess is over.” He smiles softly at you. “Why don’t you go first?”

Your voice is even softer because now Jake and Javy have found you and are standing within earshot. “I need to apologize to you, Bradley. God, I should have ensured the flight crew knew not to leave your jet unattended. I should have had a member of my team remove the ignition or disable the flight computer. Something, anything. Because seeing you crash like that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”

“I’m so sorry, Bradley.” You’re sniffling when you fall silent, rooting around in a pocket for a tissue.

You get handed a handkerchief, starched and pure white instead.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve been rude to you since the night we met. Truly, it’s because I was jealous.” He runs his hands through his hair in a frustrated motion. “That first night, I don’t know if you remember it, but when I met you at the bar, I could have sworn I felt something special. Something miraculous. I thought you were my soulmate. Then Jake found you in the aftermath of that bar fight, and I saw red. In those few moments, you shook me to my core. I’d sworn I would never find my soulmate, and I promised that if I ever found my soul, I’d never let them go.”

Your heart feels like it’s in overdrive. Did he just say what you think he did? There’s no way. How has he never realized that the dreams he’s had are about you?

“But I did. Sweetheart, I let you go that night, then again every time I saw you on Base. I never should have let you go. Please forgive me. You deserve so much better than the platonic soulmate you got, sweetheart. But I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise you that.”

You know you’re in a nightmare now. What about the dreams made it seem platonic to him? Maybe his dreams were different from yours because you’ve ended up naked in nearly all of them! But you can’t focus on that when your career is at risk.

“So you know?” Your voice is a little accusatory, a little angry, and a little sad. “You knew I was your soulmate, and you didn’t say anything?”

Your words make the sheepish grin on his face drop. “I-I…” But you don’t let him stutter out platitudes and even more apologies.

“I’ve been looking for you for most of my life, Bradley!” Your hands shake as you twist them in your lap, crushing the handkerchief in your fingers. “You…. only you. I thought you could never hurt your soulmate. The thoughts have been consuming me for months. What will you do if he dies? What will happen if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s not yours? Why? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you think it was okay to leave me waiting? To leave me not knowing?”

One big hand covers your cold fingers, carefully disentangling the kerchief. “I was scared, sweetheart. Terrified. I don’t have a good track record with soulmates. My parents were soulmates, and it destroyed my mom when my dad died. Here I am, doing the same thing he did. I couldn’t put another soul through what my mama went through. So when I got my marks, I pushed them to the back of my mind. I ignored all of the signs that a girl could be my soulmate - including the night I met you. You were the hardest to ignore, sweetheart. I wish I’d never done so because that wouldn’t have given Hawk a reason to target you like he did.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make, Bradley. That choice was mine. How dare you rob me of the choice of having the happiness your parents must have felt? This is my life, too, Bradshaw. Platonic or Romantic, you had no right to do that.” His gasp is audible as you look right into his eyes. “But I forgive you. So long as you promise never to do that again, we’ll be okay. But you’ll only get a second chance, not a third one.”

You stand up, carefully folding up the kerchief and pressing it into the breast pocket of Bradley’s suit. You dip down and gently kiss his cheek, tracing your fingers over one of the new scars. “As far as Hawk is concerned, I don’t think there is a single thing you could have done to stop him. He’s hated me since I told him off during the AMDO inspection - something I was well within my rights to do. This inquiry will prove that. I know it will. Give ‘em hell, Bradshaw.”

You’re smiling as you rejoin Commanders Marks and Greybank outside of the room, especially since you hear Bradley, Jake, and Javy coming up behind you. A big hand squeezes yours in passing, and you brace yourself to go once more unto the breach.

Bradley looks worn and tired as he takes the oath. He says each word emotionlessly, like he can’t bear to go over the accident, to relive the pain he was in.

“Do you believe the Lieutenant Commander released your jet purposefully?” Commander Wilson may be expressionless, but Hawk’s not as he catches your eye across the room.

“Objection! Leading Question!” Commander Greybanks doesn’t let the question get very far, though.

“Sustained.” Admiral Kazansky rubs at his temples as he dismisses the question. “The question is struck from the record. Commander Wilson, refrain from using leading questions, please.”

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Bradshaw, who released your jet for use that day?”

The entire room seems to lean forward in their seats. There isn’t a sound in the room. Bradley makes direct eye contact with you before he rises to his full height in the chair.

“Nobody did, sir.” Three innocuous words which set the courtroom murmuring. Commanders Marks and Greybanks look nearly elated as they confer in hushed tones beside you. But you have eyes only for your soulmate.

“Then why did you get into your jet?” Commander Wilson’s wheeling. The biggest piece of evidence against you just dissipated in front of the prosecution’s eyes.

“I wanted to fly, sir. I wanted to prove that I had what it takes to fly the mission we were training for. It didn’t feel right that I was grounded while the remainder of my squad were allowed to show what they’re made of.”

Bradley’s chuckles are self-deprecating. “Of course, nobody from my squadron had the chance to fly due to my actions.”

“You are sure that the Lieutenant Commander stated there was a problem in the front-landing gear?”

“Objection! What’s the relevance of this question?”

“Admiral, if Lieutenant Bradshaw assumed a problem with the front landing gear, then conceivably, he could have completed the training maneuvers successfully. He merely would have had a hard landing. There would not have been a multi-million dollar explosion in the hills of San Diego, nor would there have been a lengthy stay in the hospital.”

“Objection overruled. Lieutenant Bradshaw, please answer the question.” Admiral Kazansky’s turned the full force of his green eyes to Bradley now.

“Per the maintenance report the Lieutenant Commander sent to me, as well as the parts requisition forms, the defect in my F/A-18 was a defective front landing gear.”

“I have no further questions.” Commander Wilson settles back into his seat as Commander Greybank stands up. “Defense’s witness.”

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, what happened once you took off?”

“I relayed my coordinates to the group I was supposed to be flying with and joined the exercise. Everything was fine until after the simulated bombing run. As we were flying back in formation, everything in my jet started showing error signs. First, the left engine went out. Re-igniting did nothing. Then the radar conked out. Finally, I lost control. I saw flashing red on every instrument as the plane sank lower and lower. I kept trying to salvage the situation. But nothing I did helped. I pulled the ejection cords a little too late, and the doctors told me that I was engulfed by the fireball my jet created as it made contact with the hill. I don’t remember that part, Commander.”

You’re seeing the fireball in the distance again, hearing Bradley’s comms go dark and feeling his pain. Your hand shakes as you reach for your glass of water. This must be torture, or divine retribution because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to hear what Bradley went through without getting a little light-headed.

“I understand that might have been a harrowing ordeal. Do you believe the Lieutenant Commander caused the incident?”

“I do not. The accident was due to my own stupidity. The Lieutenant Commander forwarded the parts requisition form and the maintenance report to me that day. She also informed me when the parts were likely to be available. However, I would love to know what caused my engines to malfunction over the desert that day. Under the Lieutenant Commander’s careful watch, North Island has seen fewer aircraft malfunctions over the past six months than over the same duration every year before her appointment to North Island.”

He winks subtly at you as he says the words, chest puffing out in pride at your accomplishments.

“How do you know that?” Commander Greybank is smiling slightly as he says the words as well.

“I’ve been cleared for light duty over the past two weeks. As such, I’ve been working in the records room filing reports for the Admiralty, including the AMDO reports. It was a matter of a few hours to collect the statistics on AMDO inspections. They were given to Admirals Bates, Simpson, and Mitchell as a report.” Bradley’s smirking victoriously at Hawk, and it doesn’t surprise you at all to see how red he’s getting.

“We have a copy of that report to present to the panel as evidence.” Commander Greybank passes the documents to each member of the panel.

“We have no further questions for Lieutenant Bradshaw. However, we’d like to recall Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor at this time. We'd like to present a new piece of evidence to the panel, which we’d like him to answer some questions on.”

“Motion granted. Lieutenant Bradshaw, you may return to your seat.” Admiral Kazansky’s eyes flash with a hungry look as Bradley salutes him and the panel sharply before clambering back to his seat. This is going to be good. Hawk deserves everything that is coming to him and more.

Once he’s been sworn in again, Commander Marks hands a flash drive to the Admiral. A TV is brought out under Admiral Kazansky’s gimlet gaze, and the drive is plugged in. The video is without audio but clearly shows Hangar Two, specifically Bradley’s jet. It feels weird seeing yourself on camera like that. Does your hair always stick up in the back like that when you run your fingers through it? But you forget about that when the screen shows you leaving the Hangar and talking to Lieutenant Green shortly before 8 AM. Marissa hadn’t left you alone until you’d agreed to get a cup of coffee, at the very least, with her before training started for the day. Your knuckles are white as you clutch your hands together under the table. The camera ticks forward five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. That’s when someone enters the Hangar and straps something into the front landing gear housing. It’s small and metallic. A techno-bomb of some sort, maybe? But far more damning is how the individual fails to hide their face or their patches as they turn to exit the Hangar.

There’s panic on Hawk’s face sitting in front of the panel now. It can’t be easy to see yourself sabotage a superior officer’s plane in front of the COMPACFLT of the US Navy and twenty other higher-ranking officers, all with righteous rage in their eyes.

“In light of this evidence, Admiral Kazansky, we move to dismiss this inquiry and would request that Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor be remanded into the US Navy’s custody pending a Court Martial hearing for sabotage.” There’s a sly grin on Commander Mark’s face as she requests your release.

