#road barriers types

[swiftplasticpallets-blog]

Why 2-Meter Barricades Are Ideal for Road Projects

In today’s fast-paced world, ensuring road safety is more critical than ever. From maintaining traffic and ensuring the safety of all commercial onlookers during construction to creating a safe environment for public events, road safety barriers are the best way to keep both workers and citizens safe from harm. 

Among the many types of barricades available, the 2-meter road safety barricade has become a preferred choice for many infrastructure and traffic control projects. But why exactly is it so popular? Let’s find out.

1. Optimal Length for Effective Coverage

The 2-meter length provides a practical balance between portability and coverage. It’s just long enough to create a solid and continuous barrier which will prevent gaps that unauthorized users or accidents can pass through but not so long that it becomes hard to handle/lay down and set out as you move it around.

2. Highly Visible Colors

Visibility is key when it comes to road safety. Most 2-meter barricades are designed with bright colors like red, yellow and are often equipped with reflectors or reflective tape. 

This makes the barricades highly visible during day and night, vastly reducing the dangers of incidents at twilight.

3. Durable and UV Stabilized Material

These barricades are made using LLDPE (Linear Low-Density Polyethylene) with Roto-molded construction for a strong, seamless build. The material is UV-stabilized, ensuring that the barricades resist sun damage and fading. 

The roto-molding process provides uniform wall thickness and structural strength, making them highly durable.

4. Easy to Handle and Move

These barricades are designed for ease of use with feature interlocking systems, allowing them to be quickly set up or rearranged without the need for heavy equipment. This makes them an efficient solution for temporary or changing road work zones.

5. Interlocking & Fillable Design

2-meter barricades feature interlocking systems and water or sand fill options, allowing quick setup and added stability. This flexibility ensures they meet site-specific safety and functionality needs.

6. Versatile Applications

These barricades aren’t limited to roadworks. They are also widely used for:

Public event crowd control

Pedestrian walkway demarcation

Construction site safety

Petrol Pumps

Shopping Malls

Parking lot and traffic lane guidance

Their flexibility makes them a go-to solution across multiple sectors.

Conclusion

The 2-meter road safety barricade stands out for its ideal size, durable LLDPE material, and roto-molded strength. It balances the need for solid traffic control while being able to get the job done safely and efficiently and a good choice for anyone working on an infrastructure, construction, or public safety project. 

If you're looking to enhance safety and streamline operations, Swift’s 2-meter barricades into your project could be the move that makes all the difference.

[gothgoblinbabe]

She Wolf

A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!

Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)

divider credit here

“Are you ever gonna tell him?”

You looked up from your desk towards Ororo’s voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.

“God, I don’t know, ‘ro. I don’t think I should. It’s just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.”

You’d had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. You’d probably be considered best friends by now with how much time you’d spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic ‘tough guy’, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You weren’t exactly a seemingly ‘soft’ type either.

You’d spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. You’d been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldn’t live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought you’d find some ‘help’. You’d been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. You’d never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You weren’t an animal. You just had teeth like one.

Knowing you couldn’t lurk in town much longer, you’d hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that you’d met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now. 

“I think you're underestimating how he feels about you,” Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week. 

“I think you’re overestimating how he feels about me,” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.

Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again. 

“Are you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?”

You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scott’s voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.

“Okay, Logan, you’re gonna be the dog,” Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand. 

He was definitely not as amused, “why do I have to be a damn dog?”

Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, “you’re the thimble.”

She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play. 

It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie. 

“I think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,” Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“And what we have, obviously,” Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.

“Gross,” Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge.

“I think someone is jealous,” Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.

“Of having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,” he scoffed.

As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasn’t a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.

Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.

“You don’t seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think you’d be cute together,” she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.

“Nah, definitely not my type of girl.”

It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You couldn’t take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

Definitely not my type of girl. 

“I think I should head to bed, it’s getting late,” you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs. 

“What the hell was that?” Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.

“That was so mean,” Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, “…do you think she’s mad at me?”

“Probably more hurt than mad,” Jean said honestly. 

“Shit,” he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, “what do I say?”

“Not that,” Marie replied, “why did you even say that anyway? You could’ve just said no.”

“I think you like her and you’re being mean so that she wont like you back because you’re afraid,” Ororo said after a moment of silence. 

Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.

“Am I that easy to read?” His voice was muffled through his hands.

The rest of them couldn’t help exchanging knowing smiles.

“So you finally admit it,huh? You’ve got a crush,” Scott teased.

Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, “you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Jean whispered to her boyfriend.

“Talk to her when you see her tomorrow. We’re not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you can’t accept your own,” Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Do you think she’s even gonna talk to me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.

It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers. 

Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.

“Have you guys seen her? I’ve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed. 

“She’s in her room,” Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, “she went up before dinner, said she wasn’t hungry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “she’s skipping dinner now too, great.”

“Go talk to her!” She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.”

Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.

Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot you’d leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like you’d gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.

“She’s in her room, she went up before dinner,” Ororo answered.

“No, she’s not. And her purse is gone.”

Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybody’s phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m afraid you all have your work cut out for you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes.

“So, where is she?” Ororo asked, worry in her voice. 

“There is a club called The Nightcrawler - “ Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently. 

“Club? What, like a book club?” He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable. 

“Maybe we should just let her have fun,” Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.

Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. You’d spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. You’d settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that you’d bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you weren’t Logan’s ‘type of girl’, you sure as hell were somebody’s. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. That’s how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didn’t look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne. 

“Sure, why not?”

As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

“Ironic,” you muttered under the music.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.

“Logan, slow down!” Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.

“What if she didn’t even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?”

“Oh,” Jean laughed, “ I see. You’re jealous.” 

“No.”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“So you’d be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?” 

Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, “sure, whatever,” feigned disdain in his voice.

The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people. 

“This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Scott shouted.

“Not necessarily,” Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Open up and set it free 

There's a she wolf in your closet

Let it out so it can breathe

You didn’t even look like you. He’d never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter. 

And you were with a guy.

Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

“So, what did we tell you?” Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.

“Just some kid,” he replied dismissively, turning to her, “doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“You sure?” Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.

That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way. 

Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys

I just want to enjoy 

By having a very good time

And behave very bad in the arms of a boy

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.

The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

“Touch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you weren’t bluffing. 

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.

“God damn it,” Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him. 

“Logan!” Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip. 

There's a she wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

“Shit, I’m kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?” He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.

“Come on,” Logan snapped, “we’re leaving.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?” You yelled back. You didn’t want to stay anywhere near that guy but you weren’t ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.

“Hey, she doesn’t really look like she wants to leave with you, man,” the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants. 

“Yeah? She doesn’t want to stay with you either, jackass,” Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, “she’s not interested.”

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs. 

“No one’s gonna fucking ask what I want, right?” You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you. 

“Your little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?” The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Logan’s hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time. 

“Alright - enough, enough, we’re leaving!” Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, turning to Logan, “and what the fuck was that?”

“What was that? You’re welcome - “ 

“I didn’t ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he scoffed, “he had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.”

He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, “Don’t - Don’t touch me!”

None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and you’d definitely never snapped at Logan like that before. 

You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to the rest of them,” but why are you guys here?”

“You left without saying anything, we couldn’t find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,” Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, “we’re so glad you’re okay.” 

You hugged her back.

“I just - I wanted to disappear for a while,” you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scott’s gaze. 

“Do you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?” Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.

“Shut it! Enough from you! You’ve done enough damage control!”

The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.

“Honey, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but,” she paused, thinking over her words, “what were you gonna do to that guy if we hadn’t stopped you?”

You understood what she meant immediately. 

“What, you think I was going to kill him?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, “I wasn’t. I don’t do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.”

“I know…so, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?” she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, “he seemed kinda shady.”

Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.

“Liked the attention, I guess,” you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, “it’s been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.”

“He only wanted one thing from you anyway,” he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.

“And I can’t want it either?”

That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said ‘you asked, you got the answer’.

You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom. 

“What’s going on with you?”

“Leave me be.”

You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out. 

“Logan.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.

“Move.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - “

“There’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight,” you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.

“I care about you, you know, I was worried,” he began to explain.

You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasn’t in the room.

“Yeah? Why?,” you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, “I’m not your type of girl. What’s there to worry about?”

Logan’s face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him. 

“Is that what this is about? That’s why you went out?”

“Why do you care?” 

You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.

“Stop.” 

You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.

You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings -“

“I’m not.”

He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“I only said that - listen, I only said that because - “ Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Logan.”

You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “I only said that because I didn’t want you to like me.”

You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.

“It worked, are you happy?”

“No, I’m not - “

“Well, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.”

You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldn’t quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t really help it once it started. 

“Oh, god, please, don’t cry,” he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldn’t look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I am. I’m really fucking stupid,” he huffed. 

You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. He’d called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name. 

“And what happened there, at the club? ‘She’s not interested’, what was that about?” You continued.

He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasn’t much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.

“I like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldn’t like me back and it would save you the trouble.”

Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.

“Save me the trouble of what?”

You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.

“I don’t know…having to deal with me, I guess. I - I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.”

You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you. 

“And earlier, when we picked you up,” he continued, “I acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Can’t stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I don’t know.”

You’d never heard him sound so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“You are my type of girl,” he finally choked out, “only type of girl I’d ever want.”

All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind. 

“It’s alright if you hate me, I can’t say I really blame you. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He began to walk out, convinced he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you. 

No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top. 

“You’re not something to deal with, you know,” you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldn’t wallow in self pity because you didn’t want me.”

“You were trying to get over me,” he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, “I deserved that.”

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.

“Did it work?”

His voice was low and soft, a tone you’d rarely heard him speak with.

You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath. 

“No. I don’t think it was ever going to, either,” you laughed a little, “when that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didn’t look anything like you.”

Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.

Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.

You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.

“We should’ve done that much sooner,” you giggled.

“Agreed.”

His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.

He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasn’t long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, “I was so stupid.”

“We both were,” you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.

“L-Logan,” you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.

He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Can I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.”

His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“Mmm, uh-huh,” you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck. 

“You have to use your words, pretty girl,” he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.

“Y-yes, yeah - please,” you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.

“Please what, baby?”

“You - you can make it up to me,” you groaned into his neck. 

He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back. 

“Can I take this off you, baby?”

You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.

“Eager, huh?”, he chuckled, “let me, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.

You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking. 

“Ah - Logan,” you whined, making him smile against your skin.

“I like it when you say my name, pretty girl,” he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs. 

Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.

He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.

“I thought about you a lot, you know - like this,” he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.

You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.

“I thought about you like this, too,” you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.

“Yeah?”

His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.

“This what you think about when you fuck yourself?” He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.

You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.

“Y - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.”

He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name. 

A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?”

It was Scott.

 You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, just - just tired,” you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.

“You sure?”

You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing. 

“Yup, th-thank you, m’ jus’ gonna go to bed.”

Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.

Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.

“Logan, I’m - “

“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon.”

His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.

“Uh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,” he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.

“Fuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,” you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.

He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. 

“I could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,” he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.

Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re into pain, huh?” 

You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.

“You’re gonna pay for that, pretty girl,” he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing. 

When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy you’d ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.

“What, are you nervous? It’s alright sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him. 

You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking. 

“ ‘m not nervous, I want you, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist. 

“You sure?” he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust. 

You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back. 

Logan couldn’t help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.

“So tight,” he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.

“You - fuck - you’re so fucking big,” you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out. 

“Feels good?”

It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size. 

“Mm - uh-uh,” you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him. 

“Y-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,” you whimpered.

That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress. 

He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.

“S-someone’s gonna - someone’s gonna hear us,” you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again. 

“Don’t care, let ‘em,” he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you. 

He really didn’t have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure you’d never looked more beautiful. 

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one he’d considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.

“Bite me.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, “are you sure?”

“Please.”

You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.

He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip. 

“Please.”

His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didn’t enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again. 

You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds. 

Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm. 

“ ‘s good, huh, princess? Come on me, c’mon,” he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.

“Want me to stay?”

“Mhm - please.”

The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, “you know I love you?”

The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried you’d misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.

“Really?”

“Of course. You think I would’ve done that with you if I wasn’t in love?”

You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since he’d bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasn’t the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didn’t have to be. 

“I love you too,” you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I should’ve told you much sooner,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.

Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.

“You can make it up to me some more.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks

[aeonstale]

SHUT UP AND DRIVE !

┆彡 summary. headcannons about driving. ┆彡 cw. blade x reader. moze x reader. boothill x reader. crashes. suggestive (mention of making out). curses. road rage. boothill's part is short bc headache. not proof read. [1.5k]

m.list | request.

STELLARON HUNTERS (BLADE).

Canonical Blade can drive. Silver wolf tried one time, she almost caused your death (she said she had a perfect score. She meant in the game..) Firefly can’t, Kafka can but always let Blade drive.

Passenger princess treatment from Blade. The type to have his hand on your thighs, drawing meaningless shapes. He lets you choose the music, and you know he likes it when he taps his finger to the rhythm. 

Though if you call him out he will deny it all.

If you were craving food at whatever time, he WILL drive you there. 

No matter the distance or time. Blade’s getting the car keys and driving you there. 

He sometimes participates in races. 

Tailored a jacket based off of him for you to wear. 

′′It brings me good luck.′′ he says.

But you know the pink hues slowly merging into red ones. Even if he hides his face, blade’s ears are a dead give away. 

Make out sessions in his car. I’m talking heavy ones. 

The type to ask you to feed him when he drives. His eyes focused on the road, while his ears were listening to your daily gossip.

He does have light road rage. Mostly when the other car initiates it, he scares them off. He doesn’t want to waste time and ruin your time together.

But when the mara struck and he couldn't control his anger, he tried to crash them… You gave him the silent treatment for a week + no kisses or cuddles for a month + never sat next to him choosing to sit farther from him even in the car, and he never tried that again.

Sometimes the other stellarons crash your outings.

Silver Wolf would be popping bubble gums while her game audio is at max volume. She would be sitting right behind you, easy access to whisper to you and teasing Blade.

Kafka would be in the seat behind Blade’s. Easy to annoy him with light kicks and can also see you clearly while you talk (she just loves window seats.) 

And Firefly in the middle. She’d talk to you about recent missions encounters and whatever’s on the girl's mind. Would also ask blade to stop at a restaurant for take outs, and when he refuses she turns to you. Puppy eyes begging you to convince him. And of course, you agree.

The chaotic family trip vibe.

Except when Kafka drives then it turns into a girl night out and Blade.

He would be in charge of carrying heavy stuff. 

You let Firefly sit in front while you sit next to Blade. 

He sits in between you and Silver Wolf.

One because SW will die before she gives up the window seats. And two he likes how you lean on him (plus a good excuse to say he’s looking at the window when Kafka and SW teases him about how he watches you with tender eyes.)

Overall; a good 9/10 vibe when driving with Blade. (minus one because it can be annoying when he crashed.)

YAOQING TRIO (MOZE).

All of you have your driving license. So let’s cut it into four parts ;

When Moze is driving : 

Respect the rules. A calm driver who has little to no road rage. 

The type to park whenever he needs something so as to avoid any danger. This man is the textbook example of how a driver should act.

However, Moze would NOT let the music play.

′′ It distracts me from the road. ′′ o/10. 

Even if you bring out any deal, Moze will just continue dead staring into the road. He will not budge. 

When Fei Xiao is driving : 

Hold on to your prayers and your seat belt. 

Number one street racer here, she will respect the red light but other than that? Nah.  

′′ Why go slow when you can break the sound barrier? ′′ Fei Xiao probably.

The type to eat and drive, if she dropped something she would grab it herself and let go of the wheel forcing either you or Moze to stir in her stead. 

Which leads to my next point. Either you or Moze HAVE to be on the front passenger seat. This woman is NOT to be trusted with a wheel.

But whoever sits next to her will ALWAYS receive princess treatment.

Moze hates her for it, so he lets you ride next to her.

It’s all fun and game until she’s too caught up in a conversation with you to notice the huge truck heading your way.

