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fluentmoviequoter · 14 days

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Speed Limit 2525

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

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

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

Word Count: 11.7k+ words

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

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

Shoot him.

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

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

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

“Bradford,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t lie,” Tim defends.

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty feet.”

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

“Alright, hot shot. Fifty feet?”

“Nice try.”

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

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

“What do you do?” Harry repeats.

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

“You are out of your mind, Bradford.”

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

“Why? You wanna try to bench it?”

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

“No shoot them, right?”

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

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

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

“Six minutes,” Harry alerts.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hit the switch, Temple.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is your watch slow?” Tim asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we check the freight elevators?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m already there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Bob,” Tim grumbles.

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

“I- I don’t remember that well.”

“Wake up alone?”

“Always do.”

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

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

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

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

“Where are you?” Tim demands.

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

“Why didn’t you just come after me?”

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

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

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

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

“What do you do?” he repeats.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look up as Sam slows for a traffic jam.

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

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

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

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

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

“In the shop?” the tourist asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop!” Tim yells over the traffic.

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

“What the-“

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

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

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

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

“I’m a cop!” Tim yells.

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

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

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

“I can’t hear you,” Sam says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Angela,” Tim says.

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

“He’s alive.”

“Who?”

“The bomber! He’s back.”

“Harry!” Angela calls.

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

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

“Where do you think?” Harry replies.

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

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

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

“Take the wheel!” Tim says.

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

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

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

“Are you crazy?” you ask.

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

“But what are you-“

“Ma’am.”

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

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

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

“Jay!” you yell worriedly.

“Get away from me!” Jay demands.

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

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

“Stop the bus, Sam,” Jay calls.

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

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

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

“Sam!” someone screams.

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

“Move him,” you say.

“He’s bleeding,” the woman argues.

“We have to stop the bus!”

At your words, Tim spins quickly to face you.

“No!” he yells. “Stay above fifty.”

“Sam is wounded,” you begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you handle it?”

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

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

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

“No way, man!” the tourist yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a cop, right?” you ask.

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

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

“What for?”

“Speeding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think, Harry?” Tim asks.

“Bradford!” you yell into the bus speaker.

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

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

“Get on the shoulder.”

“This is an exit!”

Tim flinches as you sideswipe several cars.

“Tim!”

“Off. Get off!” Tim yells.

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

“Where?” he asks. “Got it.”

“Do I stay here?” you inquire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

“You don’t know what I want.”

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

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

“How?” Ortiz asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. What happens now, though?”

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

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

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

“You don’t look nervous.”

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

“Is it true?”

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

“How’s Sam?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The gas pedal’s stuck.”

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

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

“There,” he announces as he steps back.

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

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

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

“Hard left up ahead,” Tim tells you.

“We’ll tip!” you argue.

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

“We’re not going to tip,” Tim says.

“Yes, we are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, who’s doing this?” you ask Tim.

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

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

“More or less.”

“What if you stop him again?”

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

“That won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Why? He has my cell,” Tim says.

“Maybe it died.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” he answers.

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

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

“You shot another hostage?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” you yell.

“I have to,” she responds.

“No! Don’t get off! Stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t, Captain.”

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

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

“How big is a gap?” Ortiz asks.

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

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

“He thought of that… Floor it.”

“What?”

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

“Okay.”

“Everyone keep your heads down.”

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

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

“Get off here!” Tim calls suddenly.

“Yes! Get off!”

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

“Are you not?”

“Oh, now you think you know me too?”

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a plan now?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Ortiz?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not back here!” Ortiz calls.

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

“I don’t see him.”

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

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

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

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

“How are you?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

“Just doing my job… ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“We’re going to die,” he says.

“No. You got us this far, right?”

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

“Lumberjacks wear flannel, right?” Tim asks.

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

“He can see you.”

“What?”

“Keep looking straight ahead.”

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

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

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

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

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

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

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

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

“That won’t be hard,” Ortiz grumbles.

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

“Tim,” you whisper. “Look.”

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t do this,” you argue.

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

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

“I got you,” he promises once more.