“What? No!” Hawk’s yell sets the already agitated Naval Personnel into whispering in earnest. “Why are you arresting me?! She’s the dumb bitch who made a mistake! She should be facing a court martial! Everyone knows that women can’t withstand the pressure of being in the Navy! She’s proof, as is that cunt Lieutenant Green. Nobody gives a fuck that they know the NATOPS of the F/A-18 as well as the F-22 and F-35! They’re just here to be diversity hires. Both of them and every other woman in the Navy, Lieutenant Trace included, are probably fucking their way to the top.”

That’s about when Nat launches herself across the room, landing punch after punch to Hawk’s person before Jake and Javy haul her away - though you’re sure they don’t until Nat’s gotten a few good jabs to Hawk’s nether region. The Daggers, as a whole, are bristling with rage. But nobody seems to be angrier than Admiral Kazansky. One firm whistle and the room falls silent.

“That is enough!” Admiral Kazansky is so angry that it feels like the entire room is shrouded in ice. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, consider this an order. Shut your mouth. You are showing yourself to be a disgrace to your wings and the US Navy. I hereby remand you into the Navy’s custody until your court martial hearing.”

“Lieutenant Trace, report to Admiral Mitchell at 0900 hours tomorrow for the consequences of conduct unbecoming a US Navy Lieutenant in this inquiry.”

“Commander Marks, your request is approved. Lieutenant Commander, you are hereby found not culpable for Lieutenant Bradshaw’s accident on December 18th. We expect to see you back at North Island in your full capacity tomorrow morning at 0900 hours sharp!”

As he stands, the entire room stands in respect and salutes, waiting until the aged man returns the salute before he walks away. It’s over. You’re free. Commander Marks and Greybanks even have cease and desist orders on behalf of the US Navy against the paparazzi on your front lawn. You can go home now. Even better, there might just be something new brewing with your soulmate.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@roosters-girl @infamous-reindeer @caitsymichelle13 @mattyskies @cosmic-psychickitty @mygyn @julesclues @greenbaby12 @bubblegumbeautyqueen @briseisgone @soulmates8 @meganlpie @captain-fandomwriter58 @caidi-paris @mazzbarnes @super-btstrash-posts @eli2447 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @faithiegirl01 @shanimallina87 @harrysgothicbitch @v3rnom @zombicupcake3 @djs8891 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

If your username is crossed out, that means that I wasn't able to tag you!

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

49 notes · View notes

lorifragolina · 1 month

Text

Wish upon a star

The second fill for the green bingo card of @harringrovesummerbingo! I combined it with the weekly prompt "Using Tongue" for @aug-kissed.

Lately I feel a little difficult writing smut or explicit sex but I hope you can forgive me!

Title: Wish upon a star

Square & Prompt: C3 "Nude beach"

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2393

Major Tags: semi-public sex, nude beach, public nudity

Summary: Yes, Steve is now at peace with his sexuality, and Billy is twenty years old, hot and free. And he is teasing him. An innocent walk to see the shooting stars, in a nudist beach… what can happen?

Read on AO3

Billy Hargrove emerged from the sea foam from the ocean, and Steve Harrington thought he fucking wanted that man.

Billy ruffled sensually the water from his hair, and looked at him sticking his tongue with a wicked smile, after dropping on the towel at his side, on his stomach, and sunbathing until dry. Steve took a hem of his own towel and covered his crotch, embarrassed, trying not to glue his eyes on Billy’s back and in the curve of his buttchecks under the obscenely low waist of his trunks.

Max wanted to visit Billy that summer, and convinced Steve to go with them; Steve always wanted to see the coast with a motorhome, so they rented one at the airport and went to collect Billy to go and have an adventure. Steve wasn’t prepared for the effect that Billy made on him, two years after he left Hawkins to return to San Diego.

“You can’t just let go of your flock, I see,” muttered Billy, seeing Max, Lucas, Jane and Will coming out the vehicle, and Steve blushed.

“They can drive the motorhome if they want,” argued Steve.

“Not on my watch,” scoffed Billy climbing in the passenger side.

Steve spent a minute looking at his profile, sharp as even, with the blonde curls naturally bleached and his face lightly red and peeled.

“Hey, do you want a picture? It lasts more,” mocked Billy, and then: “Go,” when Steve SI snapped out of it and looked bothered at him.

It wasn’t easy for Steve; twenty years old Billy was even hotter than eighteen years old Billy, he seemed less a tough guy and more relaxed, he smiled more and… well, Steve had made peace with his bi self and now he looked at Billy with different eyes. He even smelled hot.

He gulped dry and started the car. Billy gave him directions for the beaches and the sites he wanted to show them, and they passed the first day in and out the water, chasing the waves with rented surf and eating ice cream; Billy seemed to tease him, but it was the same old Billy that made fun of him as usual, and Steve tried to cool down, otherwise the trip would been a terrible pain.

At night, they opened all the lodgings and there was a little fuss for where everyone wanted to sleep.

Billy gave Lucas a dirty look when Max claimed the double bed in the bottom of the van, but he didn’t say anything. His sister was almost an adult and he couldn’t prevent them from doing anything with violence, he had to be smart.

“I can lend you some protection if you want,” he said coldly, patting Lucas’ shoulder with a fake smile.

“Oh God, gross,” exclaimed Max, and so Billy made sure they wouldn’t do anything when he was present.

He smiles slyly to Steve, who had followed all the conversation, and made him blush and look away.

“I think we have to sleep in the bunks,” murmured Steve.

“Not me, I’ll sleep outside on the beach chair”.

He opened the chair in the patio, where a fresh wind was blowing, tempting compared with the hot air inside.

“There are two,” blinked Billy, and again Steve blushed.

Billy was definitely joking with him and Steve was sure he was reading all the situation wrong, due to his altered perception; it was obvious that Billy wasn’t teasing him and that Billy didn’t even thought about it, he was a healthy, straight boy who was enjoying a holiday with his friends and who would start hunting girls at the first change.

Billy sat in the chair spreading his legs and lit a cig; he looked at Steve under the feeble light of the patio,covered by little flies, and smiled, blowing the smoke to him.

“You smoke?” He lent the cig, it was a normal cig but Steve took it, dragging Billy’s flavor along with the nicotine.

“I have something stronger, if you feel adventurous,” continued Billy.

Steve returned the cig and pursed his lips.

“Another time, maybe… I’m tired”.

Billy scoffed and finished the cig, then turned on his side, looking at him with a hand under his chin.

Steve arranged his chair to lay down and closed his eyes.

“A pity…” he whispered, and Steve, who was already falling asleep, was’n sure. “I know some ways to keep you awake”.

And there they were. The kids - although Steve couldn’t call them kids anymore, they were almost legally adults and Lucas and Will were already taller than him- were enjoying the beaches and the ocean, Billy was surfing and teasing him, and he was sitting in the sand covering his boner because he didn’t want to get arrested there.

Billy turned on his back and Steve almost jumped saying the glimpse on his pierced nipple, that he didn’t notice the day before because he tried not to stare.

He had a sigh of surprise and tried to look away, but it got worse: Billy had a sensual piercing on his navel too, sensually resting on his happy trail that now Steve couldn't avoid to follow. Billy moved and arranged his trunks on his crotch, then stared at Steve.

“What, princess?” He mocked him. He tore off the towel from his crotch and laughed loudly. “Well, don’t worry, it’s full of pretty girls, it’s normal”.

Steve blushed, lowering his eyes and staring unwillingly at the piercing.

“Oh,” Billy followed his bouncing eyes. “Those”.

He fidget with the nipple piercing. “Do you like it? You know, it makes things a lot more… sensitive…” he whispered, enjoying Steve's embarrassment. He stuck again his tongue and Steve lowered his eyes.

“I bet…” he murmured, and the opportune arrival of the kids saved him from more inconveniences.

He tried to wash his stupid thoughts away, under the cold shower, but Billy came under the one at his side and kept moving his trunks to wash himself under it, and Steve couldn’t stop his heart from jumping out of his chest.

But Billy was straight and was only joking as when they were in high school, right? Come on, Steve, he thought, you had a million showers together, and naked, and you never had nothing to hide…

Well he had something to hide in that right moment, something hard, but he was sure Billy wasn’t teasing him in that way? Right?

He took his time under the cold water to rinse his hair, and Billy got bored of mocking him and went away. When he finished he found Billy sat on the rock wall waiting for him; he saw that he crossed his eyes with a tall, brown haired guy with a board and he smiled to him, then blinked, and the other blinked to Billy too, going away; Billy licked his lips looking at the boy’s ass and squirming, without noticing Steve.

Steve cleared his throat, absolutely distraught. The guy was hot as fuck, and he was indubitably a man, that meant…

He tried to stop his heart. Even if he was wrong about Billy’s preference, how could he fancy him with those Greek gods available at his fingertips?

“Hey Harrington, it seems you see a ghost”. The piercing glimpsed in the sunset.

“No…” Steve blinked, and combed back his hair with his fingers. “Let’s go?”

That night they slept again in the beach chairs, and they shared a joint looking at the stars. They heard laughs and chats from inside and everything seemed peaceful and clear.

“Have you ever seen a shooting star, Harrington?”

“No, not really”.

“Did you know you can make a wish when you see one?”

Billy’s words lingered in the air, while Steve dragged slowly the joint and blew the smoke in Billy’s direction. He smiled, relaxed and bold.

“I didn’t know. And you?” He passed the joint to Billy again.