You manage to stir out of the way and she just laughs and slaps your back telling you she knew what she was doing.

You banished Moze to the front for a month and to the couch for a week after that.

When Jiaoqiu is driving : 

Pre 2.5? Kind of a responsible driver. He still has some slip up and he often pretends to crash to scare all of you out. 

He gets banned from spicy foods when he pulls stunts like these.

Post 2.5? No. 

In the back seat, he is however in charge of snacks and pranks. 

′′ Oh hey we’re here!′′ ′′..no we are not?′′ ′′ that’s what it’d sound like when one of you notices it.′′ proceed to stare into your soul but he’s looking at the seat.

Many blind jokes, it’s his coping mechanism. 

The type to sit behind the driver seat and cover their eyes. ′′ Guess who~′′ (′′THE IMMINENT DEATH IF YOU DON’T LET GO′′)

His tail takes up most of the back seat but if he allows you, an amazing sleeping spot. But has an interesting way to wake you up…(he put hot peppers underneath your nose until you wake up in a coughing fit lmao)

Overall 7/10 (you still didn’t forgive him for the hot pepper prank.)

When your driving : 

Responsible driver with a hint of road rage. Kind of similar to Blade’s aforementioned, but tamer….ish. 

Moze would be in charge of the gps, Feixiao of the music (her gym playlist would be playing because it is the only acceptable one of hers), Jiaoqiu of the food as usual. 

But the moment someone tries to push you into another lane or bump into you while overtaking you?

They are holding into their seatbelt and praying to The Hunt. 

Physically having to restrain you before you get out and show them why you are the General’s Lieutenant. Insults after insults, it’s even funnier when you insult them in The Xiaozhu tongue while they stand there confused.

But a quick snack shoved to your mouth by Moze and you are all fine and dandy.

′′ Where do you guys wanna eat :) ′′ ′′you almost killed a man..?′′ ′′do you want me to finish him or go eat? ′′ ′′eat.′′ ′′:)′′

Wife happy, we happy. 

Wife mad, we scared.

Overall 10000000000000/10 (biased bc no you are not wrong ???)

GALAXY RANGERS (BOOTHILL).

Oh boy.

There are only two actual drivers, Boothill and you.

Rappa is licenseless and it’s better if it stays that way.

Boothill prefers to drive, you don’t mind since you get to enjoy the scenery and sleep. 

Rappa is always in the backseat.

They got banished there after some..unfortunate incidents. 

She almost crashed you all. She saw something she deemed was necessary to investigate. Boothill refused to pull over, so she did the next best thing. She tried to jump out.

You had a heart attack trying to pull her back in, you had to climb into the front all while begging Boothill to help. 

Meanwhile Boothill was trying to keep you steady while making sure not to crash (oh yeah and also not hurt Rappa Though he kinda wanted to.) 

You got pulled over by the police, but while you were reprimanded, Rappa distracted the police and pushed you all back into the car. Urging Boothill to hit the gas which he did all while laughing maniacally. 

′′You are crazy!!? What would you have done if they started shooting??′′ ′′shoot back.′′ (father and daughter moment)

Safe to say Rappa was banished from the front seat and was obligated to have the seat belt on at all times.

princess treatment from Boothill. Would drive to the moon and earth. 

Does have some road rage but one glare for you and he is calm.

He is a bit of a ′make your own solution′.

′′Oh no that car is blocking our way′′ ′′we’ll run them over.′′ ′′yes we’ll run them–WHAT′′

The type to fight over the songs, the other two joining soon.

You would have arrived at the destination before a song was agreed on. 

Fun experience until he almost runs over an IPC member and you have to go on a car chase to lose the tens of IPC cars after you.

That meme.

 Boothill singing along to the song while you death stare at him. 

He slept on the couch that night and the following.

And the week after.

@/AEONSTALE — all copyrights reserved. do not repost, modify or edit my works in any way. DON'T LIKE SPAM.

[ozzgin]

Pyramid Head x Reader

Featuring Pyramid Head and a reader with amnesia lost in Silent Hill. This is Pyramid Head as originally intended for Silent Hill 2, so expect a lot of game-based immersion. Warning: NSFW, dubious/non-consent, violence, gore

[Horror Masterlist]

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

You grunt and slap the wheel, hoping your defiant act of violence will somehow convince the car engine to start again. It remains quiet. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. The palm is mildly sticky with moisture and you realize you've been sweating a fair amount. No wonder, you're stuck in this shithole. You couldn't see a damn thing ahead with all this fog. The only discernible object was a rusty, run-down sign showing "Silent Hill". You've never heard the name before, but reading the letters and allowing the words to escape your lips has brought you an unexpected wave of panic. You quickly began hyperventilating and your arms involuntarily twitched and twisted, pulling the wheel of the car along with them and causing the car to swerve into a street barrier. And now it refuses to turn back on. Fantastic. 

You hesitantly grab the door handle. After a deep breath in, you open the door and step out. Given the car crashed sideways, you can no longer tell which way is back and which way is forward. You can only see the first few inches of the barrier in both directions, but everything else vanishes under the thick clouds of mist. You rub your temples, becoming increasingly upset with yourself.  What were you even doing, driving all the way to-

Wait. Where were you going in the first place? You recall leaving from...home? But where is that supposed to be? No, don't do this. Not now. You walk back to the car and open the glove compartment, angrily pulling out a thick stack of documents and spreading them out onto the chair. You scan over them, growing more impatient. You don't recognize anything. The names and words and addresses don't hold any meaning. You glance up to the rear-view mirror in an attempt to detect some trail of blood seeping from your scalp, as a concussion might explain your sudden memory loss, but your appearance is fresh. Almost as if you didn't just crash your car in a strange place in utter confusion. 

You check your phone. Even if you can't remember, there has to be someone in your contacts that will come to your aid. The screen glitches briefly when you unlock it and the menu is empty. No contacts, no messages, no apps. No matter, emergency will do. You type in the digits and lift the phone to your head, but quickly remove it when loud static assaults your eardrums. Why is nothing working properly? You're tempted to just slam the junk into the pavement, but find enough composure to stuff it back in the pocket for now. 

All that's left to do now is to find another human. You begin walking. The road has to lead somewhere, that's for certain. And soon enough the barrier is replaced with a different kind of fencing that you use as guidance. It seems to be a small bridge. Just a few steps further and you discover the first signs of modern, populated world: a bus stop. Behind the waiting bench is a brief map of the area and you trace the plaque with your fingers, mumbling the path to yourself. "Now let's see...This is Nathan Avenue...Rosewater Park ahead...Ah, the Silent Hill Fire Station should be very close."

You can't wait to be done with this mess. They'll call for a tow truck and get you out of here. You almost sprint to the next block, expectantly. In fact, you can already spot someone right outside the building. 

"Thank God! Listen, my car broke down before the bridge. My stupid phone is also...huh." 

Just as you mention it, the same static as previously erupts from the speaker. You're startled and fumble for your phone. You're about to apologize to the person in front of you, but upon lifting your gaze you instantly stop in your tracks. 

'Person' is a strong word for it. It resembles one, or maybe it was one long ago. What's crawling towards you, however, is not how you'd define it. The arms are melted into the torso, mimicking a straight jacket of skin. The bony, crooked legs are dragging themselves in an unnatural, unnerving way. The creature has no face, save for a gaping hole, a bizarre cavity deforming what should be a head. Your mouth grimaces with disgust, followed by fear. Terror. You have the choice of returning to your damaged car, or attempting to find actual help deeper into the town. You run ahead, praying that someone's out there. The dissonant sound of a siren can be heard, diffused into the persistent fog.  

By the time you reach the next building, you're gasping for air. You didn't expect to run this far. You went all the way around Toluca lake, avoiding the side streets. The center was swarming with those abominations. Each turn and each corner would eventually reveal its revolting murmur, that pathetic shuffle of disfigured limbs. Thankfully they're not fast, nor smart. A little distance and they lose their interest to pursue you. You fall against the brick wall of this small house and read the poster. "Silent Hill Historical Society". Doesn't look too promising, but it's surprisingly devoid of any monstrous being. At this point you'd be more grateful for emptiness. It's safer. 

You tiptoe your way in, wary of potential attackers. There's a faint buzz echoing from afar, but other than that no immediate danger. You examine the lobby and notice the paintings and old photos hanging from the decaying wallpaper. It smells slightly rotten. One of the art pieces catches your attention and you stop in front of it. "Misty Day, Remains of Judgement". 

The abstract character depicted on canvas reminds you of an executioner. The more you stare, the clearer you can feel some kind of guilt knotting inside your stomach. Your shoulders are heavy and you're overwhelmed by the same anxiety of a child about to be punished. Awaiting the belt. The calloused hand of an unforgiving father. Your throat is dry.

Your musings are interrupted by the static that - as you've since learned - warns you of approaching creatures. The rooms are cramped and the walls are narrow and you dislike the idea of calculating your escape within this claustrophobic maze, but it's preferable to being dead. You jog along slithering paths, unsure of where they lead. The threatening turbulence of your phone goes up and down, like a sine wave, with each turn into uncharted territory. In your frantic efforts to flee you don't see the large hole blocking your way, or at least not fast enough. By the time you figure out the outlines of this pitch black well, you're flooded with the light sensation of gravitational force, stretching and compressing your innards as you fall. Is this how you end?

It's not so easy. 

As soon as you open your eyes, a burning pain metastasizes through the head, digging deep into your brain. You grab onto your scalp and press your fingers over the skin, hoping for a small relief. In your debilitating migraine you don't hear the agitated flutter of limbs. They're minuscule, but so many. Thousands of sclerotized joints frothing around your limp form. You lift yourself off the rusted ground and yelp voiceless at the sight. Cockroaches. The pile of vermin lets out a deafening, high pitched screech with every movement. You drag your elbows in an attempt to get away, but the creepers almost ignore your existence. They seem to be running away from something, retreating in masses.

You don't have to wait long in order to witness their source of fear. Heavy footsteps, muffled by the grating friction of metal against metal. A corroded stench invades your lungs and you cough. Whatever is coming has instilled the utmost dread in your very bones. You want to get up and run, until your legs give up and your body collapses of exhaustion, but your limbs are petrified in panic. Your chest constricts and throbs, as if your heart is trashing to escape this prison condemned to unknown doom. 

Finally, the fiend comes into view. A tall, large man wearing a leather apron layered with grime and encrusted blood. His skin is scarred and discolored, and a bulky, dense pyramid structure rests on his broad shoulders, concealing his face. He seems to be dragging along a great knife of sorts, although on closer inspection it looks like a halved pair of oversized scissors. The edge is dulled and has splattered visceral leftovers mattifying its surface. You remember the painting you've seen upstairs. Is this what it is? Your Retribution? 

You lower yourself until your forehead touches the rusty floor. Like an animal awaiting to receive the final blow from its hunter, like a prisoner resigning to his fate under the guillotine. If only matters could be dealt with so simply! Your neck is clawed into a tight hold by the large gloved hand and you're crudely pulled back up so that you can properly face your Punisher. There's a vague grunt coming from underneath his bizarre helmet. 

He carries you to the nearest wall and slams you against it. The great knife drops to the floor with a loud crash, and the other hand, now freed, begins to search your lower clothing. You can feel the seams of the garments tear and snap with no resistance. You want to vocalize a protest, but your throat is crushed under the forceful pressure of his clasp. At best, you can exhale in what sounds like a whispered wail. His apron is nonchalantly flipped to the side and your thigh lifted over his forearm, so that his hand can adjust itself securely under your bottom for support.

Abruptly, a prickling ache crosses your entire body as if you've just been split in two. Tears automatically begin forming in the corner of your eyes and spill down your cheeks and over the pyramid that's now pressing tightly against your quivering form. It's too big and you want to push away, but with each renewed plunge you grow weaker. The small tears and rips that blossom around your abused intimacy turn into bleeding wounds. You want to sleep. 

A creature of pure instinct, serving as a reminder of human perversions and immoral desires. Travesty, corruption, sin. And what about it? Before you know it, a small moan escapes your dried lips. You throw your arms around your captor's shoulders. The sharp edges of the helmet scratch your skin, waking you back into consciousness. Your lower muscles start to relax around the massive member and allow for a smoother glide in and out. The numbness is gradually replaced by pleasant sensations. The throbbing reverberates inside your abdomen and your other leg wraps around the creature's hips, asking for more contact. Once your compliance is confirmed, the hand pinning you by the neck wanders to other parts of your body in starved desperation. Your voice returns and more lewd whines roll out one after another. If only you had a mirror so you could look at yourself in this moment. What shameless expressions are you wearing on your face? You're clinging to your violator in feverish depravity. And in return, the creature responds to your cravings with increased intensity. He seems to resonate with your wishes and stiffens his hold on you with newfound obsession. His thrusts become almost feral, with a certain possessiveness to it. 

As you're about to reach your peaks, your mind once again travels to the painting. You wonder if you'd be hung and framed just like the prisoners behind their executioner. Pleasure mixed with guilt. 

What sin is eroding your entrails? 

[uluvjay]

Hi can I get (for one muse to drive and finger the other who is in the passenger seat.) with either Sebastian Vettel or Jenson button please 🙏

Dbf!Sebastian Vettel x fem! Reader ft. Jenson Button

Yk i couldn’t decide who i wanted to write this with so i chose both, i hope you don’t mind:)

Warnings?; SMUT, fingering, reader is the daughter of a retired driver! But no names are specified, age gap!(reader is in her twenties), cursing, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, kinda public? Everything happens in a car.

You weren’t expecting to see Jenson in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s two seater Ferrari when it pulled up to the curb of the restaurant.

You had been on a date gone wrong when you called your father’s best friend for a ride, none of your friends had answered and with your parents being out of town he was the last person you could think of.

“Um, seb where am I supposed to sit?” You questioned and your confusion only grew when Jenson opened the passenger door but never got out.

You were met with a smirk from the German as he kept quiet, but Jenson gave you the answer you were looking for as he patted his lap and spoke up.

“Got a perfect seat right here love” the Brit smiled at you.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you thought about it, it wouldn’t be the first time you sat on his lap however last time you were in Sebastian’s living room while the man was between your thighs and Jenson held you open for him.

“Come on honey, we haven’t got all night” Sebastian’s spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You blushed as you took your spot on top of Jenson, your little dress doing nothing to put a barrier between you and his denim covered thighs.

You were tense and Jenson didn’t like it, he could feel you holding back your weight and not relaxing completely into him.

“Calm down love, it’s just us” Jenson whispered into your ear as one of his large hands began to run along your bare thigh.

A smile took over the Blondes face as he felt your body sink into his, releasing a sigh of contentment as he felt your warm body against his.

“So what happened on your date?” Sebastian questioned, one of his hands coming to rest on the thigh closest to him; Jenson’s still on the other.

“Uh, nothing he just wasn’t my type” you breathed shakily as you watched Jenson’s hand slowly move under the skirt of your dress.

“Hm, why’d you go out with him then?”

“W-what do you mean?” You stuttered as Sebastian’s hand joined his friends.

“You said he wasn’t your type, if you knew that why’d you go in the first place darling?” Jenson questioned in your ear, voice deep and accent thick.

“Bec-oh, because he was, shi-He was cute” you whined as Jenson’s hand began to rub you through the lace of your panties.

“Yeah? Why’d you end it early?” Sebastian quipped as his own hand came into contact with your folds, thanks to Jenson removing your panties.

You couldn’t reply, the feeling of his thick fingers teasing your entrance taking all of your concentration.

But Jenson wasn’t having it, “I think he asked you a question bunny” he spoke with a sharp swat to your thigh.

Swallowing thickly you did your best to reply to the Man beside you.

“H-he recognized my last n-name, ah!” you whimpered, hand gripping onto Sebastian’s wrist as two of his fingers entered your core.

“Let me guess he turned out to be an f1 fan and only asked about your dad?.” Jenson spoke.