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

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, I think your friends are here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay in the ambulance,” Tim tells you.

“But I-“

“Ma’am, stay in the ambulance.”

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

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

“Where?” she asks.

“The drop spot. Pershing Square.”

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

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

“Oh, I’m waiting for Tim-“

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

“But he told me to stay here.”

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

“Payne is late,” Angela complains.

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

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

“Turn on the tracker,” Tim requests.

“What for?”

“Just do it!”

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

“He’s got the money,” Angela says.

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

“L.A.P.D. Freeze!” he yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn around!” he demands.

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

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t need her!” Tim adds.

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

“You’re crazy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else can go wrong?” you murmur.

“Wade, I copy,” Tim radios.

“Do you copy? Try the emergency brake.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have a key,” Tim replies.

“You don’t have…”

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

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

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

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

“Tim, please just go,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to leave me!”

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

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

“I’ve heard relationships that start during intense situations like this never work,” Tim says.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Then I guess we’ll be the first.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Glass rains down on you as you kiss Tim again, and though your day went nothing like you thought it would, it’s now the best day of your life. Tim helps you stand as his team approaches the scene, and you stop him before you exit the car.

“You know if this was a movie, they’d make another one where the same thing happens again, right?” you say softly.

“We’re never taking public transportation again,” Tim states.

“Yeah. Hey, where is the truck you were driving this morning?”

Tim hesitates and tightens his arm around your waist before turning away to yell, “Chen! I need you to do something for me.”

#tim bradford x reader #hanna writes✯#tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fic #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader #speed 1994

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strangemaleswaps · 5 months

Text

Strange Cop Dad Swap

I made my way to the kitchen, expecting some good alcohol since Brittney was rich. Holy shit! There was a huge variety of everything! Now THIS is what I expected at a college party! Who fucking cared if I wasn't even in college yet, or old enough to drink? This shit is crazy!

"What would you like my good sir?" asked some random guy at the table. I didn't think he was an actual bartender, since he was wearing normal clothes. Probably just some weirdo.

"Oh I dunn-" I didn't even finish my sentence when he put something into a shaker and poured it into a red plastic cup. He then handed it to me. Well, I guess if I'm at a college party, I gotta act like a college party guy. I chugged it all down in a second. Suddenly my throat burned like hell.

"Fuck man, one step at a time! Save the chugging for cheap beer. These drinks are classier." He poured me another. "This time baby steps my man."

I was kinda mad, but accepted the drink anyway. I walked back into the living room where people were on the dance floor. I saw my buddy Trent dancing with yet another random girl he just met. I swear that dude solely exists to break hearts.

"Hey! Garrett! Did you get the drinks?

"I got one. If you want one, go get it yourself."

"Ah fuck you! But seriously though aren't you scared your dad's gonna show up? I mean he IS a cop around here."

"Probably not. I'm sure there's lots of parties going on right now. What are the chances that he'd come to this one?” I noticed someone started talking to Brittney. It must've been bad because she widened her eyes and turned the music off. With the new silence in the room, we could hear the blaring police sirens outside.

"Shit who called the cops?" Someone said. The door opened and none other than my stupid dad appeared. His ugly bald head reflected the multicolored lights and he looked around at everyone, while I tried to hide myself behind the crowd. Beside him was the sheriff, Marty. My dad may have been good friends with Marty but he didn’t have to bring the fucking sheriff for something as simple as this.

"Allright allright, party's over. Nobody's getting arrested as long as you cooperate." Everyone started walking out the door and I was exposed. My dad widened his eyes when he noticed me.

"Garrett?! What the fuck are you doing? You know better than that!" He just HAD to start the lecture NOW out of all times, embarrassing me in front of everyone.

"What? I can't come to a party now?"

"Don't try excuses on me! I saw that cup in your hand. What? You expect me to believe that's water? Get in the car. Everybody else move it!” We both started walking outside while Marty stayed to lead the others.

Inside the police car, we were silent for a while until he blew up on me once again.