“Well…” Billy blew the smoke in little perfect circles. “Once I had a boyfriend who liked looking at shooting stars. But I always ended up doggy when we went to see them, so no, I never see one,” he smiled mischievously, spreading his legs a little more.

Steve was a little dumb for the smoke, so his low parts catched Billy’s words before his brain. He popped a half boner and gasped when he realized.

“Your… boyfriend?” He gasped

“Yeah…” said Billy slowly, looking at him. “Problems?”

“No… no,” stuttered Steve, frightened by the glimpse in Billy’s eyes.

“Good,” he whispered, putting a hand on Steve’s tight, casually. “I have a surprise in mind for you”.

Steve jumped at the touch and stood up suddenly. “I… ehm… Fuck, it’s… it’s hot, isnt’ it? I… I need water,” he entered the van for a glass of fresh water.

Billy snickered and lied down on the chair. When Steve returned with his glass of water, he had turned his back and didn’t say anything else.

Billy acted normal the next morning, drinking the hot coffee they prepared on the stove. He blinked at Steve just once, and talked to him with his usual mocking tone, so Steve convinced himself that all last night had been a stoned moment and nothing else. But while Steve was driving, he slipped a hand on his leg again.

“I want to show you something where we are going,” he whispered, and Steve muttered something.

“Haven’t you come here for some adventure?” Continued Billy, bending on his ear. Steve could calm down only when they parked near a desert beach.

The kids ran to the water in the afternoon, but Steve waited a moment, enjoying the panorama and the open sky.

“Hey princess,” Billy threw a towel to him. “Ready for the adventure?”

Steve shook his head, but Billy stretched a hand to help him stand up.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked after a few minutes, craving to take Billy’s hand again.

“It’s one of my favorite places,” he only said, and kept guiding him for a path of sand and pebbles.

They came to a wooden fence surrounded by a patch of trees.

“Here, this is one of my favorite beaches”.

Billy left the towel in the sand and took his shirt off.

Steve looked at him, confused, and Billy giggled when he started to take his trunk off and Steve gasped.

He pointed to a sign: “Naturist beach”, and giggled again at Steve’s surprise.

“What? Are you embarrassed? We can go away if you want”.

“No… no”, he stubbornly took his shirt off, followed by the bathsuit.

The beach was empty and Billy took his hand again, to guide him on an isolated dune where they could see all the beach and the ocean. Steve walked trying desperately not to stare at Billy’s bottom.

They put the towels down and Steve discreetly covered himself.

Billy looked at him and smiled, oddly shy, then lowered his eyes. “I hope I didn’t read the signal wrong,” he said, caressing Steve’s arm with the back of his hand. He licked his lips.

“I… hope I didn’t send wrong signals,” answered Steve, without logic, and Billy scoffed.

“Can I?” He touched the towel that was covering Steve. He nodded, shivering.

Billy smiled, uncovering Steve’s boner, and Steve blushed when Billy tilted his finger in his inner thigh. He raised a hand to touch Billy’s face.

Billy pierced his fingers in his delicate flesh and Steve moaned, grabbing his face in return and closing his eyes.

Billy kissed him and Steve moaned filthy at the touch of his tongue, then fell on his back taking Billy over him, rocking their waist together and whining more, finally relieved and relaxed.

“Shit,” Billy smiled leaning on his arm. “I was fucking wanted it since you descendend that stupid plane”.

“”Me too,” laughed Steve.

“Come on,” Billy lent his hand to him, “Let’s go in the water”, he dragged Steve and they ran together, completely naked and excited, in the water.

Billy pulled him and they kissed again between the waves, with the light of the sunset, and Steve thought that he was about to lose his mind.

The moon raised and they lay down on the beach under its light again, kissing and touching, and Steve fidgeted with the nipple piercing until Billy screamed.

“Look! A shooting star!” Steve pointed at the sky, but Billy was kneeling between his legs and looked at him with a bothered face.

“Well I’m always on my knees when they pass,” he pouted, biting Steve’s skin.

“Shut up,” he shoved his dick again in Billy’s mouth. “Be a good boy and I’ll let you make a wish”. Billy whined, touching himself, and sucked a little more, taking him on the edge, then left him unsatisfied.

“Can I make one now?”

Steve emerged from the beginning of his climax.

“Does it imply me coming inside you?” He groveled.

Billy nodded. “Rail me,” he jerked himself. “Even if I won’t see a shooting star”.

Steve lay down and grabbed his hips, making him turn his back to him.

Billy smiled and straddled him, giving him a complete vision on his hungry hole.

“Fuck me, baby,” he begged, and Steve almost came in his own hands. He pushed inside Billy, making him scream, and grabbed his hair to arch his neck and adjust the angle.

He thrusted inside Billy once, twice, three times.

“Baby, I’m close…” he moaned, trying to hold back.

“Christ,” Billy whined, bouncing on Steve’s legs. Steve pulled more his hair, so he was facing the sky while Steve was fucking him.

He jerked himself, and he felt close too.

“I’m close, baby, please, please come inside me, please, please,” he begged, feeling his dick melting in his own hand.

“Oh yes, baby, fuck,” Steve shoved his dick in his guts once more and came, feeling Billy’s orgasm all around his cock.

“Look! Look!” Screamed Billy, still coming. “There’s one! There’s one!” He pointed to the tail of the shooting star.

“Did you make a wish?” Asked Steve sweetly, helping him descend from his legs.

Billy nodded. “Do you want to know?”

“If you say it doesn’t come true”.

“I’m pretty sure it would come true anyway. I wish you would keep coming inside me all night long”.

Steve smiled.

“Ok then. Let’s make it”.

#stranger things #writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #fanfic #hsb2024 #aug kissed

9 notes · View notes

harveyguilleniconodelamoda · 3 months

Text

Summer Style: Pretty in Pink

Harvey's summer outfits have really popped lately with some intriguing pieces in pink! Even better, these items come from companies with mission statements that tie into some element of Harvey's style ethos. So here's a rundown of all the fun & thought-provoking summer style he's been serving.

Wolf & Badger Juliette Kimono

This flowy, handmade chiffon kimono by Jennafer Grace screams summer relaxation. It features peachy-pink flowers on a blue-white background, and originally came in sizes up to a women's XXL (it is unclear what measurements this translates to, as the website's size guide does not provide them). All sizes except for M and L are currently out of stock. It retails for $175.

Jennafer Grace is an independent designer based in San Diego, California. She specializes in handmade, eclectic garments and accessories inspired by vintage style and cinema. Wolf & Badger is a B-corp certified business that sells clothing from independent brands worldwide. They prioritize sustainability and ethical production practices.

(B-corp certification is a designation conferred by B Lab Global, an international non-profit network that seeks to raise corporate standards across the globe. In order to earn a B-corp certification, a business must meet specific markers of social and environmental performance, corporate governance and accountability, and transparency.)

LungeMan Electric Pink Swim Trunks

Though of course there is margin for error whenever we cannot see specific labels or defining features, it appears that these trunks are the Electric Pink LungeMan shorts from Sleeves Sold Separately, a family-owned athletic wear boutique based in Southern California.

The LungeMan is described as a retro gym short that doubles as workout shorts or swimming trunks. The shorts are made of a stretchy nylon-spandex blend with a low-cut elastic waistband, moisture-wicking liner, zippered back pocket, and a 4-inch inseam. They are designed to be comfortable while also being fitted, to allow the wearer to show off their legs. As such, the cut is tailored for men with larger glutes and thighs, and comes in sizes up to XXL (37-38-inch hip). They are currently low in stock, with sizes M and XXL being out of stock entirely. They retail for $75.

The founders of Sleeves Sold Separately, Naomi and BJ, say they aim to provide athleisure apparel that celebrates the masculine body, a goal stemming from BJ's own struggles with weight, body image, and fashion. As a both a kid in a larger body and an adult in a thinner body, BJ says he struggled to find any fashion options that made him feel confident and like his body was being celebrated. "My mission is simple," says BJ. "I’m just gonna create all of the apparel I want in my closet for every training and social situation." (Source)

(A personal note: While I don't agree with the way BJ implicitly equates fitness with a smaller body on their about page, I definitely sympathize with the struggle to find clothes that make me feel confident, and celebrate any company working to alleviate that struggle for others.)

Affordable Options

Technically, the trunks already fall into the "under $100" affordability threshold. But here are a few other options as well!

Hot Pink Beach Shorts - $9.96 from Walmart, available in sizes up to XXL (45-inch waist).

Neon Pink Swim Trunks - $55 from Coastal Cool, available in sizes up to 3XL (45 5/8-inch waist, 52 3/4-inch hip).

It was surprisingly difficult to find any full-length chiffon kimonos that matched the vibe and quality of the one Harvey wears above. In the end I only found one, and it didn't meet the affordability threshold.

#harvey guillén #fashion #plus size fashion #menswear #casual wear #summer 2024 #wolf & badger #sleeves sold separately #swimwear

8 notes · View notes

keanuquotes · 2 months

Text

#keanu reeves #John Wick #Pinball #SDCC2024

7 notes · View notes

dingochef · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary:

Another day, another stupid man to deal with. You run into a familiar face when you go to meet up with the face and person that's been on your mind all day.