“Mhm” you sobbed as both their fingers began to work you open, Sebastian’s scissoring inside you while Jenson shamelessly rubbed your clit.

You attempted to buck your hips but they were quickly pushed down by Jenson’s free hand, yearning him a whimper of annoyance.

“Don’t be a brat now Liebling, after all we did cut our dinner short to come and get you” Sebastian tutted, taking his eyes off the hardly filled road for a moment to look over at your breathtaking frame.

The skirt of your dress was pushed up and the panties you once wore were now resting on the floor of his overly expensive car, your pretty sounds getting louder as their fingers didn’t let up.

“Can feel her clenching my fingers so tight, our girls getting close” Sebastian spoke aloud, talking about you like you weren’t even there.

“Please, I-need it, please I’ll be good” you begged them, the pleasure from both of them so overwhelming.

“Oh you poor thing” Jenson said with a faux pout, his free hand coming up to hold you jaw, turning you head to connect your lips in a dirty kiss.

It was filthy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting against each other, and by the time you had pulled away you realized Sebastian was pulling into his private driveway.

And while you had expected them to let up they didn’t, in fact Sebastian sped up his movements as he felt you clenching hard around his fingers.

The sound of squelching from your cunt filled the small car. Sebastian’s fingers coming into contact with the sensitive spot inside you as his fingers continued to fuck you rigorously.

“Seb!-ngh, feels so good” you babbled, head thrown back against Jason’s shoulder as his fingers that had been abusing your clit applied more pressure to the small bud.

“Look so beautiful like this bunny, all spread open for us.” Sebastian cooed.

“Don’t stop please! I need it” you begged both men, your pathetic pleads going right into Jensons ear.

“Oh you need it huh? I’m not sure honey. Already had to leave our dinner because you got bored with some jerk, why should we give you anything else?” Jenson tutted behind you.

“No, no, please-Jenson please let me come, I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner” You sobbed as the heat in your lower stomach got stronger and stronger.

“Hmm, I guess we’ll accept your apology. Go on and come for us pretty girl.” Sebastian encouraged.

Their fingers worked together to get you over the edge, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your body shook.

Your thighs quivered as you soaked Sebastian’s fingers in your release, both men’s eyes gleaming with pride as they watched you come down from your high.

Jenson had slightly repositioned you so you could now face Sebastian, just in time to watch him slip his covered fingers into his mouth; moaning at the taste of you.

A gasp came from you as Jenson ran his fingers through your folds so he could get his own taste of your release.

“Taste so good darling” he smiled down at you.

“Wanna taste?” Sebastian asked.

With a small nod you leaned forward expecting him to slip his fingers into your mouth, however one of his large hands wrapped around your throat and pulled your lips to his.

You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself, his tongue running along yours as your lips moved together.

“I think it’s time we take you inside and fuck you properly, what’d you think?”

-

[nikkisheep]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: slight angst, near death experience, Daryl being an asshole, shaken reader, twd elements, Daryl takes care of reader, cursing, blood, Daryl being scared of losing reader, can be read as friends or as lovers. This was kind of rushed (sorry!)

Summary: While on a supply run, you nearly get hurt that could have left you dead and Daryl has to take care of you. (Request above)

Medicine, food, and First Aid. Medicine, food, and First Aid. Medicine, food, and First Aid. That is what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked down the road with Daryl a few steps ahead of you. That is how you reminded yourself why you were out here. Why you were risking your life. You had people counting on you and the hunter to come back. You had to come back to Alexandria. The entire community was in desperate need of medicine, food, and First Aid.

"Keep up the pace," Daryl said, tossing a look over his shoulder to make sure that you were still there.

He knew that you were the clumsy type, always tripping over air. He kept a few steps ahead of you as he looked for the town that Rosita had told him about. It was a run down town that had a couple stores and a pharmacy. Daryl adjusted the strap on his crossbow and stopped for you to catch up.

"Why'd ya stop?" You ask, side eyeing the archer as you walk beside him, your shoulder bumping into him.

"Why'd ya take so long ta walk?"

You rolled your eyes and walked faster up the road, leaving Daryl behind. You smile as you reach the town because most of the stores were completely in tact. There was trash all on the ground, but it appeared that no one had raided the stores.

"You get the pharmacy and I'll get the gas station," Daryl said. "Just grab whatever ya can grab."

"Be careful, Daryl."

He walked over to you, grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you closer to him so you will look him in the eyes. He had never done this but he just needed you close for a second.

"The first sign of danger, ya get out of there," He says softly. "Ya hear me? Ya get out of there, 'cause there is nothing in there worth losing ya life."

His thumbs were drawing circles on the apple of your cheeks before he let you go. Your smile drops at the loss of his touch. You turn to head toward the pharmacy, shooting one last glance back at Daryl who was already walking into the gas station.

Breaking into the pharmacy was quite easy, just break the window. Climbing inside, careful of the glass, you walk down the aisles. When you got to the counter, you looked through the window to see what the shelves had. They were fully stocked and you broke the glass barrier and climbed over. Opening the bag you brought, you start grabbing all of the pain killers, fever reducing pills, cough medicine, basically anything that Alexandria could possibly need. Your bag became full and you climbed back onto the other side of the counter. You stuffed as much bandages and gauze that you could fit into the bag and then zipped it up. You looked around the rest of the store and found some condoms and you laughed.

As you reached to grab the box, you heard a growl. Fuck, a walker was probably walking around outside. You continue to look around the place before finding a door in between two metal shelving systems. You pull it open and a walker growls as it grabs onto your shoulders, pulling you to the ground as you let out a scream. As you fell, you bumped into the metal shelves by the door and it crashed down on top of your shoulder and part of your leg, bottles and boxes falling to the floor.

---

Daryl was immediately attacked by a group of walkers in the gas station as he fought his way inside. After killing at least 15 walkers, his body was covered in walker blood and he stomped his way inside the store. He walked over to the shelves and picked up any canned foods and boxes of food. Most had long been rotten, the stuff that wasn't in cans so it was still limited picking. He grabbed bottled water and anything he could find that he thought was valuable.

Just as he was picking up a case of beer, he heard your scream. He turned and dropped the case as he ran to the pharmacy that was about half a block away from the gas station. When he approached the pharmacy, he saw broke glass and heard more screams coming from you. Breaking his way though, he ran to where there were groans and growls from the dead and your screams.

He shouted your name and he heard you scream for him. Panic was flooding his senses as he felt his heart beating through his chest. He pulled his knife from his holster on his hip and makes his way through. There were bottles and glass all over the floor as it looked like there was a major struggle that took place. Then he saw blood coming from a puddle. He ran over to the fallen shelf and saw that you were stuck underneath.

---

Your vision started to blur and the world started to go dark when you hear the sound of footsteps. You feel a tear slip from your eye when the steps get closer. This is the end. You were going to die. Then you recognize the figure as Daryl when he hollers out your name.

"Daryl!" You screamed as the walker on top of you kept trying to bite at your throat. You had one hand holding his mouth away from your body and the other was stuck to your side as your shoulder was being cut into with the metal shelf. Your free leg were kicking at another walker that was trying to hold onto your legs. In your head, this is how you are going to die.

Daryl came shouting for you as he started to make his way to you. You sighed in relief, but then screamed in pain as your shoulder pulled against the metal shelf when you tried to shuffle away from the walker that was pulling its way to you. Your combat boots were covered in blood from your kicking into the walkers head. Just when Daryl gets to you, a walker stumbles into the pharmacy from outside and lets out a low growl.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'ma get ya out of here." He promises.

"Daryl, my shoulder and leg is caught," You say as you struggle to hold back the walker on top of you.

"Okay, darlin, I need ya to push your body all the way down to the ground and I'll pull the shelf up."

Daryl, on the other side of the shelf away from you, starts to pull up but the shelf barely moves. He tries again. He keeps trying until the shelf moves in the direction that he needed it to go. He struggles to hold it as you watch in agony as the metal shelf pull from your shoulder, bleeding intensely from the gashes that was left. Your leg was free, but was also bleeding and just as you sighed in relief that your arm was free, you let out a blood curling scream as the walker by your leg bit into your boots.

You scream as you use your hurt arm, the one not holding onto the walker and grab your knife. You stab into the monster's head and then sit up and stab the other walker.

"Hurry!" Daryl yells as his arms strain from holding the heavy shelf as you crawl away from the dead walkers and to safety. Once Daryl sees that you were out of the way, he drops the shelf.

---

He rushes over to you and helps you stand. You cry as your foot is in pain. Daryl drags you out to a bench outside and rests you there.

"What the hell?" Daryl says as he looks at your foot.

"Daryl, he bit me." You sob.

"Hey," He said, his hands coming up to cup your face. "Ya ain't dying on me. Just keep your eyes on me. Don't close them eyes. Don't you fucking go to sleep!"

Daryl takes a look at the boot quickly and then back at you. You had closed your eyes and fallen asleep on the bench. He started panicking. He tapped your face a couple of times, but there was nothing.

"He didn't go all the way through," He says with a sigh. "He just got the boot. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

"It'll be dark soon and I gotta bandage you up," He says as he picks you up. He sets up camp inside a building that he cleared out. He blocks the door so nothing can come in and then he turns to you.

As you laid there resting, eyes closed, he cleaned your wounds. He was talking to himself about how you were going to be okay. That you were not going to die on him. A couple of hours passed and you opened your eyes and saw that Daryl was sitting beside you and you were resting against him.

"You could have gotten yourself killed," He said, smoothing your hair.

"I was fine," You sigh. "It's kinda funny though."

"How the hell is this funny?"

"That I scream and you come a running."

He looks at you with a pissed expression.

"That's not fuckin funny, you got yourself hurt!" He says, angrily. "Ya could've died."

"But I didn't!" You yell. "I'm fine."

"Look at yar fuckin shoulder and leg, then look me in the eyes and tell me ya okay.'' He looked pissed and you were making it worse.

"Daryl, it's literally a scratch. It doesn't even hurt!"

"That ain't no fuckin scratch," He yelled.

You rolled your eyes at him and then tried to cross your arms but flinched at the pain.

''I'm leaving,'' He say as he grabs the crossbow and starts making his way to the door. "I ain't staying here and watching ya act like you didn't nearly die and not give a shit. Ya wanna act like you're fine? Okay, act like it because that's all it'll be, an act. You are willing to act like nothing gets to you. Not even death and I can't sit here and listen to you say that what just happened was nothin'!"

After he finished his sentence, he walks over to the door and leaves. With Daryl left, all you had was silence and your wounds throbbing. It hurt so badly and you started crying. You almost died. If Daryl had not gotten there in time, you would have died from the walkers eating you alive.

You curl up into a ball and start sobbing as the events ran back into your head. The pain, the snarling from the walkers, the smell of death, the dread. Everything came rushing back and you just sit there and cry quietly.

You didn't hear the archer come back in through your tears and shaking breathes. Daryl dropped his crossbow and came rushing to your side and his hands wrapped you into a hug. Your body shook as you sobbed into his chest. He moved so that you were basically in his lap as he comforted you. He listens to your cries and helps calm your breathing. He didn't actually leave. He just stood outside the door for a few minutes before he heard you crying and then he rushed back in.

"I don't wanna die, Daryl," You cried into his chest, his vest becoming soaked with your tears. He shushed you as he held you.

"Ya gonna be all right," He says as he places your head onto his heart so the soft thumping of his heart beat would help you calm down.

"It was horrible. I th-thought that I was gonna die and I would never see you again. Daryl, I just don't want die."

"I'll never let you die," He says, calming you down. Your breathing slowed and the tears started to slow. "Not if I'm still here. Ya got nothing to worry about."

"Please don't leave me," You beg quietly. "Please never leave me again."

"Daryl's here," He coos softly. "I ain't goin no where."

[sxcretricciardo]

rivals forever - M.V

•

The roar of the engines reverberated through the paddock as you walked with purpose, helmet in hand, the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and gasoline filling the air. You had come a long way to get here, breaking barriers as one of the few female drivers in Formula 1, and not just a token driver either—one of the best. You were a force to be reckoned with, consistently competing at the top of the grid, and now, one of the sport’s fiercest rivalries was between you and Max Verstappen.

Max had always been competitive, but so had you. The tension between you two was legendary, lighting up the paddock and thrilling fans worldwide. Both of you fought for every inch on track, trading positions, dueling wheel-to-wheel, and sometimes crashing out in spectacular fashion. Today had been one of those days.

The race had been intense—fast corners, aggressive overtakes, and then the inevitable collision. Neither of you gave an inch. You knew Max wouldn’t. You weren’t the type to back down either. The moment it happened, the sound of carbon fiber crashing echoed in your ears as both of your cars went sliding into the gravel trap, ending the race for the both of you. The frustration was palpable. DNF. Both of you were out.

You slammed your helmet down as you made your way back to the paddock. Max was already there, pacing like a caged lion. His fiery blue eyes locked onto you the moment you entered.

“Are you kidding me?” he spat, closing the distance between you.

You weren’t in the mood for this. “You turned in on me!” you shot back, your voice rising as adrenaline and anger pumped through your veins. “I had the inside line. You didn’t leave any room!”

Max’s jaw clenched. “It’s racing. You don’t just expect me to let you through. You’ve done this before!”

“Oh, I’ve done this before?” You stepped closer to him, not backing down. “What about you? You can’t handle anyone getting past you, can you? Your ego can’t take it.”

“You crashed into me!” Max was livid now, the two of you standing toe to toe, noses nearly touching, the tension sizzling between you.

“Maybe if you didn’t drive like an idiot, we’d both be finishing races,” you hissed.

For a moment, the air crackled with the possibility of something more—more anger, more fighting, more...something. But before either of you could escalate it further, team members pulled you apart, ushering you away, telling you to cool off. But the fire was still burning inside.

Later that evening, the team dinner was subdued, everyone clearly annoyed by the race result, especially the fact that their two top drivers had knocked each other out. You had a drink, then another, trying to shake off the frustration of the day. But it wasn’t working.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in the hotel bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks. You weren’t surprised when Max appeared at the other end of the bar, also drinking. The bartender gave you both a wary glance but said nothing. The rivalry between you two was the talk of the season, and everyone knew it.

For a while, you ignored each other, focusing on your drinks. But the bar wasn’t that big, and after a couple more rounds, Max made his way over to your end, sitting beside you with a sigh. “Hell of a race,” he muttered.

You snorted, still annoyed. “Hell of a crash.”

Silence stretched between you for a few beats before Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, you drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you said, taking a sip. “That’s the idea.”

You both laughed, the alcohol loosening the tension between you, though the competitive fire still smoldered just beneath the surface. As the night wore on, the bar emptied, and the conversation grew easier. You talked about racing, life on the road, the pressures of being at the top. And, of course, the rivalry.

Max looked at you, his expression softening slightly, the alcohol clearly making him more relaxed. “You’re good, you know. Really good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re only just realizing that?”

He grinned, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping. “I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why you get under my skin so much.”

There was a beat of silence as his words hung in the air. You felt your heart race, but this time, it wasn’t from anger or adrenaline. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks, the long hours, or something else, but the tension between you had shifted. What had started as competition and rivalry now felt like something...more.

Before you could overthink it, Max leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, and just like that, the fire between you ignited in a different way. The kiss was rough, urgent, a release of all the tension that had been building between you for months. Neither of you stopped to question it.

Somehow, you made it back to the hotel room, clothes discarded in a blur, the intensity between you never wavering. The night was a haze of passion, both of you giving as good as you got, just like on the track. It was fast, heated, and undeniable.

The next morning, you woke up tangled in the sheets, Max’s arm draped across your waist. For a moment, you didn’t move, your head pounding slightly from the drinks, your body sore from both the race and the night before. You turned your head to see Max still asleep, his face softened in the morning light. It was strange, seeing him like this, without the cocky smirk or the intense focus he always had at the track.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes fluttered open. He looked at you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You felt a strange warmth spread through your chest, something you weren’t used to feeling when it came to Max. “Morning,” you replied softly.