"I can't believe you were fucking underage drinking! Do you have any idea how irresponsible you are?! You're in your senior year of high school. Do you really think that’s going to be a good habit when you go to college?! You're grounded until graduation. I don't care how harsh that sounds. Graduation you hear?” I knew that nothing I said would change anything so I kept my mouth shut the rest of the car ride.

Back at home, we said nothing to each other as I walked up to my room and slammed the door. About an hour went by and I heard a knock, followed by my dad coming in.

"Hey."

"Go away."

"I just wanted to say that I overreacted a bit back there. It made me so angry seeing the type of person you might’ve ended up as." He was fumbling with his wedding ring. I don't know why he keeps it on anyway. I never knew my mom, and it's clear my dad is divorced so why does he wear a damn wedding ring? He needs to find a girlfriend or something!

“You have no idea how stressful it is! Why can’t I go to some little party just to unwind?”

“I was young once too! I just don’t want you to go down a bad path. You have so much more to learn. This isn’t a good habit to form when you go to college.” It was then that I blew up on him.

“Hey at least I am going to college! Unlike a certain dumbass cop…” His eyes widened and I saw nothing but pure anger on his face,

"I was going to shorten your grounding sentence, but after that attitude not anymore!" He then slammed the door once again.

Trent texted me a bit later, asking if I was going to be able to go to Brittney’s homecoming party. Shit! I forgot about that! There was no way I was going to miss it so we devised a plan for me to sneak out.

The night arrived and I had my plan all set. Trent was going to call the cops on some other party to lure my dad away. When he leaves, Trent will come and pick me up and it's party time! I was in my room pretending to be bored, when right on schedule, my dad came in.

"I got another dumbass party to shut down so stay here, and don't even think about leaving this room. You're still grounded." He had a serious look in his eye.

"Sure sure. I'll be good," I said sarcastically. I looked out the window and as soon as his car was out of sight, I texted Trent. Within minutes he arrived. I quickly got dressed and he picked me up.

"Dude, you're either the bravest guy ever, or the stupidest."

"Hey, I won't stay too long. Just enough to see what it's like really. And then I'll be back in my room before he comes home."

The house was easily twice as packed as the last party, it was incredible. Brittney came down the stairs and approached me with a confused look on her face.

"Hey, wait I thought you were grounded or something. Aren't you afraid your dad is gonna come back? He better not."

"Nah, relax. He's doing some other stupid police work. I won't stay too long anyway."

"Allright, if you say so."

I went to the kitchen, like last time, to find an even bigger variety of drinks! Nobody else was in there so I thought I'd experiment myself this time. I picked up the shaker and started pouring drinks, even though I didn't know what the hell they were. But I didn't care! I'm just glad I was able to sneak away from my dad. I tried the drink and…well it was actually awful. Oh well. I headed to the dance floor and started showing off my moves. I could hear everyone cheering me on until I felt a bit faint. The last thing I remembered was falling over and a couple people looking at me concerned.

When I opened my eyes, I was outside in the dark. What happened? Was I that drunk and they kicked me out? I felt pretty normal though. I walked back up to the door. When I closed it, a draft flew in, which was especially cold on my head for some reason. I let out a deep breath and when I turned around, everyone was staring at me. But it wasn't the type of confused stare I expected; it was a terrified stare. The music stopped and it felt like they were staring into my soul.

"Uh, I'm ok now.” My voice sounded really weird. There was an awkward silence until someone shouted in the back.

"Well party's over…AGAIN!" As everyone started walking out, I noticed Brittney was yelling at someone on the floor.

"Nah, fuck you Garrett. You're not allowed here again. Get up!" Weird coincidence that there was a guy with the same name as me on the dance floor too. As the crowd cleared, I felt a chill down my back as I found “Garrett” looked exactly like me! He seemed to be unconscious. When I approached him and Brittney, she looked up at me…which was weird because we were the same height. Did she get shorter or something?