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Nancy Drew and the Instagram Account

You start your Sunday early to beat the sun and the heat. Your cycling group is meeting up on the San Diego waterfront just as the sun rises. The day is clear and just a bit crisp. You revel in the chill now as it will heat up soon, especially with the hilly route on deck for today. The ride starts easily with the Bay Shore Bikeway up to La Jolla then it heats up with a trip to the top of Mount Soledad, the ride down is fast enough that you can feel the moisture in your eyes being wicked away by the arid dry air. The rest of the course skirts around the eastern edges and suburbs of San Diego. After a few stops for water and some snacks to keep you energized, the ride winds down at about 2 pm where you started. You start packing away some of your gear and sit to change your shoes to get on the ferry. As you're tying the laces on your shoes, a shadow looms over you.

“Elsa, how’s it going?”

Bill asks. Of course it’s Bill, he does this every time the group meets.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner with me tonight, like a date?”

Bill is nice, but he’s also a good 20 years older than you and more like your father than is comfortable in the dating scene.

“Sorry Bill, answer’s still the same, no. Besides I have plans tonight,” the thought of Jake brings an unconscious smile to your lips.

“Come on, Elsa, you’ve got to give in sometime, I’m just trying to be a nice guy. It’s just one date, I’ll cook you dinner at my house, a little wine, it’ll be a nice night. You gotta say yes.”

You sigh, knowing that what is going to come out your mouth next is going to make the next meet up the group awkward as fuck, but you can deal with akward.

“Bill, how many times have you asked me out?”

He shrugs,

“A lot, I guess.”

“And I always say no. What makes you keep asking when you get the same answer? That’s the literal definition of insanity.”

“I figure persistence pays off and besides I’m a nice guy, give me a chance.”

“Bill, the answer today, tomorrow, and every time in the future is going to be no. N. O. I don’t want to date some overbearing guy who has no respect for what I say and what boundaries I draw. Being a “nice guy” doesn’t entitle you to a date.”

By this time others in the cycling group are starting to notice the exchange. Millie, who is a retired Navy Captain, steps over to see what’s going on.

“Jeez, Elsa, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

“Bill, if you think this is me being a bitch, buckle up buttercup, you haven’t seen anything yet. I can’t help that your sense of language comprehension and pattern recognition is that of a four-year old, you sad old man. No means no. We’re done here.”

You start to walk your bike towards the ferry terminal and Millie runs over to catch up.

“You okay?” she asks, giving you a side hug.

“Yeah, just tired of dealing with Bill’s bullshit week after week. I just want to come ride and hang out with friends. Not ward off old dudes trying to get into my pants.”

“We’ll take care of it, Bill’s out of the group, easy peasy,”

Millie says. Millie is one of the founding members of the cycling group and part of a kick-ass group of older retired military women who deal with exactly zero shit from anyone.

“Thanks, Millie, I appreciate that. I gave him so many outs, but he kept coming back into the danger zone.”

She shrugs,

“Some people are just dumb. You did good back there. Do you need anyone to see you home in case he gets weird about it?”

“No, keep him occupied for about 15 minutes while I get on the ferry and I’ll be good.”

You give Millie a hug and wave goodbye as you get on your bike to ride the last little distance to the ferry. When you get home you jump into the shower to rinse all of the day’s gross parts off, real and metaphorical.

As you're getting out of the shower you hear your phone ding:

Lydia: So you and Hangman, becoming a thing? A baseball game (glad you found a dork that likes baseball) and dinner at what I know is your favorite restaurant (the tapas place in the Gaslamp Quarter.) It's like you’re putting your best moves on him.

You: I'm not putting my moves on him, you and I both know I have exactly zero moves. He offered up the baseball game as amends for being a jackass the other night at the bar. I was hungry after the game so I invited him along.

Lydia: Liar. Liar. Pants on fire! 🔥 You asked him on the dinner date. I pressed him for the deets when he mentioned going to the Padres game that I saw on your Instagram. And he crumbled like a lovesick fool. Between asking for your number and him coming back practically skipping and whistling I figured it out.

You: Alright, Nancy Drew, Girl Detective you got it right. It was Colonel Mustard in the library with a wrench.

Lydia: What are you even talking about?

You: How have you never played a game of Clue?

You: Nevermind.

Lydia: So…..how was he in the sack? These Navy guys are fucking built.

You: We only made it to my porch.

Lydia: Ooh, outdoor sex. Adventurous.

You: Not that! We just had some really nice kissing that ventured into a bit of heavy petting. And then I said good night.

Lydia: Right. And you have plans with him tonight. You like like him!

You: How did you know about that?

Lydia: The walls here are hilariously thin. You can hear everything that happens here.

You: So Jake mentioned. How was that mustache ride?

Lydia: De-fucking-lightful. 10/10 would highly recommend.

You: I'll remember that yelp review when I'm in search of a mustache ride which will be…..never. Seriously, what's up with the stache? Did he lose a bet?

Lydia: Didn't come (heh heh) up in conversation.

You: You are the worst. Talk to you later, remember to keep hydrated with all the sexing you’re doing.

Lydia: Smooches & Byeeee!

You shake your head at the conversation you just had with Lydia. Before you put your phone down you text Jake to set up the now infamous drink date tonight.

You: So, we still on for drinks tonight? How does 7 at the Hard Deck sound?

You don’t expect a reply right away and put your phone on the charger and head over to the couch with a giant jug of water and make plans to watch some TV and chill for the rest of the afternoon. Somewhere, around an hour later when you've already watched two documentaries on WWII aircraft your phone dings. In what can be described as an all out sprint you rush to your phone.

Jake: That sounds like a date. See you there. Maybe this time I'll get to buy you more than one drink, (my turn.)

You: See you then.

It's about 4 pm now, which gives you enough time to whip up a nice curry for dinner and still have time to gussy up for your date. This is actually date date.

Getting ready to go out has become more of a challenge than you anticipated. You've pulled out every dress you own and rejected each one twice. You're looking for that "Oh just drinks, you just threw on whatever to come here." Your goal is effortless grace, not "I totally overthinked every aspect of my appearance and maybe had a slight panic attack." In frustration you call Lydia, breathlessly shouting out as soon as she answers,

"You actually have fashion sense, what should I wear?"

The cackle comes out of the phone speaker first and then her reply,

"Just drinks, riiight. You’re actually trying to impress him aren't you? This is adorable, Elsa has found someone to melt her frozen heart or other parts."

She snorts at her own terrible joke and you can practically hear her eyebrows rising up and down on her forehead.

"Don't overthink it like you usually do. Wear the magenta dress with the nice flowy skirt. It'll be easy to get off later."

There's a muffled male voice in the background saying something like "Come back to bed, baby."

"Are you still at Rooster's? How are you not chafed or unable to walk?"

"No, we actually ventured out for some beach time and came back to mine, a whole lot more privacy. By the way, I might have heard a certain someone moaning another person's name last night when he presumably was taking care of his blue balls courtesy of you. Well, have fun, do something I would do, Byeeee!"

You, for some reason, follow Lydia's advice and wear the suggested dress. Wearing a bra with this dress is impossible due to the plunging back. Lydia knew exactly what she was doing when she suggested this particular dress. Scanning your underwear drawer you spot a pair of black lace boy shorts that you know make your ass look really good. After setting a light curl into your dark brown, almost black hair, you leave it down to cascade down your shoulders and back. Minimal make-up, you're always going for the natural look, but for some reason you pick a darker magenta shade of lipstick that complements the dress. You grab a light sweater and your purse and you're out the door. The walk over to the Hard Deck is nice and cool and calming. The butterflies in your stomach start to flutter as you approach the door and it hits you that you actually want to impress him tonight. It's an exhilarating and terrifying concept at the same time, what are you getting yourself into?

You don't really have time to delve into your brain after that idea as I've arrived at the Hard Deck. You push open the door and pull your sweater off. Despite it being a Sunday night the place is pleasantly buzzing with a steady hum of voices and glasses clinking together and onto tabletops around the bar. You scan the crowd and don't spot Jake anywhere so you make your way up to the bar. At the bar there's is a familiar bomber jacket and black head of hair.

"As I live and breathe, it's Maverick. And in one piece,"

You say as you sit on the open bar stool next to him. He's halfway through a swig of beer when he turns and makes the connection that it’s you sitting next to him.

"Elsa! What brings you to this place?"

"Meeting a friend for a drink."

Penny comes over and asks,

"The usual?"

You nod yes. Maverick says,

“Put that on my tab, I owe this gal a drink for stepping in as my temporary guardian angel."

Penny looks a bit confused at the statement but shrugs and goes to make your drink.

"I should be asking you the same thing, what brings you down to North Island? I thought you were just going to carry on at the Skunk Works."

He takes a swig of his beer and shrugs, "The usual pissed off an Admiral. They weren't overly impressed with me breaking "the project" apart." He uses air quotes to reference the Darkstar hypersonic stealth jet you were both working on and he was serving as the test pilot.

"I'm teaching at Top Gun for a few weeks. While the Navy decides your fate for me."

He leans over to whisper,

"Thank you for saving my life, there's no other reason I'm alive other than your life pod."

"How did it perform?" you ask quietly.

"Like riding a mattress down and landing on a marshmallow, so perfectly. Next time can you get it to drop me off near civilization rather in the middle of an orange grove near Fresno?"

You laugh,

"Jeez, so needy, not only do I save your life and give you a gentle ride back to earth, you want door to door service. I'll see what I can do."

You glance over to the door to see Jake coming through the door; he instantly scans the crowd and locks in on you. You catch his eyes and then turn back to Maverick and say,

"I'd love to get together to pick your brain on other impressions on "the project". Thanks for the drink. I’m glad you’re alive."

You lean in to hug Maverick.