For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t exist. There were no races, no rivalries, no expectations—just the two of you, lying there, wrapped up in each other. But reality wasn’t something you could escape forever.

Max propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching yours. “Last night...”

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure where this conversation was going, and a part of you didn’t want to know.

“I meant what I said. You get under my skin,” he admitted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “But I don’t think it’s just the rivalry. I think it’s more than that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying, Max?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I think I...I like you. More than I should, considering we’re supposed to be fighting for the championship.”

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. You hadn’t expected this. But then again, you hadn’t expected last night either. “I think I like you too,” you admitted, the words feeling foreign but right at the same time.

Max smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, this time slower, softer. It felt different from last night, more tender, more real. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “So what now?”

You chuckled, tracing a finger along his jawline. “We’ve got a race next weekend, don’t we?”

He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. “Yeah, we do.”

“And I’m still going to fight you for every point,” you teased, though there was no malice in your voice.

“Good,” Max murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The next race weekend was just as intense as the last, but something had changed between you and Max. On track, the rivalry was as fierce as ever—neither of you gave an inch, still battling for every position, still determined to come out on top. But off the track, things were different. The stolen glances, the secret smiles, the late-night rendezvous—it was a secret neither of you were ready to share with the world yet, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface.

As the season went on, the world continued to watch your rivalry, none the wiser to the fact that, behind closed doors, things had shifted. And by the time the final race of the season rolled around, Max had already slipped a ring onto your finger, a private promise that no matter what happened on track, you were in this together.

A year after that first night in the hotel, you stood hand in hand at the altar, surrounded by family, friends, and teammates, the rivalry still very much alive but now accompanied by something far deeper.

Max smiled at you as you exchanged vows, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “We might fight on track,” he whispered as the officiant pronounced you husband and wife. “But off track...you’re mine.”

You grinned, pulling him in for a kiss. “Always.”

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mexican GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Waking up this morning was awful. Sure, I felt fine physically—no soreness or stiffness from yesterday’s qualifying session—but mentally, I was dragging myself through the motions. Dreading the moment I’d step into that paddock, knowing Henry would be glued to my side, invading my space, throwing his condescending comments, and forcing his "help" where it wasn’t wanted. The only bright spot ahead was the cockpit. The second I climbed into my car, I knew I’d find some peace, if only for a while.

I forced myself to get out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water work its way over me as I planned my day. My mind, as usual, wandered back to Henry’s endless pestering and inappropriate comments. The "compliments" that weren’t compliments at all, the subtle digs at my abilities, the way he always seemed to loom over me with his too-familiar tone.

It wasn’t just infuriating anymore—it was exhausting. And it wasn’t stopping.

As I wrapped myself in a towel and headed back into the main room, I grabbed my phone and stared at it for a moment. There was no way I could go to management without proof. What if they didn’t believe me? Or worse, what if they dismissed it and I ended up with an even bigger target on my back?

I opened the voice recorder app and stared at it for a long moment, hesitating. Could I really do this? Was it even worth the risk?

Yes, I told myself firmly. If I wanted this to stop, if I wanted a shot at feeling like a human being again, I had to do something.

I tested the app, slipping my phone into my pocket to make sure the microphone still picked up audio clearly. Satisfied, I turned it off for now and finished getting ready, pulling on my team polo and jeans and brushing my hair into a sleek ponytail. If I looked the part of a calm, confident professional, maybe I’d feel it, too.

A knock at my door startled me, and I frowned, wondering who it could be. Opening it, I found Fernando Alonso standing there, dressed and ready for the day, looking as collected as ever.

“Morning,” he said casually, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Uh, morning?” I replied, still confused.

He held up his hands in mock surrender at my skeptical tone. “Relax. I just thought I’d ride to the paddock with you today. Of course if that is fine with you?”

I raised an eyebrow. Fernando wasn’t exactly known for hanging out with his teammates outside of the track. Sure, we got along, but this was out of character for him. Still, I couldn’t exactly say no.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my keys from the counter. “But don’t touch my music. Driver’s picks only.”

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

As we rode down in the elevator, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this than a simple carpool. Fernando wasn’t exactly the type to go out of his way for casual company.

When we reached the parking lot and I unlocked the car, he slid into the passenger seat without a word, letting me set up my playlist before we pulled out.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked after a few minutes on the road.

“Just thinking,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not pressing me further. It was a relief, really. Having someone like Fernando with me—someone who commanded respect just by existing—gave me a small hope that maybe Henry wouldn’t be quite so unbearable this morning.

I parked in the paddock lot, and as we walked in together, I couldn’t help but glance sideways at Fernando. His presence felt like a protective barrier, and I clung to that feeling, telling myself I could handle whatever the day threw at me.

At least for now.

As I entered the paddock with Fernando, the buzz of the pre-race atmosphere filled the air—engines humming, team personnel rushing around, fans lining the barriers hoping for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. It was a world I loved, but today, it felt more like a battlefield.

I spotted Henry almost immediately. He was standing near the garage, arms crossed, already looking irritated. His eyes locked onto me and then flicked to Fernando beside me, his jaw tightening. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t thrilled about my choice of company this morning.

Good.

I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see the satisfaction bubbling under the surface. If Fernando noticed Henry’s sour look, he didn’t say anything, though I caught the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.

“See you out there,” Fernando said casually as we parted ways, heading toward our respective garages.

I made my way through the paddock, greeting a few drivers as I went. Lando gave me a bright smile and a quick thumbs-up, and Charles paused to ask how I was feeling about the race. Even Max gave me an approving nod as he walked by. Their small gestures of support were like tiny sparks of warmth in the cold shadow Henry had cast over my week.

Finally, I reached my driver’s room and closed the door behind me, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For the first time all morning, I felt like I could breathe freely. This was my space, my sanctuary, and Henry couldn’t touch it.

I started to change into my racing gear, the familiar ritual grounding me as I pulled on the fireproof layers and zipped up my suit. But as I worked through the motions, my mind started to churn.

Henry’s voice echoed in my head, his cutting remarks replaying like a broken record. “Don’t screw this up.” “You’re lucky to even be here.” “Do you even understand how this car works?”

Anger began to simmer in my chest. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was done letting his words define me.

For too long, I’d let Henry make me feel small, like my achievements didn’t matter, like I wasn’t worthy of the seat I’d fought so hard to earn. But not today. Today, I was going to prove to myself—and to everyone else—that I belonged here.

My jaw tightened as I secured my helmet bag and gloves. This race wasn’t just about points or podiums anymore. It was about taking back what was mine. The joy of racing, the confidence in my abilities, the pride in knowing I deserved to be here.

I grabbed my radio and earpieces, shoving them into the bag with a determined glare. Henry might think he had control over me, but he didn’t. Not where it mattered. Not out on the track.

By the time I left my room and headed toward the garage, the fire in my chest had turned into a roaring blaze. I was ready for this. Henry could glare all he wanted, but today, I wasn’t racing for him, or the team, or anyone else.

I was racing for me.

The moment I made my way to the car, Henry was there, as usual, lingering far too close for comfort. He had that smug, self-satisfied look on his face, like he knew exactly how much he got under my skin. He always seemed to find a way to insert himself into my space, to make himself the center of my attention, even when I didn’t want it.

As I settled into the cockpit, the tight fit of the car around me should’ve been comforting. I was in my element, surrounded by the familiar hum of the engine, the feel of the steering wheel under my hands. But Henry was there, too close, and his presence made everything feel suffocating.

I could feel his eyes on me as I prepared for the race, the way he loitered just out of my line of sight, hovering like a cloud that wouldn’t go away. As if sensing my discomfort, he leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against the side of my neck, sending a wave of unease through me.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a touch of arrogance that made my skin crawl, “if you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved... congratulations.”

The words were veiled in that same suggestive tone, a tone that twisted something as simple as praise into something gross, like he was offering more than just acknowledgement. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react, but the moment the words left his mouth, I felt the bile rise in my throat. I had been dealing with his crap for days now—weeks, really—and it was getting harder to just ignore it.

I didn’t want to show him that he was getting under my skin, that his comments were starting to break through my tough exterior. But the truth was, they were. Every time he opened his mouth, every time he made some inappropriate remark, it felt like a little piece of me was eroding, like I was losing my place here, losing the confidence that I had worked so damn hard to build.

With a final, disgusted breath, I shoved the thoughts out of my head as I snapped myself into focus. I could hear the pit crew’s final adjustments happening all around me, the last checks before I was cleared to go. The buzz of the radio crackled to life, but my focus remained on the track. Henry wasn’t worth the energy, not right now.

But I swore to myself that I’d get the proof I needed. He wasn’t going to walk all over me anymore. I just had to bide my time, hold on long enough until I could catch him in the act, and when I did, I would expose him for what he was.

The lights on the grid flashed brightly, one by one, signaling the start of the race. The tension in my chest, the frustration, the anger—it all collided into a single burst of adrenaline, and suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the car in front of me, the track stretching out ahead like a challenge I was ready to conquer.

I felt the revs of the engine rumble under me, the anticipation thick in the air as the lights blinked out one by one. And when they finally turned off completely, the sound of roaring engines filled the air, and everything else—the pressure, the weight of Henry’s words, the lingering disgust—vanished in an instant.

The car launched forward, and my foot slammed down on the accelerator, the wheels spinning as I surged ahead, cutting through the noise of the paddock and the nerves like a knife. Every turn, every shift in gear, every decision was sharper now. The anger wasn’t just a distraction—it was fuel.

Henry thought he could break me. He thought he could manipulate me into doubting myself, into questioning my worth. But instead, I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to show him that no matter what he said, no matter how much he tried to push me down, I was still a force to be reckoned with.

As I tore through the track, dodging rivals and pushing myself to the limit, his words twisted and reshaped in my mind. If you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved congratulations.

I laughed bitterly inside my helmet. Henry had no idea. No idea what it was like to truly race. To feel the rush of adrenaline, the power in the car, and the pride in your heart when you know you’ve earned every single second of it.

The first few laps were a blur, my focus entirely on the track, on the cars around me. I was sliding through corners, making precise adjustments, trusting myself in a way I hadn’t been able to in days. For the first time all weekend, I felt in control. I felt like me again.

But every time I passed a monitor, or saw a glimpse of Henry on the pit wall, I remembered what he had said, and I channeled that anger. Every corner, every straight, every ounce of speed—this was my victory.

As I crossed the finish line and the car slowed down, the reality of what I had just done began to sink in. P3. It wasn’t a win, but it was something significant. A solid performance, a breakthrough after everything I’d been dealing with. I hadn’t just survived the weekend—I had fought through the pressure, the frustration, and come out stronger.

As I pulled into the parc ferme, the pit crew's cheers and the roar of the crowd in the distance became distant background noise, replaced by a familiar and comforting feeling. Lando and Carlos were waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear as I climbed out of the car.

“P3! That was amazing!” Lando exclaimed, his bright smile infectious as he pulled me into a quick hug.

Carlos clapped me on the back, his smile wide. “You’ve come so far. We knew you had it in you!”

I laughed, my chest full of pride, feeling lighter than I had in days. “Thanks, guys,” I said, genuinely grateful. The camaraderie was exactly what I needed after everything.

We stood there for a moment, the friendly banter between us filling the air, until I noticed my team was waiting for me by the barriers. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them, and a rush of warmth spread through me. They had been with me every step of the way, working tirelessly to make sure I was at my best.

I gave a final wave to Lando and Carlos before heading towards my team, a smile stretching across my face. But as I approached the barriers, I spotted him—Henry. He was standing front and center, a smug look on his face like he had somehow been a big part of this victory. The sight of him made my stomach twist, but I pushed down the anger and disgust that had been building all weekend. I had worked so hard for this, and nothing—not even him—was going to ruin it.

I reached my team, and they crowded around me, clapping me on the back, cheering, and congratulating me. The warmth of their genuine support wrapped around me like a shield, and for a moment, I was able to forget about the tension I had been carrying. That was, until Henry made his move.

He came over to me, his hands too quick, too sure, as he wrapped me in a hug. His touch was supposed to be comforting, but the way his hands lingered, moving lower than they should have, sent a chill down my spine. My heart raced, and the urge to push him away flooded through me, but I couldn’t do it—not with the rest of the team surrounding me.

His hands traced over my ass, too slow, too deliberate. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from reacting, from slapping him right there in front of everyone. But I couldn’t make a scene—not here, not now. Not with my team standing around, celebrating this moment with me.

“You know,” Henry’s voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear it, “you’re looking damn good today. You earned that P3, but I’m sure you’ll be ready for more soon. I might have a little reward for you if you keep it up.”

The words made my skin crawl, and I felt the heat of fury rise in my chest. But there was nothing I could do—not with my team so close, not with everyone watching. All I could do was force a smile, nod as he released me, and try to push the disgust back down into the pit of my stomach.

The team started to break apart, their congratulations fading into background noise as I tried to focus, trying to remind myself that I had earned this moment. I hadn’t let Henry’s words get the best of me before, and I wasn’t going to let them now.

As I walked away from my team, heading towards the cooldown room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Henry’s hands lingering, his words echoing in my mind. I clenched my fists, frustration and disgust boiling over, but I forced myself to breathe.

The cool air in the cooldown room did little to calm the racing thoughts that flooded my mind. I slumped down against the cold concrete floor, instinctively grabbing my water bottle but hardly registering it. The headphones I’d put on were more of a shield than anything else—something to block out the noise of my spiraling thoughts, the feeling that my chest was going to tighten and crush me under the weight of it all.

What had happened in parc ferme… Henry’s hands, his words. It had all happened so quickly. It had been so blatant, so blatant that it felt impossible to ignore. And the worst part? No one said a thing. No one even reacted. My team, the same people I trusted with my career, had just stood there. It was as if his actions had become so normal to them that they didn’t even bat an eye. And that terrified me.

The panic started to claw at me again, pushing its way up from the pit of my stomach, but I fought it down. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t break down, not here, not now. Not in front of the cameras.

The sound of the door opening snapped me out of my spiral, and I felt my body tense immediately. The last thing I needed right now was more attention. But when I looked up, I saw Carlos and Lando walking in. Neither of them said a word as they approached, not wanting to make it obvious they were aware of my presence, and they didn’t push me. They just quietly sat a little farther away, pretending everything was normal for the cameras, as if this was part of the routine.

But I could tell they were concerned. It was in the way Carlos kept glancing at me, his eyes flicking to my headphones, to my stillness, to the way I was avoiding everyone. Lando was just as quiet, but I could feel the worry radiating off him too, even if he was trying to hide it behind a calm façade.

I didn’t want to acknowledge them, didn’t want to give in to the thoughts swirling around inside my head. The cold concrete floor under me felt grounding, like it could somehow anchor me in the moment, but it wasn’t enough to push away the feeling of suffocating pressure.

I let the seconds stretch out, forcing myself to breathe in deeply, slowly, to remind myself that I was still in control. Eventually, when I felt the weight of the panic lift just enough, I pulled myself together. The cameras weren’t far off, and I knew I had to put on the mask again.

I pushed the headphones off and stood up, quickly wiping my face as if it would erase the emotions from earlier. My legs were shaky as I adjusted my racing suit and straightened my hair.

Carlos was the first to speak, his voice carefully neutral. “You alright?”

I plastered a smile on my face, the same one I’d learned to wear so well over the years. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, you know?” I shrugged, trying to make it sound convincing.

Lando nodded, not entirely buying it but not pressing me either. “You did great out there today,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks,” I replied, my smile faltering slightly. I couldn’t bring myself to really believe it, not when everything felt so hollow inside.

They both seemed to sense the shift, the subtle way I was trying to bury everything beneath the surface, but neither of them pushed. They just kept their distance, respecting my space without letting on that they were paying more attention than they’d like to admit.

As the cameras finally moved out, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The moment they were gone, I found myself alone in the room again, the quiet stretching out before me.