"Oh uh, he didn't get beat up or anything bad. Just had a few drinks I guess." She spoke so compliantly, unlike the normal way she gives me attitude with every sentence. I noticed the guy on the floor was wearing my clothes too. He didn't just look like me, he WAS me! Was he a clone or something? What's going on? A breeze came through the still-opened door and hit my head again. Why is it so cold up there? I touched the back of my head, and felt a smooth spot. What the fuck? I searched around for my hair…for ANY hair! But all I could find was a smooth bald head. It couldn't be…I looked down at myself and found I was wearing a police officer's uniform, complete with the badge and full utility belt. Brittney stared at me, concerned.

"Is uh everything all right, officer?" No no! Don't call me that!

"I uh, can I use your bathroom?"

"Uh yeah, it's up the stairs and to the left."

As I made my way up and through the hallway, I stared down at my hands, noticing eerily similar things - a wedding ring and a watch that looked exactly like the one my dad wore. I opened the bathroom door and quickly locked it. I gazed into the mirror to find my fears had come true. I turned into my dad!

I grabbed my cheeks and tried pinching them, to make sure it wasn't all a prank and I was just wearing a mask, but nope. I could feel it all. It was real. Fuck! I saw how smooth and shiny my head was; I knew he shaved his head every morning, but I didn't realize how smooth doing that actually made it. It's like a fuckin bowling ball. I hate this! I had long hair before and now it's just all gone! It was freezing up there! I hated cops, so it was really uncomfortable wearing an officer's uniform too.

"Hey are you ok in there?" It was Brittney. I faked a flush and washed my hands.

"Is Garrett still asleep?" It felt weird referring to myself in the 3rd person.

"Yeah he won't wake up."

"I'll just carry him to the car."

Brittany walked to the kitchen, probably to clean up the alcohol before I saw the amount of it. When I got to the living room, I found Marty standing there. He looked up when he approached me and pointed at me.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?” Shit. Does he know?!

“I’m sorry I-” He turned his fake frown into a smile.

“Don’t be. Sometimes we just can’t let anything else come before our duty. Even me.” He leaned over to kiss me. What?! What’s going on? “I guess we’ll have to reschedule that date to some other time.”

A date? Does this mean the whole time, my dad was gay? And for Marty? Was the whole wedding ring thing a facade? Marty actually had one too so maybe they both did it to prevent a scandal within the police department or something? I snapped back to reality when I noticed Marty was still waiting for an answer.

“Uh yeah, sure. Of course!”

“Good! Let me know!” He rubbed my bald head. It was then that I started getting hard …my dad's cock was getting hard. Marty wasn’t my type though! But suddenly the thought of him was making me feel good. Is this because I'm in my dad's body or because he's flirting with me?

I picked up..myself..off the dance floor and put him over my shoulder. I walked over to my dad's police car, and reached into my pocket for the keys to open it. I placed…myself inside, buckled him in, took my phone out of his pocket, and sat down in the driver's seat. I always hated my dad and hated cops in general but it felt pretty awesome actually sitting in the driver's seat of a police car. Like one of those movies where they have to steal one to save the world or something. The flashing lights were still on, but luckily I knew how to turn them off. I pressed the button and began driving home.

When I got home, I picked up my body once again, and carried him. It didn't really occur to me earlier, but if I'm in my dad's body, does this mean he's in my body? Fuck, I can't stand the thought of my dad going around embarrassing me in front of everyone! But he still hadn't woken up yet. What if whatever magical spell made us swap was keeping him asleep? But if he does wake up I need somewhere to put him at least. I walked upstairs and towards his room, and placed him on his own bed. I guess that'll do. I went over to my own room and plopped onto my bed, the pillow feeling extra comfy touching my bare head. I rubbed it again, actually kinda enjoying how it felt. Even though the body belongs to my dad, I'm still borrowing it right now. So I guess I have the freedom to touch myself anywhere. Not that I would want to go…down there. That's my dad's cock, gross! But I'm gonna need to jerk off eventually; I'm already feeling kinda horny now…but why? The thought of Marty crossed my mind and I suddenly was imagining him naked. Shit, not this again. He kinda was cute though, in like a lame cop kinda way. Man, I honestly wanna fuck him now.

At this point my cock was getting so stiff that I could barely take it. I started stripping, taking the heavy utility belt off first. Each garment came off until I was just in my dad's boxers.