Your drink has appeared on the bar and by the time Jake has jostled his way through the crowd to the bar you can see that the expression on his face has turned from that panty dropper smile to confusion and a bit of jealousy.

He swaggers up to the bar and gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Both Maverick and Jake are looking at each other confused and startled.

"Hey, Captain, didn't think you'd be back here after the other night." Jake says with that patented smirk.

Maverick winks and says,

"I like the company and the scenery."

He nods his head towards Penny. You cock your head with a questioning look. Maverick sheepishly replies,

"We have a complicated…history.".

Jake asks, his signature smirk in full force,

"How do you know Elsa or are you hitting on women who are half your age and out of your league, now?"

Chapter 6

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

#top gun maverick #hangman fanfiction #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #hangman #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun smut #top gun fanfiction

74 notes · View notes

katiemcgrathultimate · 1 year

Text

Friday, July 21

Peacock’s The Continental: From the World of John Wick: Stars from the series and EPs Basil Iwanyk and Albert Hughes provide an exclusive first look at the series. A prequel to the blockbuster action franchise, the series will explore the origin behind the iconic hotel-for-assassins centerpiece of the John Wick universe through the eyes and actions of a young Winston Scott, as he’s dragged into the Hell-scape of 1970s New York City to face a past he thought he’d left behind. Ballroom 20, 3PM.

#2023 #the continental #katie mcgrath #sdcc2023 #comic con 2023 #katiemcgrath #thecontinental

40 notes · View notes

gryfflepuffinthetardis · 2 months

Text

Valentía: Plain Sight

Summary: Spencer Reid's twenty-fourth birthday party is interrupted when they are put on the "Tommy Killer", a serial rapist and killer in San Diego who rapes, murders, and glues his victims' eyes open.

Warning: Mentions of rape, Mention of Zoe's criminal ex-boyfriend; Spencer pining after Zoe but not admitting it; Zoe's emotional walls; Hints of past vague assault of main character; Season Six Arc References and Spoilers, Emily Prentiss Cameo; Mentions of a post-traumatic Trigger pushing on repressed memories; Vomiting

"Just be yourself. Let people see the real, imperfect, flawed, quirky, weird, beautiful, and magical person that you are." — Mandy Hale

October twelfth. Spencer Reid's birthday. His twenty-fourth.

They had a cake that Zoe had specifically baked but no one other than Alexander knew that.

"Make a wish!" Elle said and Spencer blew on the candles but them being trick candles, they came back on.

"Come on, man! Blow, baby, blow!" Morgan teased.

"I thought you were full of hot air, Reid." Elle joked.

"Come on, Reid!” Morgan teased.

"They're trick candles, Spencer, Okay? They're gonna come back on every time." JJ explained but that didn’t deter him from trying.

"Aww, mommy to the rescue." Morgan teased, tugging on Spencer's ridiculous but cute birthday hat... which Zoe didn't care about.

"Mommy?”

“Ignore him. He’s actually a mommy’s boy.” Zoe said.

“Hey, Reid. Does it make you legal yet? And how old are you turning this month, Zoe?”

“Twenty.” She said, blankly. “Twenty the thirty-first.”

“A whole year until you’re legal.” Morgan teased.

“In Mexico, the drinking age is eighteen. I could just go there, Mama’s boy.”

“Your birthday’s in nineteen days? Halloween?” Spencer asked her curiously as the cake was cut.

“Yeah.” She said, shortly.

“Doing anything special?”

“Yeah, will we meet your mama? I bet you were a mama’s girl.”

“Uh, no, she’s dead.” Zoe said, blankly and Morgan quickly shut up.

Behind them was Hotch, Gideon, and Alexander, “Isn't it amazing he knows what he knows and he's only twenty-four?”

“Imagine what he'll know by fifty.” Gideon said.

“Imagine what Zoe will know. She’s been smarter than me since she was three and she could beat David at the Sunday crossword puzzle in pen.” Alexander said, looking at his daughter. Gideon smiled, remembering how cranky Rossi had been.

“So how are we supposed to put these out?” Morgan asked.

Zoe had gotten a metal bowl and plucked the candles off and dropped them in.

“A little water will solve that. Trick candles relite due to the magnesium powder in the wick.”

“Magnesium is a highly reactive metal when powdered or sliced thinly. It can ignite at temperatures as low as eight hundred Fahrenheit.” Spencer said.

“Yes, it is, Spencer. And when the flame is blown out the remaining red ember relights it. Just cut off the oxygen supply with water.” Zoe added.

“How do you know all this?” Elle asked.

“My dad’s a big fan of trick candles.” Zoe said, glancing at said father before taking the bowl to the sink and dosing the flames in cold water as Alexander joined her.

"Hope you like chocolate." Elle said as Hotch was called by a fellow agent.

“You havin' fun?” Gideon asked.

“Yes. Definitely. I'm definitely having fun.” Spencer said, rather dully, not used to having so much attention of him as his mother often forgot his birthday due to her Paranoia Schizophrenic disorder, heck, she couldn’t feed herself, Spencer had to remind her since he was ten after his dad just left and hadn’t seen him since, but he’d have to be an idiot not to realize how much his mother loved him.

“Make a wish?” Gideon asked.

Spencer subconsciously glanced at Zoe who was smacking Morgan’s hand away from the cake and when he did it again, she sprayed him in the face like a misbehaving kitten with a spray bottle full of water. He looked back at Gideon, “Can I take this hat off?

Gideon’s eyes went up to the hat, he knew Zoe had specially ordered for Spencer’s birthday. “I wouldn't.”

“Hey, Spence. First piece for the birthday boy." Zoe called with a rare, sweet smile on her face that brought heat up to Spencer's cheeks.

Spencer started to head over before he turned to Gideon, “Do you know she's the only person in the whole world who calls me 'Spence’.”

Spencer came over to eat his piece of cake as Zoe smacked Morgan's hand again.

Hotch hung up the phone and announced to his team, "Sorry, guys. Party's over."

They met back up in the conference room.

"We're going to San Diego." Hotch said as he and JJ entered the room with the details about the case

"But not for the surfing, huh?" Morgan quipped.

"They're calling him the 'Tommy Killer'." JJ said, placing the files down.

"Six women raped and murdered in their homes in the last three weeks." Hotch said.

"Six in three weeks?" Elle asked.

"That's a short fuse." Gideon said.

"And getting shorter. First two were eight days apart, then the next four in two weeks.

"Rapid escalation." Spencer identified, "You think he's regressing to a psychopathic frenzy?

"No, he's too controlled for that." Hotch said. "See you on the plane." Then he got up to leave.

"Why the 'Tommy Killer'?" Morgan asked.

"You know the rock opera?" Hotch asked, turning back, "Well, this UnSub glues his victims' eyes wide open."

Zoe's memory went back to those eight months, it had almost always been pitch black.

"He wants them to see him." Spencer said.

"And feel him."

Zoe got up and left to get ready.

Then her phone rang, it was an unknown but from the area code, she knew it was from Italy. Only one person in Italy would call her today of all days.

"Come sta la ragazza più ribelle di tutto l'FBI?" Asked the undercover agent.

"È questo il saluto che ricevo dalla festeggiata? Non ti sento da otto mesi." Zoe said into the phone with a teasing tone.

"Non è il mio compleanno."

"Potrebbe non essere il compleanno di Lauren ma è il compleanno di Emily."

She chuckled. "I haven't been her in while."

"Where are you, are you safe?" Zoe asked.

"Yeah, I'm away from the villa right now. I don't think he suspects anything, I knew you might track me down if I didn't call."

"Damn right, I would, but unfortunately I've got a case so it will have to wait."

"Oh, you've been at the BAU for almost seven months now. How's it going?"

"Really, great. I already knew some and obviously Dad. But I've been dreaming of this since... forever. Even if they don't know who I really am."

"I know how that is." Emily said and then said, sympathetically, "How are you?"

"Since those six months or when I had to track him down?" Zoe asked.

"Either."

"You know how I am."

"Unfortunately I do."

"How close do you think you are?"

"I'm afraid I can't comment on it with you anymore. You already know more than you should. You shouldn't have done what you've already done."

"It helped, didn't it?"

"So, what's the case?"

"Uh, there's a serial killer in San Diego, he's raping women and killing them by strangling them with some kind of cord or wire and gluing their eyes open." She talked about it with Emily who was talented in profiling but she didn't often do serial killers.

Spencer left the conference room a little bit later and he saw Zoe at her desk on the phone with a smile on her face. He wondered who was making her smile.

When he got to the jet, he noticed something in his go-bag. A gift. A rectangle wrapped in gift wrap, it seemed to be a book.

———————————————————————————

French poet Jacques Rigaut said, "Don't forget that I cannot see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror."

Hotch walked the length of the plane, handing photos of the victims to his team members, "Brenda Samms was found yesterday by her children when they got home from school. She had been strangled with a thin ligature, possibly a wire.

"No weapon left at the scene."

"Residue on the wrists and mouth indicate that duct tape was used, then removed." Spencer said.

"Also not found at the scene." Hotch added.

"Brought it with him, took it with him." Elle said.

"He also started leaving messages at the fourth scene, this was on the mirrors." Hotch said as Gideon was sketching eyes.

"Fair lady, throw those costly robes aside, no longer may you glory in your pride, take leave of all your carnal vain delight..." Alexander read, he frowned why did that sound familiar.

"I've come to summon you away this night." Spencer finished.

"It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death and a Lady."