I glanced back at Carlos and Lando, who had already started to leave, and I realized they hadn’t pressed me for the truth. They knew something was wrong, but they were waiting for me to say it first.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell them what was really going on—not without risking everything. The team, my career, everything I had fought for. I couldn’t let them see me as weak. I couldn’t let them see me as someone who needed help for such a pathetic problem. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered under my breath as I walked out of the room, past the lingering shadows of my own fears. And for now, that was all I could hold onto.

The walk to the podium felt like a blur, a strange mix of pride and dread swirling inside me. The crowd’s cheers reached my ears, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was being observed. I had the weight of a thousand eyes on me—both the crowd’s and the team’s, and of course, Henry’s. I could feel his presence even though he wasn’t standing right next to me. His words from earlier still rang in my ears. But for the moment, I was determined to shut it all out and focus on the victory, no matter how hollow it felt.

As the podium ceremony started, I climbed the steps to third place, the media-trained smile sliding onto my face with practiced ease. Lando was already grinning from the second spot, and Carlos gave me a brief but genuine nod as he stood on the top step. 

The national anthem played, the flags waving around me, and I stood tall—making sure to appear every bit the champion I was supposed to be. The smile never faltered, not even when the champagne was passed to me. I knew the drill by heart.

“Alright, time to have some fun,” I muttered under my breath, already feeling a little bit lighter. A quick spray of champagne hit Carlos first, and he let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. Lando was next, taking the spray like a champ, both of them laughing and trying to spray me along with each other. There was an almost childlike thrill to the chaos of it all. The champagne dripped down our suits, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to forget about everything else.

Lando, ever the joker. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he teased. Carlos joined in, throwing his arm around me and pulling me into a half-hug. The laughter, the camaraderie, it felt good. For those few seconds, I felt good, like Henry was a whisper in the wind and everything would go back to normal. 

But even as I grinned, holding up the third-place trophy, a small voice in the back of my mind kept reminding me of the danger lurking behind the scenes. Henry. The way he had touched me earlier, the things he had said. It was all eating away at me, just under the surface.

As we made our way off the podium and back into the hustle of the paddock, I kept my distance from Henry, knowing his eyes were on me, even if I couldn’t see him. The adrenaline of the podium was wearing off, replaced by the gnawing worry that would follow me until I had proof of his behavior.

Carlos gave me a pat on the back as we walked toward the waiting cars. “You did great today,” he said quietly, his voice a little softer than usual. I could tell he meant it, even if we all knew the race had its ups and downs.

“Thanks,” I replied, forcing another smile. “It’s been a crazy weekend.”

Lando, noticing the change in my tone, shot me a look, but said nothing. He just gave me a small nudge, and we continued walking, the sound of our footsteps mixing with the fading cheers from the crowd.

But Henry’s shadow loomed over me, and the thought of him trying to undermine my every move made my blood boil. I had to make him pay. I had to get that proof. Whatever it took, no matter how long that took.

[ts-witchy-archive]

What is a road opener spell?

Something that really confused me as a beginner witch was 'road opener' spells. I heard people talk about these spells all the time but I had a hard time actually understanding what it meant until I did one myself. Because of that I decided to put together a little guide for all things 'road opener'. I hope this helps!

What does 'road opener' even mean?

Road opener is a type of spell to open the person up to new opportunities and to remove any blocks stopping them from obtaining those opportunities. These spells are great if you're feeling stuck. You don't have to have an opportunity in mind, you might just feel like everything is stagnant and you want things to start moving again.

What goes into a road opener spell?

Generally, these spells have 2 parts/aspects to them; removing barriers and negative energy and bringing in prosperity and new opportunities. You can do these together or seperate them into a 2 part spell, it all depend what you feel like. road opener is like a fancy name for a banishing spell mixed with a prosperity spell.

An example of a road opener spell:

Candle Spell:

A white, green or black candle (green for prosperity and growth, white as a replacement or to symbolise a fresh start or black to remove any negative energy or blocks) Black salt (to remove any negative energies or obstacles from your path) A bay leaf (for prosperity and wealth. write your intention on the leaf) A sigil with your intention cinnamon (represents wealth) cloves (protection and wealth) basil (protection and wealth) an anointing oil (note: optional) something to carve into the candle with (a sharp pencil, scissors, a paper clip, etc) a heat proof dish and candle holder Method: 1. Cleanse yourself, your work space and tools

2. Create your sigil. I like to use the intention 'All obstacles are removed from my path' or ' nothing stands in the way of my success' but it's completely up to you

3. Carve your sigil into your candle.

4. Write your intention on the bay leaf then place the candle on top of the leaf

5. Mix the remaining herbs together (except the black salt) and sprinkle them in a ring around your candle. If you wish to anoint your candle and roll it in herbs instead, this is the time to do so.

6. Place the black salt in a circle around the herbs and candle. This is to represent the banishment of any negative outside energies or to just get rid of anything that doesn't serve you anymore. You don't have to put it in a circle, it just works for me.

7. Watch the candle burn and focus your intention.

Notes: there are 1000s of ways to do this spell with all the ingredients I listed. If this spell doesn't feel right to you, don't do it or change it. It is only an example.

[swiftplasticpallets-blog]

Modern Way of Barricading: The Key Features of Road Safety Fence Barricades

In today’s fast-paced world, where road safety and crowd control have become more critical than ever, the demand for effective, durable, and adaptable safety solutions has grown significantly. Road safety fence barricades are the best to consider when one needs a reliable tool for security on roads, construction sites, public events, and more.

In this blog, we will explore the key features of modern road safety fence barricades and how they are transforming the way we manage traffic, safety, and crowd control.

1. Durable and Lightweight Materials

One of the most important innovations in road safety fence barricades is the use of 100% virgin (LLDPE) materials. These materials help a barricade get access into light weighted and can be most exposure durable, capable of withstanding harsh weather conditions and repeated impacts. 

2. Modular and Expandable Designs

3. Water or Sand-Fillable Bases for Stability

Modern road safety fence barricades are designed with legs that have a provision for water or sand filling, enhancing stability. This helps keep them secure in bad weather or heavy traffic, improving safety and reliability on the roads.

4. Reflective Panels for High Visibility

Safety fence barricades come equipped with reflective strips and panels that ensure high visibility, both during the day and night. Critical for life on the road, either driver or pedestrian should be able to notice barricades from a certain distance. 

With reflective technology, barricades provide better visibility, which helps avoid accidents and ensures smoother traffic management in low-light conditions.

5. Interlocking Mechanisms for Stability and Security

6. Portability and Ease of Setup

Portability is one of the most significant advantages of contemporary road safety fence barricades. They can be quickly set up or dismantled without requiring specialized tools or labor. The fence barricade is lightweight and allows two workers to quickly form a long connecting wall.

7. Weather-Resistant and UV-Stabilized

Since barricades are often exposed to harsh environmental elements, these road safety fence barricades are integrated with UV stabilizing to avoid color fading, bending, or weakening caused by prolonged sun exposure. These barricades are also weather-resistant, ensuring they maintain their structure and integrity in rain, snow, or extreme temperatures.

8. Branding and Customization Options

In addition to their functional benefits, many road safety fence barricades now offer customization options. Companies can add logos, warnings, or instructions on the barricades, helping them to stand out and communicate important information. This is too useful at large events or construction sites where visibility and brand identity are important.

Conclusion: A Modern Safety Solution for Today’s Challenges

The evolution of road safety fence barricades reflects the growing need for efficient, flexible, and reliable safety solutions in today’s dynamic environment. With features like modular designs, water and sand fillable bases, high-visibility reflective panels, and UV stabilization, these barricades meet the demands of modern road safety and crowd control.

While safety requirements may evolve, Swift’s road safety fence barricades remain essential for protecting workers and the public in various conditions. Our high-quality, durable barricades withstand harsh conditions, offer reliable protection, and enhance visibility, ensuring the safety of everyone involved.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas Teaser

Alright, here you go! Part 4 teaser! Enjoy 😘

“Should we call roadside assistance or something?” you say, skeptically eyeing the wrench in Bradley’s hand.

Bradley gives you an amused look and crouches down before the flat. “You think I’ve never changed a tire?” he calls back over the roar of traffic trying to beat rush hour on the I-10 as he starts to loosen the lug nuts.

“I think you might stain your shirt,” you respond, still sounding hesitant.

“I’ll be careful,” he says, positioning the jack under the Bronco. “Stay back from the road, will ya?” he adds when you walk around the car to observe the flow of traffic.

“I’m looking for a tow truck,” you say absently, craning your neck.

“We don’t need a tow truck,” Bradley replies emphatically. He rises from his squatted position and walks around the vehicle to where you’re standing. “Can you please step back?” he repeats patiently, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re making me nervous.”

You turn to face him, your back to the speeding cars on the freeway. He just missed the last exit when his tire blew, so he had to pull off onto the shoulder, which isn’t the safest place to stop.

“Maybe you should wait inside the car” – like he’d originally suggested – but Bradley doesn’t voice that part.

“I’d rather stretch my legs,” you say, twisting your hips to one side and then the other as though you’re loosening your joints.

Bradley watches you wryly. “Can you stretch them over here?” he asks, pulling you right up to the concrete barrier.

“How’s the tire coming along?” you ask, eyeing the raised back end of the Bronco.

“It’s coming,” Bradley retorts with a smirk. “It’ll come faster if you behave.” In all honesty, Bradley didn’t anticipate the amount of supervision you’d require. Not that he’s averse to keeping an eye on you. After all, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Am I misbehaving?” you ask with a mischievous smile.

Bradley does a double take just as he’s about to go back to attend to the tire. He’s not surprised at the way you’ve interpreted his statement; he meant for it to be misconstrued. Although, now that you’ve responded in kind, he’s sort of speechless.

You push off the barrier and approach him slowly, your eyes holding his gaze temptingly. You place a hand over his chest and Bradley experiences something he imagines is akin to being struck by lightning – but infinitely more enjoyable. You proceed to sweep your fingers over his pecs while Bradley proceeds to dissolve beneath your touch. “You got your shirt dirty,” you say matter-of-factly, as though you might as well be dusting a mantelpiece.

Bradley, very much shaken by this interaction which he’s clearly misread, gulps and takes a hold of your hand before you can continue to brush at him. “It’s an old shirt,” he responds, trying to keep his voice as calm and as steady as he can.

“What if it won’t come clean?” you ask sadly.

Bradley watches you for a moment, captivated and bewildered in equal measure. “I have other shirts,” he reassures you.

“I like this one,” you say, tugging slightly on the lapel.

“Alright, well, I can soak it overnight, I guess.”

“You guess?” you ask reproachfully.

Bradley stares at you in confusion. “Yeah, I guess – listen,” he pauses to emphasize his point. “It’s kind of a dangerous place to be discussing laundry.”

You glance up at him, your eyes searching his. “Are you gonna kiss me, Brad Bradshaw?”

Bradley blacks out for an entire three seconds, then says, “Here?” because he hasn’t even let himself rehearse this type of situation. And now, he’s evidently unprepared. He gulps again but his throat is so dry it feels like he’s been chewing on dust for the last half hour. “Do you want me to?”

[thanksbutno98]

Simple Things - Pet Peeves

John Price likes to think he is a tolerant man. Someone who lets things roll off his back but that just wasn’t true. His grumpy nature would win out more often than not.

Every day:

Leave him in a room with a leaky faucet and he’ll lose his mind. Anything that has a simple fix and hasn’t been fixed will drive the man crazy. A hinge that needs a little WD-40 or one light bulb that’s gone out will be dealt with accordingly. If it’s at someone else’s house he’ll ask you as soon as you’re in the car if you could believe how the bathroom door squealed. John is also the type of guy that you ask him to fix the leaky faucet and you end up finding him on the roof fixing the shingling because he became so distracted and kept finding other problems to fix on his way to the faucet.

John Price can’t stand bad drivers. You can not convince me this man doesn’t have road rage. Slow down at a yellow? He’ll honk. Cut him off? He’ll cut them off right back. John’s annoyance with bad drivers once resulted in him getting flipped off by a priest. You still remind him of that when he starts to drive like a crazy person. The man’s convinced he’s the only good driver and everyone else needs to go back and take their drivers test again.

One of John’s biggest pet peeve is bad manners. It might be because respect is so huge in his line of work that bad manners equate to disrespect in his kind. It’s a laundry list of things that instantly get under his skin. Loud chewing, leaving your table a disaster at a restaurant, forgetting please and thank yous. The one that get him going the most is when he sees the person in front of you not hold the door for you. John knows it’s a bit old fashion but a fire lights in his chest when he sees you not being treated with the respect you deserve.

Work:

As amazing of a Captain, Price is. His inability to deal with new recruits or be around anyone who doesn’t know how to hold a gun properly is an instant headache. If he’s in charge of training that’s a different story. When the newbies aren’t his problem he’s almost always nitpicking whoever is in charge. He’ll say snarky things and be a bit of an ass but we love him anyway.

John Price cannot stand when those in his command are disrespectful to the civilians they have been ordered to protect. Whether that be to the civilians face or behind their back if John overhears anything he’s intervening. To think that people in John’s command would think themselves better than those that they swore to protect lights a fire in John. There is no room for disrespect due to language barriers or any other reason someone can come up with. This board lines being more than a pet peeve. Depending on the level of disrespect John can be utterly vindictive making the soldier run until they puke or even transferring them out of his command sighting their poor behavior as the reason.

Small talk. The man cannot stand small talk. Usually he can grin and bear it when not deployed but when working and someone asks John a none work related question he’s instantly annoyed. If he wanted to chit chat he wouldn’t have joined the military.

Relationship:

Another pet peeve and this only reared its ugly head when John had children, is toys being left around. He has to dodge enough trip wires and be on guard when deployed he doesn’t want to have to mind his step at home. His biggest nemesis in the world is the Lego company. Not only are they insanely over priced but stepping on them is another world of pain. He told you once he would use them if he ever had to torture someone. John would make them walk across a floor filled of them and then he’d have the information he needed.

John’s biggest pet peeve with his loving wife is one he actively scolds you about. He hates the way you organize things but especially in your shared bathroom. It has become a silent war between the pair of you and you will change it back to the way you like when he’s not aware. John liked the important things to be at his eye level leaving them out of reach for you at times. As It’s the smallest thing to disagree on but John is prepared to die on the hill that all medication needs to be on the top shelf even if it’s yours. This has resulted in you both never knowing where things are which makes you both annoyed with the other.

John’s final pet peeve in a relationship is when he’s proven wrong about something. When John thinks he’s right there’s no changing his mind unless evidence is provided. But as soon as you prove to him that World War I started in 1914 not 1913 he’ll be pissy the entire rest of the day. Forget it if someone else proves him wrong he’ll be fuming. At least with you he loves you enough to eventually let it go. But if you bring it up later he’ll pretend like it never happened.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan n @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover

[senka-mesecine]

So, what if...and hear me out on this...the authorities got involved? The reader can either be a missing hiker Barnes took, someone he kidnapped, someone he rescued and whisked away, imprisoned with him up in the mountains. Doesn't matter. What's important is that the cops are hot on the trail of this missing person's case and it leads them to Barnes's cabin up in the hills after a year or maybe even two after you dropped off the radar. I don't know, but I just really enjoy the notion of people from outside reacting to Barnes' and the reader's relationship.

Bride Kidnapping in the Appalachians.

---

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

― Kidnapping, which is forcibly taking a person against their will for the purposes of a felony, is usually a multi jurisdictional matter involving multiple agencies and usually involving the Feds. The classic kidnapping for ransom is pretty darn rare in the US these days actually.

It was 1973, after all.

Not in this neck of the woods, though.