I can't believe I was about to do this. I felt around my new dad bod, then peeled the underwear down to see my dad's cock. It was actually pretty big, maybe like 10 inches or so! So nasty…but I had to focus on the thought of Marty to stay hard. I took the underwear off so I was fully nude, laid down on my bed and started jerking it. I imagined Marty cornering me against the wall, kissing me until he grabbed my cock. He then got down on his knees and started sucking it until…I was pulled out of my fantasy and came. The white load shot all over my bed, much further than I could ever do in my body! After the climax wore off, I realized how gross it was that my dad's cum was all over my bed. But it felt so good! Actually, I have no clue how long I'm gonna be like this, or how long my dad is going to stay asleep so I could definitely take over his life for a bit. I'm not grounded anymore! Even better, I guess I'm a cop now so I have power and authority! I took my dad's phone - I mean MY phone - and called up Marty.

"Hey Marty, I have an idea…”

#strangemaleswaps #male body swap #body swap #dad body swap

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phramboise · 7 months

Text

— murder to excellence:: königxgn!reader

you know he’s going to pull the trigger eventually, how kind of him to wait a little longer. 💋

tags and warnings:: detailed torture (?), angst, hints of lovers to enemies, blood, character death, strong language, MDNI, 888 words, no gender related affirmations, no “y/n”s

“zehn,”

Everybody knows he’s cruel. Now that you’re tied onto the chair with ropes cutting your joints, you are once more aware. With his figure looming over you, his head almost brushes the light bulb hanging down the ceiling, he could kill you on the spot. He could crush your skull with his bare hands and it would be no sweat to him, he would sickly enjoy it. A ruthless monster.

“neun,”

Your body winces in pain, the knife draws down on your skin, a trail of blood follows along. He tuts, such a pity, he says. You shake uncontrollably, fever takes over you. Such waste you will be. Blood drips down your chin with every drop of rusty water leaking from the ceiling above your head. They move in sync, both taking the heat off your body, sending you into a frenzy.

The room smells like dust, coppery with blood pooling around your heels, wall paint and gunpowder. This is the end, you think. Would you even survive at this state even if he were to let you go? You highly doubt that.

“acht,”

“It’s infected.” He digs deeper into the bullet wound on your shoulder with the metal pipe in his hand, it throbs, and you can smell the wrenching liquid if you lean your head towards it. It feels like your heart pulsates all over your body, “How long has it been? The bullet’s twisting inside you. You’d need this arm amputated to live. That is, if you tell me what I want.” Shut up and just end it already.

You’ve lost feeling on your fingertips of your injured arm days ago. Feeling it with your other hand, the skin is cooler, and you don’t even feel a single tingling, not even when you pinch it with all the remains of your power. It’s obvious that he pities you, he didn’t even bother tying your hands together. He knows you cannot make it.

He’s not halfway done yet.

“sieben,”

Your ears ring as he slaps your face, the leather of his gloves imprinted on your cheek. Your head falls down. You feel the soft flesh bleeding inside your mouth, seeing the teeth on it now lay on the concrete floor. Tongue dancing over it, now blood fills your mouth too. It’s surprising that you have this much of it in you.

Is it better to speak or to die?

You never try.

“sechs,”

He’s not that gone in the brain, he does not enjoy watching you groan in pain, maybe just a little, for the limitless authority it provides. He can do anything he wants to you. He could waste his bullets on you, he could reload and do it over and over even with one being enough to kill you. He could take the air off your writhing throat, make you go limp with one hand wrapped around your delicate neck. He can just snap it, he can just slit it.

“fünf,”

Then, what’s stopping him? You’re not the vision he imagines in his dreams anymore, no. You’re a traitor. A bloody spy with a regret-filled past, tearing things just for the thrill. Look at you now. Tied helplessly for months. “Just tell me what I need, I’ll spare you. I truly mean to spare you.” You think he means it, that he’s beneath you, even now. He does not, and he surely isn’t.

Those days are long past gone.

Still, you’re one tough shit. Never parting lips, never making a word out. He decides to ask first. He’s been meaning to. Your lips twitch before putting on a smile as he tries to shake his thoughts off.