"The Great Messenger of Mortality." Zoe recalled.

Morgan extended his hands like, how in the world do they know that? While Gideon and Alexander smiled with pride.

"A seventeenth-century ballad?" Elle asked.

"Yeah, essentially a woman begging Death to live." Spencer said.

"What kind of person knows this ballad?" Elle asked.

"People who read." Zoe deadpanned but Elle ignored her.

"Are we looking for a literature professor?" Elle asked.

"Well, anyone with an Internet connection, actually. You should see what comes up when you type 'death' into a search engine."

“Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.” Morgan joked, Zoe noticed the shift in Spencer’s eyes.

“When was the last time you had a date after sex?” Zoe quipped.

“When was the last time you had a date?” Morgan countered.

“Depends what you mean by date.” Zoe said with a sudden darker undertone, looking over the file. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows slightly.

"What?" Morgan asked, his demeanor suddenly changing.

Zoe’s phone beeped on the table next to her lighting up with M.D.

"Of course, I only know it because my mom was a big reader and she annotated books before, you know..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

Oh. Spencer's eyes softened. It seemed her mother's death still weighed on Zoe.

"Reid, Zoe you two stay on the messages. See if there's a deeper meaning." Gideon said, "Do you have the notes your mother wrote?"

"I might have scanned it so I could have a digital copy. She... you wouldn't believe how many books she wrote notes on for... me." Us. Zarah and me.

"Well, it definitely looks like he ransacked the crime scene pretty well." Morgan said, showing the picture they all had.

"A lot of damage, nothing taken." Hotch said.

"Well, the eyes are the thing. The signature. The behavior that isn't necessary for the murder, but necessary for the emotional release. That's what he's there for.

"There used to be a widely held belief that the eyes record a snapshot of the last thing a person sees before they die." Spencer said.

"Optography. They used them in Jules Verne novels but it's a myth." Zoe said.

"People used to write poems about talking to Death." Morgan said.

"Ballads." Spencer and Zoe said.

"Whatever." Morgan scoffed.

"You think they'll ever run out of new things to do to their victims?"

Zoe let out a nearly inaudible scoff, she knew more than anyone in that room that that what people they hunted were good at.

"Well, finding new ways to hurt each other is what we're good at." Gideon said.

———————————————————————————

Task Force Headquarters

SAN DIEGO POLICE DEPARTMENT

The team apart of from Hotch, Zoe, and JJ went past the detective in charge of the case. He held his hand out to Hotch, the first who didn't look right past him.

"Captain Griffith, Task Force Commander."

"Sorry. We all get tunnel vision." Hotch apologized for his team. "Um, I'm Special Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Jareau, our liaison. And this is Doctor Zoe Valdez, she's one of our special agents."

The girls shook his hand. "I appreciate you coming out."

"Thanks. Hope we can help." Zoe smiled, "Uh, excuse me." She went past him to get set up, going over to Spencer where he was looking at the pictures of the

"‘My name is death. Have you not heard of me? You may as well be mute’.” Spencer trailed off to reading silently.

JJ was looming over Spencer's shoulder.

"Creepy, huh?"

“No.” Zoe said, giving her an irritated look.

"Actually, uh, conversations between Death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance." Spencer said and JJ stared at him. "Yeah, creepy."

“Do you need something, JJ?” Zoe’s tone was sharp, defensive. Then Zoe’s phone rang and she picked it up, “Hey, M.D.” She got up and walk off.

"What's her problem?"

"Her mother's death, I think." Spencer shrugged.

Zoe shortly came back, she had her laptop out and was going through files upon files of scanned books that were in no way organized.

"Who's M.D.?" Spencer asked, cautiously.

"A friend. I went to Harvard with her." Zoe said, vaguely.

"Were you talking to her before we left?" Spencer asked.

"Huh? Oh, no, that was..." Her smile faltered, "A different friend. She's... she's kind of unable to call very much because of her job. I can't say much but today's her birthday too, so she knows to call so I don't track her down. She's thirty-five today."

"I-I'm sorry about your mom."

"Hmm?"

"You mom. I'm sorry. I... I didn't have much of a dad, he walked out when I was ten, so my mom was all I had and I was a twelve-year-old in a Las Vegas public high school, so I didn't have many friends. So, I just... I'm sorry."

"It's no problem. It happened nearly two decades ago." She shrugged but Spencer could see her grief and guilt.

"But you're only nineteen. How old were you when she died?"

"Little." Zoe said. "These books are really all I have of her. Of who she really was as a person. I think she would've like you and she would've said to not hold back your passion for these things for anyone, not even JJ. But you are unequivocally you and as Oscar Wilde, 'everyone else is already taken'."

Spencer looked at her, his heart swelling for the closed off girl before he cleared his throat and said, "it looks like what he's written at the scenes are most of the first three verses of the same ballad."

Zoe pressed a button on her laptop, making the screen go black and locking it and scanned the lines. "It's only Death's lines." She realized. "Go tell Hotch."

———————————————————————————

Zoe had wanted to help the woman who survived a similar home invasion and rape attempt. She had found her file on the poem and printed paper copies of it.

Elle, Hotch, and Zoe entered the house of the survivor, Marcia Gordon.

"Lucky woman." Hotch said as they walked through the kitchen.

"Yeah, well, she's probably not feeling so lucky right about now." Elle said.

"Just don't tell her she's lucky." Zoe said with a note of disgust in her voice.

Marcia and her husband were surrounded by male officers.

The husband of Marcia repeated his description, "He was black and six feet tall. I watched him run out that back door."

Captain Griffith walked to them as he said, "Get a description out in the field ASAP."

"Interracial serial sex crimes are rare." Hotch informed them.

"Are they impossible?" Griffith asked.

"Uh, no."

"Then what's your point?" Griffith asked.

"Only to provide you with information." Hotch said.

Zoe and Elle looked past him to the woman who looked at them. They were the only other women in the house. Zoe couldn't remember much of the days after she was found again. Any of the times. But she knows why she's kept quiet about what happened. Because all the people who helped raise her were men. Even if she knew they wouldn't judge her, she knew telling them what happened would make her feel weak.

"I'm going to go talk to her." Zoe spoke.

"Me too." Elle said.

"May I ask why?" Griffith asked.

A note of danger appeared into Zoe's eyes. "She was nearly raped, and she's surrounded by men." Zoe said, simply and then walked past him.

"Mrs. Gordon? I'm Doctor Zoe Valdez with the BAU of the FBI but you can call me Zoe," Zoe said and Elle arrived, "This is my college, Elle Greenaway."

"Would you like to go outside?" Elle asked.

Mrs. Gordon hesitated.

"It's all right. We're just going to go some place quiet." Zoe reassured her.

Zoe and Elle took Mrs. Gordon outside to the patio, "I really don't know that much about him." She insisted.

"You don't have to." Zoe said, "Just take a little time to collect your thoughts. To just sit here. Breathe."

"You two don't want to ask me questions?" Mrs. Gordon asked.

"Not until you're ready." Zoe said.

"We'll be right behind that doorway." Elle said and Zoe got up and they started to walk to the sliding door that led them out of the house.

"I didn't even know he was in the house. Is that common?" She said.

Zoe and Elle came back and Zoe sat back down, "Very."

"He slapped me from behind, and pulled me down on the floor. I tried to scratch him and bite him, but he was so strong. And then my husband came home from work. He screamed, and the man ran out the door." Mrs. Gordon said.

"He was a black man?" Elle asked.

"Bill was sure of it, but I... I only remember his eyes." Mrs. Gordon said and Zoe forced herself not to shift. "When we were fighting, I kept staring him right in the eyes. I remember thinking, if he's going to kill me, then he's going to have to look at me while he does.

Zoe's memory flashed back to when she was twelve years old. His eyes peered at her through the mask. They were hazel-brown but not like Spencer's, they were lighter in color but darker in soul. No empathy. No remorse. Still with the dark warehouse she was in and the shadows from the mask, she could still see the gold tint of them.

"And he just kept staring back at me through the ski mask."

Zoe almost didn't catch it but she did a double take, "Did you just say ski mask?"

———————————————————————————

When they returned to the station, Zoe made her way to the bathroom, she felt sick. Like the repressed memories, she wanted to keep repressed forever were itching to the surface, she made her away for the nearest toilet before throwing up into it, flashes of those eyes kept coming back. Not just in that moment but flashes of those eyes in her repressed memories. Those five days.

During the eight months, three years later, she was never allowed to see. But in those five days, he had wanted to see her eyes, to see if she ever showed fear. What Mrs. Gordon did was exactly what Zoe would've done. If he was going to kill her, he was going to have to look her in the eye.

———————————————————————————

They were ready for the profile, they had realized that he had started leaving the verses because the police hadn't connected his crimes yet, so he wasn't getting enough attention.

"The UnSub brought his weapons with him. Tape, glue, wire. He did not leave them at the scene. He took them when he left." Gideon told the room of cops, the BAU stood spread in front of them and in front of the victim boards apart from Zoe, Gideon had reassured them that she was fine and to continue on without her. "He has a kind of killing kit that he carries."

"Organized killers usually have a skilled job, likely technology related, which may involve the use of the hands." Hotch continued, "The crime scenes are far enough apart that he needs a vehicle. This will be well-kept, obsessively clean, as will be his home. He's diurnal, the attacks occur during the day, so the vehicle may be related to his work, possibly a company car or truck."

"We believe he watches the victims for a time, learns the rhythms of the home, knows his time frame." Morgan said.