In this particular neck of the woods laws were ageless, in effect, time having stopped moving in many a ways, or rather, if it moved it moved in a way it choose to move, winding around like a snake, all clever and elusive, having a mind of its own rendering whatever happened down there, in the towns, villages and settlements lining the foot of the mountain obsolete the further one moved up the top, beyond the barrier of the mists and the clouds and into the bosom of the evergreen mountains, Officer Jackson knew as much, having been born and growing up around The Smokies, being just as aware it was always a particular kind of people that chose to be isolated and lonesome in the wilderness; the hermits, the moonshiners, the smugglers, crazed hunting enthusiasts, folks up to no good and in this case, them Vietnam war Vets; the way people in the village located in the woodsy hamlet at the end of the junction road riddled with parked trailers, trucks and truckers taking a brief rest before hitting the highway, benches and the cars of so many campers leading up the hills spoke about Robert E. Lee Barnes like he was the damn Yeti or the Sasquatch — in strictly fantastical terms. Heck, even the asshole’s full name sounded fantastical and worthy of an eyebrow raise. Now, he’s heard folks give many a questionable name to their offspring ‘round these parts, but going as historical as this eluded even him. He scarcely believed the man was real until the Detective’s secretary, seated next to him grimly on the passenger’s seat pulled up this big fish’s service record and just looking at his picture caused him an unease not unlike looking a photographic evidence from the sense of a car crash would’ve.

One scarred, ugly ass motherfucker with dead, killer shark eyes.

A facial scar that sent a jot of phantom paint down Jackson’s own cheek.

If anyone was responsible for disappearing you?

It had to have been him.

The case so ridiculously one note, transparent and black and white it almost solved itself.

He, this Barnes figure, lived up there; the only one who lived up there, in fact.

 — Your trail was lost there approximately two years ago now.

Somehow, it clicked into place like a perfectly God-given puzzle piece.

This Barnes fella’ — he undoubtedly took you, had his fun as was to be expected from some anti social mountain dwelling type, stuffed you into several bags once he was sated, dug you into some overgrown, wild, muddy ditch; somewhere where only the wolves would roam over the soil of your unmarked tomb and called it a day. Jackson almost gulps wondering what a man like that does to some deluded little woman like you roaming these mountains with a backpack on her shoulders thinking she’s in charge of anything out here where everything that can go wrong will go wrong within the blink of an eye; if Jackson could have his way, in fact, he’d make roaming up the Appalachian trail illegal or at least put up signs that say ‘Enter at your own Risk’. Make it illegal for womenfolk, if nothing else. Pretty thing too; Jackson had your face from the missing posters committed to memory — the old case has been circulating in the newspaper for so long they could had to put something in the unfinished, now dusty report and putting something in the report meant going up there, into the mountains and actually looking at the situation, up close and personal; Detective Campbell clears his throat, search warrants and documents in a black leather briefcase on his lap, a navy blue rain jacket, a matching sweater, a white dress shirt and a tie underneath it all; the higher ups have been on his ass over the unresolved story for six months now; said it tampers with tourist prospects. Ain’ nobody gonna be climbing up that mountain anymore if a reputation for unsolved disappearances gets tied to it — nobody but the loonies who are drawn to the mystique of that sort of thing, but that wasn’t the type of crowd honest folk here wanted to attract anyway; so here they were, their vehicle jumping suddenly, the dusty trail becoming rocky, violently jolting up and stopping, disappearing behind the pine tree. Couldn’t keep driving even they wanted to. They would have to leave the car here and continue on foot. Any attempts to actually navigate this from behind a steering wheel would result in their engine falling out like a fistful of shit.. -"Well, reckon that’s it, Detective —"- Jackson remarks, shutting the motor off and removing the key. -”No driving up that monstrosity.”- He points the point of his nose vaguely, in front of them and the wilderness that enveloped the eternity of their front windshield; no road and all woodland — dark green, vast and wild. -"Should be some an odd mile up that steep slope; We can try our luck on foot."- He points only to look down, by instinct, at the choice of Campbell’s footwear; a pair of those hoytie-toytie half boots gentlemen around Nashville tended to peacock themselves in. Could do the job. Not ideally, though. -"Hope those are up to the challenge."- He asks, half in jest, halfway entirely serious, but by then, Campbell’s hand was already grabbing the interior handle of the car’s door, showing himself outside, adjusting his own jacket, making himself all official like while he was slamming the door behind him. Fair ‘nuff. Jackson was only tryin’ to be practical and sound of mind. Never understood city folk who refused to dress for the occasion.

-"What sort of man lives up here willingly anyway?"-

Campbell remarks, deep in thought, staring up, towards the ridge of the mountain.

Contemplating.

He didn’t really know how to answer that in simple terms.

What sort of man indeed.

Anyone who’s ever caught a glimpse of Barnes driving down into town to stock up every other month or so, Jackson supposed, would understand that this place fit him like a glove fits a hand.

-"Used to be an old mining town up those parts —"- 

Jackson rubs his fingers together, attempting to ward off the chill.

-"Coal, you see."-

He adds, walking around the car, joining Campbell in the act of sightseeing; scoping the territory out.

-"Didn’t even have no name — just a serial number."-

He explains things he’s heard others say, things that were fact, things re-constructed from memory; one thing being certain — he always believed there was basically something wrong with never naming a place where flesh and blood people once dwelled and made their hard earned work, toil and lives; like having a child and refusing to Christen it. Not unlike summoning the devil to one’s doorstep. No wonder the place went and got depopulated. Not that a Nashville boy like Detective Campbell would believe such superstitions and Jackson didn’t expect him to; he figured he just wanted to paint a picture. Try and portray the type of people that inhabited this place. -"Died out around the 30’s. Left nothing but a ghost settlement behind and the scattered bones of infrastructure once there was nothing to dig."-  He continued, the distant, echoing cry of the Loon bird interjecting with his speech, causing him to shiver. -"But, some folks sure are stubborn, keen to cut off their noses to spite their faces."- Jackson shakes his head, crossing his arms around his chest, settling deeper into his insulated puffer jacket for heat. -"When I was a kiddie himself, there was some five families still up there, ah, but that was a long time ago. Then, it was down to two. Then one."- He asses anecdotally, remembering it like it was yesterday; people refusing to move when the government made efforts to landgrab and clear out that side of the hills, shutting down mining shafts, clearing it off scattered, old equipment so hikers could move around uninterrupted; couldn’t say he blamed them for digging their heels in and standing their ground, refusing to be chased out of their homes built with the sweat and blood of their coal miner grandfathers. Even if the surrounding soil was said to be contaminated from all that digging. -"Now, last I heard, it’s that Barnes fella went as far as digging himself even further away from the mining facility — downright turnin’ hermit like he’s Grizzly Adams."- Jackson waves his head, vaguely, in the direction of the summit of the pine tree riddled mountain; they say there was a cabin up there and that he resided up there even when the whole damn place was six months under the blanket of snow, all roads, natural or otherwise cut off. Detective Campbell turns his scrutinizing, watchful eye from the precipice of the wilderness enveloped in a thin, scattering mist and looks knowingly at him, fishing a cigarette out one of those fancy pants cigarette boxes, pushing one into his mouth; this was a job for homegrown, country cops who knew their elbow from their assholes, not these slick, dandy Nashville birds, but Jackson was willing to take whatever and however was given to him.

On the subject of Barnes:

 -"So, he can’t be sane."- 

Campbell quips simply, tilting his head, giving his diagnosis with an air of absolute conviction.

Like the good sir believed a man’s close proximity to nature rendered him abnormal.

Jackson’s almost offended, being a backwoods kid himself.

Choosing to hide the ache of the jab.

Fucking city slicker.

-"He’s sure’s sumn’ frightenin’ to behold."-

Jackson retorts back, shrugging his shoulders, trying to joke and make light of the situation but being unable to deny the nervousness starting to seep into his pores as he watched the man flick his lighter, dragging in the smoke, letting it coil from his mouth; Thank Christ almighty they’ve been greenlit to bear arms. The devil himself couldn’t make him come up here and stand at the precipice of the steep, jagged, rocky path that led further into the forest with nothing but a warrant against someone who’s service record, for all intents and purposes, described him as a virtual killing machine who’s survived being shot in action anywhere from seven to nine times. Seemed almost Biblical. Mythical. Something a snake handling, Strychnine drinking Preacher would describe someone from the Good Book do during a Sunday sermon.

-"Cigarette?"-

Campbell offers, pushing the shiny box his way; one for the road.

-"Don’t mind if I do, sir!”-

Jackson reaches forward almost immediately relieved, glad he was given something to alleviate the growing trepidation in his nerves.

—

The fog only manages to thicken instead of dispersing around approximately ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock in the forenoon and the mist became as white as milk in certain places, drifting through the pine trees like smoke, saturating the visibility with a sense of something that could only be referred to as the fog of war and Jackson knew all about that term; he had men on his force who served — in Vietnam and Korea alike. Good men too. Well adjusted. Proper. He respected the veterans. Any man willing to put in the time to shed blood for his country was alright in his book, but something about this fella’ didn’t sit quite right with Jackson —- all this eerie silence, all this desolation, hell, he believed that if either of them dropped a needle right about now it would just about echo all across this mountain like fireworks going off  — with each step taken, a sensation that only settled in deeper and deeper into his belly like a heavy, heated anvil; a notion he had to begrudgingly agree with city slicker Campbell, not that he’d ever admit to outloud under pain of death — no saneminded, healthy person would ever choose to live here, in what was effectively a graveyard — the amount of old, rusty mining carts, steel beam pipes overgrown with moss and packing crates with lids that have collapsed in on themselves exposed to the elements that they’ve bypassed being something Jackson’s lost count of. At one point, what could’ve only been a diner in better times, now with bricked up windows and a heavy, metal lock on the door is one of the many attractions they bypass and Jackson semi-expected the ghost of a dead miner to saunter past them at the end of his shift and off for some egg and bacon, tip his working helmet charred black and greet them with a stout Howdy. 

An old ramshackle collection of overgrown sheds.

A rusty Ford pickup truck with the paint peeled off dotted with dried up bird excrement. A wooden house that had a tree growing through its dented roof; the foliage disappearing in the mist. A pheasant crossing their path in a haste, running from one bush to another, startling the living daylights out of them.

After a while the road that seemed like it was freshly walked upon, beaten in by the soles of a well worn set of boots clears out, devoid of the populated junk, leaving nothing but the woodland slope behind, moving upward, always upward and they genuinely use whatever was on hand, the occasional branch, shrubbery, boulder rock as makeshift armrests to avoid tumbling backwards and losing their balance, the occasional slip-up of their footwear scraping against the soil, sending pebbles flying back, towards the bosom of the abandoned colony behind them  — God never created such a wretched place. And this Barnes fella was downright spawned there or so his birth certificate claimed, every bit of information on this man sounding more fake than the previous, but somehow in his heart of hearts once the edge of the horizon breaks and what seemed like the top of a smoking chimney and a roof appears in the distance through the fog Jackson knew it was all true. Detective Campbell halts for a second, catching his breath in his hoytie toytie gentleman’s straight city asphalt walking shoes, taking in the sight, reaching the end of the road connecting to a clearing in the forest where a homestead stood — not at all a shabby affair to behold by the looks of it. Sheds, a path that led to it, a garden in the distance, some laundry drying on a string — heck, it even had a little fence. Funnily enough — even a singular electrical poll leading up to this very house — the last one, attached to the building like the end of the line and all civilization. A stack of wood for the stove as tall as a wall adjoined to the side of the house; the sound of thumping, muted by the mountain’s echo. There was someone at home. Cutting firewood, perhaps? He and Campbell give each other meaningful looks, proceeding further up the property, cautiously, leisurely, yet threading warily. It was like stumbling upon the lost land of Lilliput hidden behind the rainbow; still difficult to wrap one’s head around the notion a living person actually lived here, especially when taking into consideration the ghost settlement they had to pass through first; the fence squeaks a little as they open it, stepping into what was effectively a front porch, a man with his back turned, slick with sweat is the backyard working an axe, chopping stumps — skin rust colored and riddled with scars — he turns, just as leisurely as they’ve waltzed in and even if Jackson doesn’t see it, it’s like he feels, second-hand, the tension caught in Campell’s throat in spite of the confidence he puts up as a wall once the zig-zag scars of the man’s face are facing them even if from afar. Straightening out his form he looked like the type of thing you only hear old folks talk about showing up in the mountains, with no confirmation of anyone actually seeing it.

-"Robert E. Lee Barnes?"- 

Campbell calls out, questioning, holding his badge up. The man sets down his axe, lodging it into a stump, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands. Approaching them slowly, like he wasn’t at all in a hurry. Only when he’s close enough does Jackson notice he had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He supposed he was too distracted by the scars to notice.

-"We’ve a search warrant for this property. Mind if we took a closer inspection of perimeters?"-

Campbell explains and Barnes’s mouth moves, almost in confirmation, mouthing a ‘eyup’. Never actually uttering it out loud, throwing his jaw out instead, eying the piece of paper. Jackson could almost swear the man looked halfway haughty, like…like he’s been expecting them. Might’ve even heard them too — ever since they parked the car at the foot of this rocky peak.

In any case, his file didn’t do him justice where appearances were concerned.

This had to have been the most singularly frightening man he’s ever seen up close.

 -"Sergeant, we’re looking for —"- 

Campbell starts verbally unfolding their reason for being here, Jackson’s hand instinctively flinching to go and reach for his firearm, never actually doing it, tensing up from the man’s deep abiding, self contented silence, only for the detective’s words to be cut off by the sounds of footsteps on a squeaking floorboard from inside translating to activity on the front porch once a smaller figure emerges from the shadowed darkness of the doorway’s threshold. A woman. The woman. Startled, and then partially surprised. Then smiling. It was you. You. -"Hello?"- You say, acknowledging them like a hostess would acknowledge her guests. What in the great big balls of fire — he and Campbell exchange looks for the second time, quickly, in a panicked haste, quickly regaining their footing; Campbell’s hands fly to his hips in a visible state of exasperation he couldn’t, no doubt, express any other way. -"Good day, ma’am; Detective Campbell and Officer Jackson; Care to identify yourself?"- The detective spits those words out cordially yet with the quickness of a firing bullet, Jackson’s eyes catching the gesture of your hand coming protectively over what was the swelling curve of a belly peeking from underneath you dress and before he could even register the thought and conclude what he was looking at a toddler scampers past your feet and then another, dragging itself, still not having learned to walk. Barnes’s head was so high up now from the sidelines one could only deem him unbearably proud.  -"Now, whose children are these?"- The Detective goddamn nearly stutters, caught entirely off guard, eying the younguns. -"Ours."- You chuckle, answering almost immediately, picking up the toddler and holding it in your arms with a little smile, then growing a glance at the offending mountain man who’s made himself decent in the meantime, putting on a shirt as oily greyish green as the rest of his outfit; something very army-like about the way he was dressed. Like he didn’t change much about his looks from the very day he was deployed to the very day he arrived back home. -"Mine and Bobby’s."- You add and that nickname, however inconspicuous, causes the hairs on the back of Jackson’s neck to stand. Bobby? Calling a man like that Bobby was like naming one of them bloodthirsty hellhound Pitbulls Baby.  -"Are you police officers?"- You ask downright sweetly, your gaze travelling between the Barnes fella and them like someone looking for comfort; Jackson immediately catches the detail and he knew Campbell did too. You fidget a little, hiccupping baby in your arms, stepping aside only slight, the passageway to the front door on the porch open to them --- welcoming. This was one surreal bitch of a situation. They didn't even expect to find you alive, least of all ---

-"Do you — do you want come inside?"-

You inquire, somewhat shy seeming, your eyes on Barnes once more.