"You're not going to catch him accidentally." Hotch added.

"He destroys symbols of wealth in the victims' homes. He harbors envy of and hatred toward people of a higher social class." Gideon said. "He feels invisible around them."

"Class is the theme of the poem which he left at the various crime scenes. At one point in the poem, the woman attempts to bribe Death, but he doesn't accept it." Spencer said as Zoe reentered the room, "He says this is the one moment when riches mean nothing. When Death comes, poor and the rich are exactly alike."

"So he's poor?" An officer asked.

"Probably middle-class. A decidedly lower-class person would stick out in a highly patrolled neighborhood." Hotch said. "This guy appears to belong there. He blends in."

"Why does he glue the eyes open?" An officer asked.

"The UnSub is an exploitative rapist." Zoe spoke up as she joined them, next to Spencer who looked at her concerned, "Most rape victims close their eyes during the attack, turn their heads. For some rapists, this ruins the fantasy.

"For this type of rapist, the goal is more related to the victim watching him than the act itself." Elle continued.

"The verses, the staging, the aggressive language, 'I am Death.' This is a guy who, while being in control at the crime scene, almost certainly feels inadequate in the rest of his life." Alexander said.

"That's why he couldn't wait for you to figure out what he'd done." Gideon said, standing back up. "Why he needed to make sure all his crimes were counted. His victims. They represent whatever it is that's controlling him, and he wants that control back. He is under the thumb of a powerful woman who frightens him. And a final point, he is white."

"We have witnesses that identify him as a black male." Griffith said.

"The attacker was black. He is not the Tommy Killer." Gideon said.

"Mrs. Gordon's husband came home at the same time that he always does. The Tommy Killer would have known that." Hotch continued.

"And Mrs. Gordon's attacker wore a ski mask." Elle added. "The UnSub knows when he walks into a house he's going to kill the woman who lives there. If you're not leaving any witnesses, why wear a ski mask?"

Zoe shifted her weight.

"And he wants the victim to see him anyway." Morgan added.

"Your attempted rapist is a garden-variety, disorganized young man." Alexander said.

"As the victim's age goes up, generally the attacker's age goes down. Mrs. Gordon is about sixty, which puts her rapist at about twenty." Elle said.

"And it takes years to develop the level of calm and sophistication that Tommy displays at a crime scene. And the rapist is far too young for that." Gideon added.

"Mrs. Gordon told me that there's a young man who delivers groceries to their home. He fits a lot of what we're describing here." Elle said.

"Great. So we're back to zero on Tommy." Griffith said.

"Not at all. May I see you in your office for a moment?" Hotch asked, already walking towards said office.

"Zoe," Gideon's voice said, approaching the girl who was like the daughter he never said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

"I don't need to take time off, Gideon." She argued.

Hotch walked over, "He's right, Zoe. You became triggered today, it's understandable just take the next few hours off and come back after the conference tonight and we'll be covering the tip line for the public."

———————————————————————————

They arrested Mrs. Gordon's would-be rapist and brought him back during JJ's conference, claiming him to be the Tommy Killer. Zoe was sitting with Spencer and Elle, Zoe was reading one of her mother's annotated books, Villette by Charlotte Brontë when she suddenly threw her head back and groaned, "God, I hate waiting like this. I hate waiting. I hate boredom."

"It's probably your ADHD." Spencer said.

"Obviously, doesn't make it better." Zoe groaned.

"Do either of you think it's weird that I knew that ballad?" Spencer suddenly asked them.

"No." Zoe said.

"I don't know how it is that either of you know half the things you know, but I'm glad you do." Elle said.

“Don’t listen to Morgan, Spence. He’s a playboy. He has sex with no emotional connections, he doesn’t really do... deep unless it’s explicitly pointed out to him. Typical guy. But you're not a typical guy and trust me when it's me saying that. It’s better to be smart and know things about what you do that saves lives than be a playboy of average intelligence who doesn’t know the things you know.” Zoe said.

"Do you think that's why I can't get a date?" Spencer asked.

"You ever ask anyone out?" Elle asked.

"No." Spencer said.

"That's why you can't get a date." Elle said.

"You don't want to be Morgan, Spencer. Just because you want connection over sex. Just means you're not a typical guy." Zoe said.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend, Zoe?" Elle asked.

Zoe went quiet for a moment, "I... had a boyfriend shortly before I joined the BAU, it was on and off for about four years, I mean, we didn't really go on dates when I was fifteen, something... really bad happened and he helped me through it and we bonded and suddenly we were dating and we didn't really break up but we both know that we're not together anymore."

"What happened?"

Zoe hesitated. "He was arrested. He's kind of a criminal, in a high-max prison. He's a hacker. Like better than Garcia level hacker."

"And you were dating him?"

"Like I said, we never properly got together. He was there when I needed someone and he had the unique requirements that he could relate in a way no one else could. He had a hard life. His parents died when he was ten and his life at his uncle and aunt's was less than ideal to say the least, on the streets by twelve, and then..." Her voice trailed off, looking off at the side. Spencer felt a twinge of jealous and sadness.

Zoe then cleared her throat, "If it makes you feel any better, Spence, you're more likely to get a date than I am."

"Why?"

"Women with higher IQ's have a harder time finding a mate. Men are fine dating a woman with a lower IQ than they do."

I don't think I am. Spencer thought.

"Here. This was one of my mom's favorites." She said, handing him a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

The phone rang and Zoe cleared her throat, picking it up, "Doctor Valdez. This is the San Diego police depart..."

Immediately someone started screaming at her through the phone.

"YOU STUPID BITCH!"

She pulled it from her ear, making gestures and whispering Spanish to the others.

"Line six, Penelope. Line six." JJ said.

Elle put the call on speakerphone as

"You stupid incompetent sons of bitches! I don't make mistakes! I am Death! You hear me? I am Death! You'll see now. Tomorrow. Mark my words, you will see! And while I'm taking her, I'm going to be thinking of you!" Then he hung up.

"I kind of wish a guy had answered him." Zoe muttered.

"Anything?" JJ asked into the phone with Garcia. "She said she got nothing."

"Nothing?" Morgan asked.

"We missed him?" Hotch asked.

"What do you mean, that was long enough to get a location?" Zoe asked, "let me call her, we can figure this out twice as quickly."

———————————————————————————

"We have an undercover car for each of your teams and the entire damned department out there, too." Griffith said, walking to them, the next morning.

"Remember, a truck, maybe a work truck in excellent condition." Gideon reminded him as Zoe arrived with a Mexican hot chocolate and an extra sugary coffee for Spencer.

"Everyone knows."

"All right. He might make a mistake today. He's angry and he probably hasn't done the kind of surveillance he'd like."

"Yeah, well, neither have we. Let's go, Reid.

"Zoe, you go with Morgan and Reid." Gideon said.

"You want to spend all day stuck in a dude car?" Zoe groaned but followed.

———————————————————————————

"Why do keep moving back there?" Morgan complained to Zoe who was in the backseat with her laptop, she kept moving and laying in different positions.

"I don't like cars, they're too cramped, I prefer motorcycles." She whined.

"You do know motorcycles are statistically more likely to crash." Spencer said, disapprovingly.

"Eh." Zoe shrugged. "They're cooler and don't smell like dude."

"I do not smell like dude!" Morgan protested.

"Yeah, you do. I was raised primarily by men. I know what dudes smell like. You smell like dude, the gym, like you coat yourself in baby oil, and either baby powder or that that deodorant powder scent. Spencer smells like bookstore with a coffee shop."

"Oh... thank you?" Spencer blushed.

"It's ten-thirty already."

"All he said was tomorrow, he didn't specify morning." Spencer said.

"Reid, this guy's got to spend a lot of time in that house. A lot. He needs it to be morning." Morgan said.

"Are we sure this is a good spot?" Zoe asked.

"Three of the victims lived within a block of this street. It's the main artery through the neighborhood." Morgan said.

"True, but three victims in the same block could mean he's done with the area." Spencer said.

"Or that he's just really familiar with it." Morgan said.

"And comfortable in it." Spencer added.

"And if he's really familiar with it, he knows to what spots in the neighborhood to avoid." Zoe said.

"But then on the other hand, the other victims lived more than a mile in either direction." Morgan considered. Then he hit the steering wheel. "God, I hate not having a plan."

"Well, that's life." Zoe deadpanned, "You need to relax more. Try reading."

"I don't want to read, Zoe."

"Well, clearly, you don't know the difference between a poem and a ballad." She sassed back.

There was a snickering giggle coming from Spencer but when Morgan looked at him, Spencer was looking in the other direction.

"Shut up." Morgan said and sighed, "We're looking for a needle in a haystack here."

"Actually it's more like we're looking for a needle in a pile of needles." Spencer corrected.

"What?" Morgan asked, incredulously.

"A needle would stand out in a haystack." Spencer pointed out.

"Okay. And we're not looking for someone who stands out."

"No, we're looking for a particular needle in a pile of needles." Spencer said

"Elle tells me your ex-beau's in prison?" Morgan said in a teasing tone.

"Yeah, because he could hack circles around your beau, no offense to Garcia but it's true." Zoe said. Technically it was the truth, he was as hacker and a genius but not why he was arrested.”

"It's the eyes." Zoe suddenly said.

"What are you doing back there?"

"Helping Garcia see how many substations our exploitative rapist unsub routed his call through. That's why Garcia couldn't get a fix on it."

"What do you mean the eyes?"

"There's something off about the eyes." Zoe said.

"What that he glues them open?"

"No, it's just a unique signature for exploitative rapists to force the victim to watch.

———————————————————————————

Gideon realized that if he could reroute the calls through as many as twenty-five substations meant he was a phone technician. They got the name Franklin Graney and Zoe got her motorcycle out and was the first to get there. She spotted an open yellow gate and she stopped her motorcycle and could hear a baby crying. She leaned her bike against the yellow fence and took out her gun as she followed the baby's crying. She spotted a tool belt, one that a phone technician would have.

"AHHHH! AHHH! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!" The baby was screaming.

"Hey, shh... shh..." Zoe cooed, picking up the baby to calm him down, when she heard raging screams and crashing. He was breaking the riches. She took out her phone and was about to dial Hotch or Gideon when it suddenly it stopped. She turned and saw him, looking at her.

Zoe took off, running up the stairs as Graney chased her but Zoe was much quicker from him, she ran towards the room she could hear the crying from the mother coming from and opened the door, twirling inside. He grabbed the door handle, fighting her for it and Zoe managed to set the baby down and grab it with both hands and she pushed, making it fly open and hit the Graney in the face, making him let go and fall over and she slammed it shut, locking it.

"Help me. Help me." The mother cried through the duct tape on her mouth.

Zoe ran over as Graney pounded on the door and she ripped the tape off and cut the binds.

"Help me barricade the door to save us time." Zoe whispered. Zoe did most of the work since the mother was still in shock. "We don't have much time. Do you think you could crawl out the window?"

"But my baby..."

"Right, of course. It's the suburb, no fire escape. I'm going to have to talk him down or something, I want you to take your son and hide in the closet." She said, "If you hear a gunshot and you don't hear me, get a clothes wire and fight like Laurie Strode. Go. Go!"

The mother ran into the closet with her baby, shushing him.

Graney started shooting and Zoe threw herself backwards, out of the way of the bullets.

He pushed through and pointed his gun at Zoe who pointed her's back.

"FBI! Franklin Graney, put the gun down and put your hands up!" She shouted.

"FBI? I must be a big deal."

"You're raping and killing women. The San Diego department had to call in my department, the BAU." She was stalling.

"What's that?"

"I'm a profiler. I catch people like you by studying their behavior."

"What does mine say?"

"All these women are surrogates for a dominant female figure in your life, based off their age, I'd say your wife. You force them to watch you rape them before you strangle them with a wire and then you glue their eyes open so their dead bodies can watch you go back up those poles, someone they see so often but never see. That gets you off more than the rape itself. But the police department weren't able to connect your signature, the eyes. It was too subtle to you left behind the notes of The Great Messenger of Morality. Only Death's lines."

"You're the girl from the phone last night, aren't you?"

"Yes. You're the one who called me a stupid bitch."

He was approaching her with a hunger in his eyes. "You're just a little girl. Imagine how famous I'll be after I attack a FBI agent."

"I wouldn't do that, Graney." Zoe said, backing away. "I will shoot you and you're out of bullets."

"No, I'm not."

Zoe nodded to his gun. "That's an M1911 pistol. A single-action, recoil-operated, semi-automatic pistol and it only holds seven bullets. You shot seven times."

Graney then grabbed a lamp and threw it at Zoe, making her miss her aim when she shot and he tackled her to the floor.

Her memory went back to that warehouse, those eyes. Those eight months. The countless nights afterwards, she would stifle her sobs into her pillow so her dad wouldn't hear.

Never again.

"Never again!" She grunted as she kicked her foot out, kicking him in the face, he fell back and she stood up, he had her primary gun but she still had her ankle holster, she stood up, pointing her first back-up gun, first of many. "You hear me? Never again."

"Franklin." Gideon's voice said, entering the room, he had spotted Zoe's motorcycle and came upon them.

"I'll shoot her." Franklin said.

"No, you won't, Franklin." Gideon said.

"Yes, I will. I have her gun."

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you." Gideon said. "And we'll just say we caught a low-life burglar. You didn't turn out to be Tommy after all."

"He will remain uncaught. After awhile, people will forget you. You'll be nothing." Zoe added.

"Once every five or ten years they'll do a TV show and they'll ask, 'Whatever happened to that 'Tommy' guy?' 'Why did he disappear'?" Gideon said. "And then they'll stop talking about it altogether. Put the gun down. Come on, walk out of here with us. I'll make sure your face is splashed across every newspaper and TV in the country. Tommy Killer: Franklin Graney. Everyone will see you then. Bundy, Dahmer, Graney, the whole world'll know who you are."

"It's up to you, Franklin. You can be famous, or you can be invisible." Zoe said.

"You'll tell everyone?" Graney asked.

Gideon nodded, "I have a media specialist outside right now. It is your choice."

"Promise?"

"Yes, sir, I promise."

Then Graney put down Zoe's gun.

"Back away from the gun." Zoe said, "Hands behind your head." He did so as she side-stepped around him and picked her gun up.

Hotch and Elle arrived, "Where's the woman?"

"Closet." Zoe walked over to the closet, holstering her guns and opening the door as Hotch arrested Graney. Zoe crouched down to the mother and child. "It's okay to come out. You and your baby are safe."

The mother finally allowed herself to sob aloud, "Thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Zoe whispered.

———————————————————————————

Rose Kennedy once said, "Birds sing after a storm, why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?"

Zoe sanitized her gun after deciding against burning it to sterilize it of the rapist's touch. And she was now on the jet, continuing to read Villette by Charlotte Brontë as she had headphones on.

Gideon and Spencer were playing chess when Gideon said, "Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you."

"Oh, yeah?" Spencer muttered, somewhat distractedly.

"I forgot to give it to you at the party." Gideon said, handing Spencer a small, elongated box giftwrapped with blue paper and a red ribbon

"But you don't give birthday presents." Spencer chuckled. He undid the ribbon and tore the blue paper off and opened the box to see a pair of Redskin tickets.

"Wow. The Redskins." Spencer said.

"It's a VIP box." Gideon explained.

"Wow. Thank you so much." Spencer smiled.

"Ever been to a pro football game?" Gideon asked.

"No, I honestly didn't know this was football." Spencer chuckled.

"You're going to love it." Gideon said.

"We are. You're coming with me, right?" Spencer asked.

"No. There's someone else on the plane who is a huge Redskins fan."

"Who?"

Gideon looked past Spencer to the twenty-four-year-old blonde liaison.

"JJ?" Spencer blushed, he kept glancing past Gideon at Zoe, reading a classic.

"She's a huge Redskins fan." Gideon said.

Spencer frowned and looked at Zoe. He was not unaware of the effect that violent tomboy had on him. His heart raced when he saw her and he yearned to learn more about her but he also felt she was keeping things from him, but not just him.

Gideon was also not unaware of Spencer’s feelings for Zoe. Spencer was the least experienced profiler and while he was uncomfortable with emotions, he didn’t do a very good job at hiding the ones he had for Zoe.

Spencer looked at Gideon and said, softly, “JJ’s great and all but she’s just not Zoe.” This was the closest he had ever come to really acknowledging his feelings for Zoe.

Before he met Zoe, he had had feelings for JJ but… then he collided with Zoe and…

“Zoe’s had a hard life. She’s against letting people in easily. She likes to hide her emotions and prove she’s strong.”

“She is strong. She has ADHD and is still one of our best profilers.” Spencer said, almost defensively.

“I know that. But she’s from a culture that typically views mental health as a weakness. I know it’s not but because of that she likes to prove to everyone that she’s tough. She’s been through a lot and she’s not open to new relationships until she’s ready. She’s too guarded right now.”

Gideon phrased all of this as if it was something he had profiled from Zoe which was technically true but Gideon had also helped raise Zoe and knew this personally about her.

Spencer nodded. He had gotten this from her too, plus she was recently-ish out of an on and off five-year relationship.

"Wh-What should I say?" Spencer stammered. Gideon just looked at him. Spencer tucked the tickets into his lapel pocket, glancing back at JJ and started to get up when he moved a chess piece on the board and said, "Checkmate."

Gideon furrowed his brows as Spencer got up before smiling and chuckling as Spencer headed to JJ, still thinking about Zoe.

He awkwardly sat next to JJ across the aisle and cleared his throat

"Heard you're a fan of football..."

———————————————————————————

When Spencer got home, he remembered the gift-wrapped book in his go-bag and he opened it to find a nice edition of the 1967 classic, The Outsiders.

Spencer opened it to see something written in pen on the first page.

"My mom always said the message of this book is to always be true to yourself no matter what society tells you to do, no matter how touch it is, be who you are and not what people want you to be."

—————————————————————————-

Translations:

Come sta la ragazza più ribelle di tutto l'FBI? — Italian — How’s the most rebellious girl in all of the FBI?

È questo il saluto che ricevo dalla festeggiata? Non ti sento da otto mesi – Italian — Is that the greeting I get from the birthday girl? I haven't heard from you in eight months.

Non è il mio compleanno. — Italian — It’s not my birthday.

Potrebbe non essere il compleanno di Lauren ma è il compleanno di Emily. — Italian — It may not be Lauren's birthday but it is Emily's birthday.

*Personal note: I cut my finger with a potato peeler when I was making a deviled egg potato salad, like a deep cut but manageable, so while I have a bandage, my writing will be slower. I do have to the next few episodes written down (I'm writing LDSK now), but I want to slowly release them. So for the next few weeks, it'll be slower*

5 notes · View notes