-"Bobby, we should invite them inside."-

You try for courtesies and the man who hasn't set a word since they've arrived him nods only barely, behind them the entire time as you led the way forward with a small smile, children in tow, one in your belly, two around you --- Three in two years? A set of twins? What the fuck was going on here? How'd that even function? Barnes would've have to work overtime to...gosh almighty, he would've had to keep working at it one after the other, when you were barely healed and shit. That animal, Jackson thinks bitterly, seated at the man's own dining table, inside of the man's own kitchen, all brown wooden paneling and brown wooden colors. -"Now, Ma’am, we won't bore you long; I’ll cut right to the chase —"- Campbell begins, before he's even properly plopped down into his own chair, clearly impatient to start, wanting to get to the bottom of this real bad, Barnes seated at the head of the table, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket somewhere, your diligent hand there to wordlessly light it for him. This was...like some sort of circus or other; they came here searching for the carcass and the remains of an abduction victim and they found...a pliant wife playing house up here with this man who's very presence caused all the air to seep out from between the hold of a four wall kitchenette. Campbell starts opening his briefcase and it's only then that Jackson remembers to breathe properly. The Detective produces the necessary paper, flicking through his folders and files. -"You realize there’s been a whole hoo-ha and that your face has been in every newspaper for the past two years now? That you’ve been pronounced missing? That your hiking group —"- He throws his glance down on all the signed testimonials; some several of them in total, only to shrug it off curtly. —"Well, I won’t read out their names —"- He clears his throat, shrugging quickly. -"But, rather the point is that they reported you missing, on November 14th, 1971?"- He looks at you, no doubt searching your face for any and all confirmation as you set next to what you deemed your husband who's face was semi-enveloped in the haze of tobacco smoke curling and coiling around his face like a veil. Not a shred of fear on that one. Not a shred of fear. Robert Barnes looked like he was a man just about ready for a cookout, legs and thighs spread out under him on the chair that seemed too small for his form. Campbell doesn't like that, Jackson knew, so Campbell ups the ante --- there was a display vitrine of firearms and shotguns hanging off the kitchen wall. Repeating Winchesters and Carabiners. Jackson feels caught looking at them, Barnes noticing that he noticed.

The threat is vague but ever present.

-"That some of them speculated you dead or a victim of a serious crime?"-

His tone of voice was harsher now, accusatory, impatient.  

-"Now, there’s no law or regulation against a kidnapped person hiding from those searching for her, but I must say this is wholly unethical —"-

He begins, only to be cut off.

You chuckle, not unkindly.

 -"Sir, I’m not kidnapped."-

You correct.

 -"I’m married."-

You explain, the weight of that one word rendering this entire thing obselete.

 -"This is my husband."- 

You add, throwing a fond look at the quiet, shit-your-breeches frightening man beside you.

—

-"Now, what in the blazes is the whole shit here!? What sort of wild goose chase is this anyway!?"-

One marriage certificate later and two weddings bands being produces as confirmation, Campbell paces angrily on the back porch overlooking a tree lot of pines, hand running through his hair, tightly pushed together lips practically seething venom. -"Married!? She's married!?"- He whispers, wide eyed, lowering his voice even further like he was careful to ensure the walls didn't have ears. -"To him!?"- He almost mouths those words instead of uttering them out loud causing Jackson to shake his head, staring out into the misty, overcast woodlands embracing the back of the house like a mother's warm, green bosom. -"M’fraid we can’t arrest a man for puttin’ a ring on a woman’s finger and settlin’ down’n’ popping out a litter; not even out here."- He crosses his arms over his chest; shoot, he expected this situation to turn out in a million different ways but this one sure wasn't one of them; seems like all they did is butt into someone's home, disturbing their routine and shit. -"But, it’s a clear case of coercion! Hostage infatuated with the captor! "- Campbell pushes his face towards his own, pointing with his whole hand, vaguely towards the front of the house; yeah, figured this wouldn't look good on them papers --- hiker found over two years later, married to local loose screw weirdo, more on page six. Might just be bad for tourism and marketing and deter people from climbing up here. Or it could do merely well to inspire them to hike around these mountains lookin' for freshwater babes that'll coax them into the woods too and whisk them away to some forest wild hamlet somewhere, never to be seen again by no living eyes. Jackson chuckles into his own chin at the notion. -"He sits there, saying nothing. Just watches with those beady eyes."- Campbell paces, back and worth, back and forth, only to turn on his heel with a newfound, firm determination. He halts suddenly, shaking his index finger vehemently. -"I’m getting to the bottom of this."- He saunters hastily and it takes a near Herculean effort for Jackson to keep up, nearly running after him on the circular porch that wrapped around the whole house, following the Detective back into the house to at least be present and de-escalate from anything batshit happening; sure, he was here doing his job, but he sure as heck wasn't willing to die retrieving some crazy broad who's gone and tied the knot with some white trash with a chewed up face; that same man's eyes on them in an instant, already poised towards the threshold before they even cross it properly, staring them down from where he was seated at the table, your back turned towards the counter, minding the meal cooking on the stove. Instinctively, the Barnes fella stands up, some would say like a gentleman of courtesy, but Jackson knew, it was much rather like a man ready to pounce and fight. -"Now, don’t get up on my account, Mr. Barnes."- Campbell gives him leave with a hand raised, focusing his attention on you instead. Why, Jackson hasn't heard a thing out of this Sergeant Robert E. Lee's mouth since they've arrived, yet somehow, he figured they didn't have to hear anything out of him, almost like he said everything by merely being silent, more so when the Detective addresses you and the man's eyes get sharper, unblinking. You wipe your hands into your apron. Removing it and hanging it on a nearby chair.

-"Ma’am, would you mind if I had a private consultation with you; just a standard issue interview one on one. Maybe in of these little rooms here."- 

Wounded pride Campbell gestures and you follow.

—

The first thing that catches Jackson's attention are all the photos.

Framed pictures on the nightstand, the occasional one hanging on the wall, commodes lined with what seemed like pictures of a marriage, uniformed affairs of some circumstance, the birth of children or simply put --- just you; Campbell leaves the door of what he could only deduce was a bedroom half ajar, just enough for Jackson to stand on the threshold leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and to conclude that if this Barnes fella had a favorite thing in the world to look at it sure was reflected in the subject of the polaroid's picked to display. For all he was concerned, their business here was long since settled. He saw the way things were. Just a man loving on his woman, is all. But, the Detective? He persists. Sure a stubborn mule, that one. -"Now, is he keeping you here by force? Has force been used in your settling here? Maybe some sort of blackmail? A threat of violence? Against you or the children?"- Campbell leans his head down, neck bending in order for his eyes to be on an equal eyelevel with your own; a common interrogating tactic when playing the Good Cop; make the subject feel like they could trust whoever it was interviewing them. Bet the man's ego took a bruising; the fact that they'd climb down from here empty handed, looking the fools. Jackson could live with being a fool; he wasn't paid enough to be Elliott Ness-ing all over Appalachia. Not with that man still seated at the kitchen table, smoking, staring daggers at him from across the corridor, causing a chill to run down his spine. -"See, your hiking team seemed to have reasons to believe your disappearance was nefarious in nature and not a mere mishap."- Campbell says, pushing on once your silence yields no results and you look away, body language tense, putting up walls, staring through the veil of the lacey curtain keeping the shadows detained within the hallowed intimacy of the bedroom --- felt weird being here in the first place, just merely standing on this threshold now --- resembled standing on the precipice of a swampy creek populated by alligators, dangling a bleeding hand over the deathly still, green murky waters, tempting fate. Campbell's exasperated at your lack of cooperation, clicking his tongue in annoyance --- try as he may have, he was attempting to put words into your mouth but said words just wouldn't stick. -"Ma’am, I can’t do anything to help unless you’re honest with me and I understand a victim isn’t always willing to speak in front of —"-

-"I am no victim."-

You finally interject.

-"I hiked up here and I met a man."-

Adding immediately after, all matter-of-factly and straight to the point.

-"He offered me shelter. We fell in love. I stayed and never climbed down the mountain again. That’s the whole truth."-

You shrug, simply, nothing else to declare, hitting a verbal bullseye.

-"But why did you at no point attempt to get in contact with the local authorities? Try and go home?"- 

Detective Campbell looks at you square on.

You maintain his gaze firmly. Calmly.

-"This is my home."-

Is all you say.

All you needed to say anyhow, thought Jackson, happy he was going to leave here alive.

—

The march back to the parked police car is a strenuous one.

Peppered with hushed, venomous seething.

This time around, Campbell leading the way in spite of his ill suited footwear.

Trudging through dew drenched soil, the occasional twig snapping beneath him.

Almost like his ire guided him forward, past the tree line, the colony.

Down the steep, rocky pathway of the hill going down.

Fact was, Jackson could only barely keep up.

Hell hath no fury like a Detective who came all the way from Nashville for nothing.

-"Heard about bride kidnappings in the Caucasus, heard about bride kidnappings in the Stans, Africa, heard the VIkings doing it, heard the Comanche back in the days off and riding away with the women, even heard of it happening south of the border, but never in my life did I hear shit like this unfolding under my very nose!"-  

The man mutters in stride, more to himself than Jackson, huffing and puffing all the way to the vehicle still waiting for them where they've left it, the man practically yanking the car door open and throwing himself down on the seat, his ears practically red with what Jackson could only assume was anger breaking out of his pores like wild fire once he's plopped down next to the man, in front of the steering wheel, thanking his lucky stars the Barnes fella didn't stuff them and hang them over the mantlepiece and that it all wrapped up in a vaguely civilized manner. That they didn't have to reach for their guns at any point in time. Especially not with the displayed arsenal that guy had in his goddamned dining room. Nonetheless, the Detective's scowling, displeased mouth plops open, eyes outraged, nose pointing at something back in the forest from whence they came, through the curtain of mist.

-"Look."-

He extends his index finger accusingly and before Jackson could ever properly register which direction he should be looking at or what he was searching for exactly in the disorienting vista of wilderness the man was there, standing on a cliffside overlooking the dented valley where their car was situated, nestled into the bosom of the forest. Arms crossed behind his back, legs akimbo, Jackson was either hallucinating things or this man was actually...smiling. Down at them. -"Look at that redneck hillbilly asshole, taunting us. Knowing we can’t do shit against him."- Campbell was as infuriated as a caged bulldog, hand practically gripping his own knee as Jackson started pulling backwards with the car, slowly, trying not to hit some stray rock with his tire on his way back; the Barnes guy in the frame of their eyesight, scarred face distorting at the seams under the pressure of his lips unfurling, his pale eyes almost like a pair of hollows from this distance. Funny how a man could witness the most harrowingly scary image in his life and he still had to mundanely keep doing his job, maneuvering his vehicle backwards, trying to keep a cool head; truth was, Jackson could feel his legs shake on the pedals, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. If anything, this was a wordless sign relayed back to them through a singular action; Stay out of my territory. You'll wont set a foot out here again and I know it. I'm taunting you with. -"He’s really, honestly there with that shit-eating grin of his face. Piece of shit smug bastard."- Campbell murmurs icily as the mossy, ancient cliffside got smaller and smaller, further and further away from them, Barnes's presence no less strangling --- just standing there, watching them pull out what could effectively be the equivalent of his driveway. Jackson, for one, couldn't wait to be back at the Station sifting through boring old speeding violations, the odd case of vagrancy or petty theft at the local Piggly Wiggly. Was certainly infinitely less stressful. -"Best let sleepin’ dogs lie, chief."- He manages with the faintest bit of optimism, his voice shaking in his throat as he gives the steering wheel a sharp tug, turning away from the mountain and towards the dirt road, borderline overtaken with the desire to chuckle as he turned the car, driving away from this godforsaken, incomprehensible, baffling bit of back wood. And so he does, the tires thudding, bouncing and screeching on uneven, untamed terrain, but never was there a marrier sound to these old ears. -"I for one I am lookin’ forward to a steaming pitcher of coffee back at the office to wash off this whole road trip. Hope I never have to drive out here again, so hear me God."- He remarks hopefully, relieved like never before, the looming forest speeding away in a blur all around them like a fever dream he'd like to forget, glancing at the side review mirror next to him, reflecting the colossal, imposing cliffside back to him.

Barnes was no longer standing there.

The steep, jagged, green mountainside held an empty vigil at their departure.

The mist has cleared, replaced by a soft drizzle.

—

A week later, Jackson knew Campbell began typing away furiously, the itch stirring in him once again like a badly digested lunch, fingers working the typewriter loud enough for half of the Station to go echoing with the noise and causing him to be getting as far as the name of his report that was titled as follows; Bride Kidnappings in the Appalachians --- Jackson saw the man ruminating over the unwritten bit of document on a pristine, white piece of paper for a good half an hour or so, the secretary bringing him one cup of coffee and then another while he sat idly in his chair like he was at a loss for words or weighing his options in his mind --- whether it was wise to proceed or not; by the end of his shift and his last day at the smalltown Sheriff's department, he ripped the paper out just as discontent, crumpling it in his hands and throwing it in the nearby garbage bin, leaving for Nashville the next day, saying goodbye to nobody.

Never was Jackson more unburdened in life.

[illarian-rambling]

As per a unanimous vote, it's finally time for individual Starbreaker and Wild Type intros! And as per special request, I'll be starting with my troublemaker Pash (;

Pashananath: the Negotiator

I gestured over to where Nyda carried three of the five swords initially packed onto the ship. “We can pay with steel. Also, directions to anywhere that sells clothing would be divine.” I was sick and goddamn tired of wearing this laundry day outfit. ‘It’ll just be a little show at a bar.’ ‘No one important will see you, it’s fine if you leave laundry for tomorrow!’ Little did I know some meathead would take offense to my rendition of Mother’s Tub and decide to put a broken bottle through my throat about it (not that I blamed him — that piece was not my finest work), and now clever little me was living out eternity in a pair of too-short pants and a wrap shirt with a stain on the sleeve. Even besides me, Faalgun’s uniform was fucking disgusting and I was tired of looking at it.  Duja scratched the back of his head. “That’s not an inconsiderable order. I don’t sell instruments and I don’t know what you mean by ‘rune,’ but hammocks, cards, and high quality rations I do carry. However, I just traded for a stack of steel ingots when the Flying City was here a month ago, so I’m pretty flush on that. I’ll sell you the hammocks for the swords, but you’ll probably get farther if you bring something else for trade. Or just go exchange your currency. I know you Flying City types love a good barter, but we do use money here. That’s not— That’s not, like, a foreign thing for us.” “You’re sure you won’t trade for the swords?” My eyes flicked to the shopkeep’s bearing. He was not a well-muscled man, and he didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. “I— No. That’s what I just said,” Duja huffed. “I’d be happy to trade for other things, if you have them. Lumber, precious stones, silk — I’m just flush on steel right now. If you don’t have the cash, there’s a casino down the road you could try your luck at. Just tell them I sent you.” My eyes flicked to his slim throat. “Say, you don’t have any weapons behind the—” I was cut off with a squawk as Nyda grabbed me by the ear and hauled me back. “Just a moment!” she told the shopkeep. I mumbled a string of insults under my breath as she pulled me into a group huddle with her and Kaulakri. Negotiate. Don’t negotiate. What the hell did she want from me? We weren’t even going to be here that long — there was no reason for us not to just kill this guy. “I had it handled,” I hissed, shooting a glare at Nyda, which she instantly reciprocated. “I saw that fucking look in your eye, Sarytasi.” Absently, she scratched at the wound in her side. “The way I see it, if we wanna afford furniture, rations, and new clothes, we’ve got two options.”

So, uh, the boy has some issues. Read more below the cut to find out all the juicy details of what they are!

Pash is one of the Fair Folk (or the fae or Sarytasi or whatever you call them). Pash is also, like the whole of the R.S. Starbreaker crew, dead. The god-empress of the fae, the Gloaming Queen, sent his soul on this mission to pierce beyond the barrier of End that encircles the solar wheel and he cannot fail her orders.

The fae are... odd people. They value individual happiness to an extreme. If Pash saw a man wearing a jacket he liked, he would have no issue killing that man for the jacket. Likewise, if someone killed him for the same jacket, well, fair's fair. This pattern of behavior deeply impacts how he interacts with the crew. He has little respect for boundaries and the only reason they can get him to contribute anything is either because he finds this particular task entertaining or he knows that if the crew ganged up to beat him into submission, they would win. Violence is a way of life for the fae. In their land, the strong take from the weak, and the best a musician like Pash can do is hope he's entertaining enough to stay in their good graces.

Which is to say, yes, Pash is a musician, and a very good one. All fae are created by the Gloaming Queen with a singular purpose in mind: their Contribution. Pash's Contribution is music. He's far better at that than he is at negotiating. In the Next-Door Land, where the fae reside, he spent his life (fae don't measure time, so who knows how long that was) playing for tavern crowds before meeting an inglorious end by way of a broken bottle slitting his throat after someone didn't like his song. He isn't too bitter about it, all in all. And it wasn't like he left much behind. The fae aren't known for their close relationships, and Pash had none. His interactions with the crew of the R.S. Starbreaker is his first time meeting non-fae and it's been an... experience for him.

But on to personality! Yes, he's a little brat for sure, but Pash does have a streak of kindness in there somewhere. He likes to cheer the crew up by playing music or telling jokes, and he does help around the ship to an extent. He does this because deep down, it really does make him happy to see his friends happy. This isn't to say his attitude doesn't cause friction, of course. In just as many instances as he decides to help out, Pash is selfish, lazy, and has a bad habit of asking very personal questions. The third area that it's important to understand about him is that he's afraid. Fae society operates on fear; the weak fear the strong, the few fear the many, and everyone trembles before the Gloaming Queen. Pash is afraid of the crew because, in his mind, they're wildly unpredictable. They don't act how people should - they pay him kindnesses he doesn't understand. It frightens him, though in some deep part of his heart, he longs for such grace. Slowly but sure, Pash is going to realize some things about himself and his people, and I'm certain the road will not be smooth in that regard.

But what does he look like? Well, all fae look different, but the Gloaming Queen made Pash to be tall and lanky - about 6'2". He has pale skin and a body covered in a light dusting of dark fur, as well as a tufted tail. His pupil-less eyes and pointed teeth are both solid red and he smiles frequently. He's got shaggy dark hair that comes down to his shoulders and pointed ears also tufted with fur. His outfit is pretty simple; a wrap shirt and loose pants paired with sandals. His hands are markedly graceful and can play any instrument that's placed in them.

Now for some fun facts!

Pash has no real sense of time, fae don't measure that and their land is in an eternal state of dawn and dusk, and also they don't age from when they're spat into being. Ergo, he has no clue how old he is or how long he's been dead for. However, he has the vibes of an 18 year old who just moved out of his parent's house and is still figuring out laundry, so it's safe to say he's young.

The instrument he has aboard the ship is a shamisen. Pash loves playing music, it makes him feel safe, however, he doesn't enjoy singing.

His favorite bad habit is asking really intrusive and uncomfortable questions while in someone's personal space.

Other than music, perhaps the only thing he respects is the Gloaming Queen. Like all fae, Pash was biologically made to be unable to resist her orders and he thinks of her as a perfect being.

Well, that's all for now! I hope you like my fucked up murder-hobo fae boy, he's such a disaster. I'll probably go through all the Starbreaker characters for intros next, then Wild Type. Thanks for sticking around <3

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

@wyked-ao3 @thecomfywriter @mysticstarlightduck @rumeysawrites @the-golden-comet

@cowboybrunch @gioiaalbanoart @theink-stainedfolk @sableglass @thelaughingstag

@finickyfelix @mymomsaysbobcipher

[zeke-fanfucs]

Okay so- I have the BVZ School AU request! It's Karmor×Hipswitch themed(THE GAYS).

Basically: the school decides to host a road trip for a week to one of those cabin in the woods type thing, y'know? One where there's places and rooms for the students to sleep in and usually some lighthearted activities as well.

SO! The gang goes on the road trip, and once they arrive there they realize that each will have to share a room with another student(y'know, so every fits-). And Hipswitch and Karmor end up getting paired up together, but the problem is...there's only ONE BED.

At first, both agree to make a little pillow fort at the center of the bed to separate each other so they don't get uncomfortable <- aka Hipswitch doesn't want to make Karmor uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Albus, Mahatma and probably Attila all try to give Hipswitch hints that Karmor likes him(since Karmor doesn't have the balls to do it himself-).

Eventually, through signs, Hipswitch finally realizes that maybe his friends aren't fucking around with him. So, during the day before their departure from the trip, an event takes place in the cottage, something equivalent to a high school prom almost-

Hipswitch attempts to try and get a confession out of the mute by constantly teasing him and playing with him, but instead Karmor bolts out of there out of pure embarrassment. Hipswitch starts to think that maybe Karmor doesn't really like him back after all...but Mahatma manages to convince him to go after his man! So, in their dorm, he decides to take it slow this time instead of teasing Karmor, and eventually he does confess that he has a crush on the older one.

Then they make out(NO JOKE, I want them to kiss, doesn't need to lead into something spicy, just a make out session) and live happily ever after :3

Sorry if it's a bit long, I thought a lot about this "ówò)

YES. I’ve got you. Here’s your slow-burn, kiss-at-the-end, teasing-to-confession BVZ School AU fanfic featuring our boys:

I hope you like your meal ! 🍽️

⸻

Title: “One Bed, One Brain Cell”

The cabin was cute in that “this-was-probably-haunted-during-the-1800s” kind of way. Wooden walls. Cold floorboards. The sound of overly enthusiastic classmates yelling outside as they claimed beds and argued over who got top bunk.

Hipswitch slung his bag onto the floor and eyed the room.

One bed.

One singular, twin-sized, very-cozy bed.

“…Partner, we’re doomed.”

Kamor stood in the doorway, holding his duffle like a shield. He looked at the bed. Then at Hipswitch. Then back at the bed. His face was unreadable—except for the slight twitch in his brow and the way his ears were pink.

Hipswitch rubbed the back of his neck. “We could, uh—do the whole pillow barrier thing? Like a fort. Like Switzerland. Neutral zone in the middle. Unless you wanna take the floor. I’ll take the floor. You’ll probably sleep prettier.”

Kamor just shook his head quickly, signing: ‘Pillow wall is fine.’

And so it began: the slow, awkward, utterly tense descent into mutual pining hell.

⸻

Day 2.

Albus: “You realize he likes you, right?”

Hipswitch: “He barely looks me in the eye, Albus.”

Mahatma: “That’s because he’s in love with you and full of shame. Like a Victorian maiden.”

Attila: “He literally made you a playlist for the bus ride and stared at you the whole time. You dense bitch.”

Hipswitch: “I thought he was zoning out.”

Attila: “Zoning out while mouthing the lyrics to ‘Take On Me’ while you slept on his shoulder???”

Hipswitch: “…okay I’m starting to get it now.”

⸻

The Final Night: School Dance

The old lodge was dressed up with cheap streamers and even cheaper punch. Hipswitch wore a suit jacket over his usual hoodie, hair actually brushed for once. Kamor was in a soft blue sweater and jeans, looking like every indie dream boy ever.

Hipswitch found him by the punch bowl and leaned in. “You look good enough to kiss, partner.”

Kamor’s eyes went wide. Then he turned and bolted, his sweater catching slightly on a folding chair as he vanished into the woods like a startled deer.

“…Right,” Hipswitch muttered. “Cool. I’m the asshole now.”

⸻

Back at the Room

Hipswitch sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

“I blew it. Shoulda kept it cool. Shouldn’t have flirted. I’m not even good at it. I’m like if a golden retriever tried to be smooth.”

Mahatma stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “He ran because he panicked, not because he hates you.”

“Doesn’t mean he wants me.”

“Then go ask him.”

A pause.

“…Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

⸻

Later that night

Kamor was curled up on the bed, hoodie over his head, knees drawn up, earbuds in. Hipswitch sat beside him, gently nudging his leg. Kamor looked over, hesitantly.

“Hey,” Hipswitch said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kamor sat up slowly, taking out one earbud.

“I was just… trying to see if maybe I wasn’t totally imagining this thing between us.” He paused. “But I can’t keep teasing if it makes you wanna vanish.”

Kamor stared at him.

Then, slowly, shakily, he reached for Hipswitch’s hand and signed with trembling fingers:

‘You weren’t imagining it.’

Hipswitch’s heart jumped.

“Oh.”

Kamor’s face was flushed—he looked like he was about to pass out from sheer emotional effort.

So Hipswitch didn’t say anything else.

He just leaned in. Gently, softly. Let Kamor meet him halfway.

Their lips touched—tentative at first. Testing the waters. Then again, deeper. Kamor’s hand slipped into Hipswitch’s hoodie, curling around his shirt, and Hipswitch held him like he was afraid he’d disappear again.

The kiss turned slower. Warmer.

When they finally pulled away, Kamor looked dazed.

Hipswitch grinned like a man who’d won the lottery and survived a crash landing. “You got a nice mouth for a guy who doesn’t talk.”

Kamor rolled his eyes, signed ‘Shut up’, and kissed him again.

⸻

They fell asleep that night in the same bed, the pillow wall long forgotten.

[mjonthetrack]

Roman tilted his head back against his desk chair, a low moan escaping his lips. The easy blonde was bobbing her head against his semi hardon, when Al came through his office doors he didn’t flinch forcing the woman’s head on it as the older man simply announced,” the fuller account is in place chief.” The woman trying to act innocent pulled away acting shocked to be caught on her knees her annoying voice filled the air,” oh my goodness Al I had no idea you were in today!”

Roman already soft hearing the woman’s voice aggravating his nerves like a cheese grater against them,”get out.” The woman gaped looking at the man who’d already adjusted himself redoing his belt,”but handsome, I don’t have to go back for another hour I thought we could have lunch together,” Rachel’s valley girl voice rung out. Al cleared his throat,”you’ve got semen on your chin, please see yourself out Tyler,” he used her middle name knowing the woman hated it. The lady gasped,”Ro Ro are you gonna let the help talk to me like that?!” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose,”don’t get escorted out, you’re not needed anymore.”

When the blonde left cussing them on her way out whining, Al sighed outwardly,”why do you entertain that tramp sir?” Roman sent an even stare at the older male,”what’s the real reason you’re here?” The pair sat in the Anoaʻi building which was a multibillion dollar banking firm which was shadow ran by Joseph Anoaʻi or Roman, but had a board of members who acted like the faces of the company. In reality none of the real world of Gotham knew the face behind the company nor the underworld made connections to the bat.

The pair walked out of the hidden ceo office on the top floor, then were out in the private elevator down to the underground space. Then to the man’s vehicle and sped through the underground tunnels until it came to a road above ground. They’d driven in silence until they arrived outside of the city to the man’s compound within a cliff overlooking Gotham. When they crossed into the man’s lair Al was already pulling up the different cameras all over the city, he hummed in acknowledgment, as different traffic feeds and local news were on the many flat screens across one wall. Al typed away scrolling,”seems as though Gotham’s been busy chief.”

Roman who’d taken off his suite jacket tossing it over a chair then loosening his tie putting it to the side, poured himself a glass of whiskey.”When isn’t it busy? have you spotted any other leads with the man child?” Al lifted a brow at the mention,” I thought you were over that strange?” Roman chuckled sipping his glass,” him trafficking drugs isn’t news Al, we both know he’s got cops on his roll and plenty of buyers, I could give a fuck what the ants of this city do with their lives.” Al shook his head,”I almost thought you had a heart sir?” Roman grinned rubbing his beard at the sarcasm,”Nobody with a heart survives this place.”

—————————

Celiné stepped through the alleyway, past the cage barrier and down the steps until the neon lights shone against the graffitied walls. The Ice box was one of the many underground spots owned by the penguin but when the man got locked up it became a spot where all the lost and dark souls of Gotham hung about. It subsequently fell under the Scarecrow who was on an ego trip with no competition since the penguin was behind bars doing a fifty year bid at Arkham.

The bright strobe lights mixed with the red mood lights and the thumping of base made an intoxicating mixture with the spiked alcohols Scarecrow had for the many different clients. Not only was it a club front now for Scarecrow’s dealings but also a strip joint where Rachel crawled from being as Celiné called her rated E for everyone she was willing to lay down with. The other strippers were good women with rough stories, a few Celiné would help out with rent when a good hit came in. Her motives were bigger than some slut and drug bar, she had her eyes on whatever sparkled, whatever had the bigger dollar sign.

For the right price the woman was the black cat of Gotham, a vixen in latex, and a hell of a good thief. Celiné could swipe a ring from a handshake, or dismantle some of the cities most secure safes. Lately though she was working a gig for Marco, the Scarecrow who she called scary because to her he was just a whiny child begging for attention. Her job was to swipe some items from the hospitals chemist lab. It wasn’t easy but after flirting with a molecular chemist and agreeing to dinner she’d swiped his key card from his lanyard and left with what was asked for.

Scarecrow stood at the very top of the viewing balcony on the opposite side to the entrance. He watched the woman come into the ice box, he grinned devilishly,”ah here come bitch kitty.” His goons laughed encouraging his antics as his bigger than life wardrobe was never enough. The woman went through security then was able to go up the stairs as she was unarmed, “do you have what I need?” Celiné deadpanned him holding up a small satchel when he reached for it she moved her arm back, holding out her manicured hand,” payment first, scary.” The man’s grin faultered,”Miss kitty do you doubt me? I’m hurt,” he grasped his chest but then snapped his fingers as a brief case was given to her. Once she searched it counting the bands she nodded her head, handing over the satchel.

The woman turned on her heels on her way back to the top of the stairs, feeling a large hand on her hip she elongated the steel nails of her gloves, her hand hovering over his golden pants.”Woah easy kitty,”Marco chuckled heavily his warm breath above her ear,”I’m still offering a position as one of my little concubines if you’re not busy, I’m sure I have time to let you try out for the roll.” Celiné turned slowly a fake smile on her face as she leaned in,”call me a bitch again and I’ll castrate you,” she glided the tip of one of her sharp nails under his chin making him wince though the smile never left his face,”always so grumpy, be a good kitty and go find me some product.”

Celiné flipped him off over her shoulder stepping down a few steps calling over her shoulder,”it’ll cost you, extra for pissing me off Marco.” Hearing the man’s laugh she walked down the glass stairs her eyes always scanning the area she was in. Celiné caught the glimpse of someone who was trying to blend in a little too well. The woman couldn’t help but laugh to herself taking her time in the crowded and very smoky club. She wandered over to one of the bars setting cash out, waving the bartender down who knew her order by now.

“That’ll be on me,” a deep voice came from beside her, the woman raised a brow in amusement though her hands slipped money back into her purse. When her glass came she took a tentative sip looking ahead at the many shelves on the wall. “That’s a big purse you have Celiné,” the deep voice drew her attention,”I don’t see how that’s your business bats?” The man swiped his tongue over his bottom lip staring at her side profile trying to read her.

“For as long as you have attempted this cat and mouse chase you never will be able to read me, I thought you knew better than trying to profile me,” Celiné said looking to the tv on the side of the bar. Roman snorted at the smart mouth that often greeted him when he crossed paths with her,”I don’t need to read you to know you’ve been giving Scarecrow some attention lately.” Celiné grimaced at the thought, she finished the drink leaving the glass behind, sliding off the tall stool she stepped away from the bar. Blending in to the huge crowd she tucked the case beneath her arm and was out the club in the middle of the alley.

His voice appeared again from behind her, a master at spawning into a place in silence like her,”I don’t want you to work for him anymore.” Celiné stood still,”oh bats I’m flattered, truly, but jealousy isn’t attractive on you.” The tall man gripped her wrist smirking when she let her claws out,”it wasn’t an ask, I have a job for you.” Celiné hummed lowly but she turned her head slightly, giving him her attention,”I can’t be seen with you I have a reputation to maintain bats you know that.” Roman tilted her chin to face him,”I have a job for you.” Celiné trailed a manicured nail over his bottom lip,” I don’t do favors bats.” He smirked down at her,”two mil.” The woman disappeared when a noise came from the clubs entrance,”tomorrow noon, you know where to find me,” her voice came from above, the man catching the last seconds of her hips swaying off,across the roof tops.