“Why?”

“It’s nothing personal, Liebling. Just business.” Last sentence can’t make it vocal, coarse feel of your throat barely makes it above a whisper.

He’s not good at reading people. All his life he believed the words they say are the ones they truly mean. He doesn’t get better this time either. He doesn’t need to anymore.

You’re the monster. A fucking siren that lured him into possessions he never thought he would experience, thinking you would get away without him realising you’ve been fooling him all this time.

He’s recluse indeed, but never is a coward.

You think you win. Can you ever?

“vier,”

He’s in a haze. He knew from the beginning what you are, yet he couldn’t stop himself from partaking in the compulsion you offer. He felt it on your skin, tasted it on your lips. The more venomous the feeling, the more it ignited.

Back then. Now he’s aware. That wasn’t love. That was an illusion. He was desperate back then to feel something, and you were there, giving it to him. He mistook it back then.

Not now, no.

“drei,”

Your head moves up as he grabs your chin firmly, lifting your head more than harsh, eyes meeting yours. You see, there’s no remorse when he looks down at you. Once with compassion, now with hatred. You missed the thin line, went overboard. You lost.

“zwei,”

You see the slight tilt of his head, and the twitch at the corner of his eye. Forehead meets the muzzle of the pistol, the one you gifted him, it’s cold against your skin.

He’s never felt worthy of love anyway.

“eins.”

He pulls the trigger.

...

#könig x you #könig cod #call of duty #cod mwii #könig #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #mwii #könig imagine

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fuckingstrange · 4 months

Text

——————————————————————————————————————

| Day19: stay awake |

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WARNINGS: Reader gets shot (gsw to neck), near-death experience, bleeding (no shit?)

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WORDS: 1,434

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PAIRING: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

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Ignore the fact that I'm literally procrastinating in making a Pt.2 to the Diana Reid fic..

Next fic gonna be based off that gif bc oh LAWD.

An Unsub stands in front of you, gun against your neck, the barrel cold against your skin. You don't back down, Reids words of warning threats to the Unsub going unheard.

“You fucking pussy.” You spit, the Unsub's face filling with anger as he presses the gun more against your neck, shouting “What the fuck did you just say!?”. You keep a blank stare, showing no signs of fear. “I called you a pussy. What, are you suddenly deaf? Being deaf would make it hard to hear the terrified screams of your victims that you love so much.” You taunt, the Unsub only growing more angry, trembling in pure rage.

Your words seem to be the last string, because there's suddenly a gunshot sounding throughout the room. You drop to the floor just as you hear a second one, Reid having shot the Unsub. Your head smacks against the floor, vision blurring as blood squirts from your neck. Reid is on his knees next to you, without thinking, using both hands to squeeze over the wound as tight as he can.

The bullet luckily only went through the side rather than center of your throat due to the Unsub’s rageful trembling, the clean enter/exit wound getting covered by each of Reids cold hands. He squeezes hard, a whine sounding from your throat when it nearly cuts off your oxygen.

He adjusts his grip, trying to make it so you can breathe better, but it doesn't help much considering blood is slowly rising in your throat. Panic sets in, you smack the cold concrete floor, trying to get Reid’s attention.

He hears your palm smacking against the floor, glancing over at your hand before looking at his own around your neck. Blood spills on the floor beneath your head, crawling into your hair and soaking into the fabric of his pants over his knees.

You whimper fearfully when the room seems like it's beginning to dim, smacking harder as it gets harder to breathe from the panic and blood rising in your throat. Reid’s eyes widen and he leans closer to you, whispering, “Hey, hey, you're okay. That's it. There you go, Flail, whine, cry, do anything you need to, just stay awake.”

You try to respond, though only end up coughing up blood. He loses any bit of fear of the biohazard that is being covered in your blood, instead pulling your head into his lap and keeping his palms digging into the wound from front to back. “It's okay, it's okay. Don't be scared, it's just a little blood. Cough it out, let it out.” He says frantically, much rather wanting you to get the blood out of your mouth than choke on it.

He looks around, wondering where the fuck everybody is, if anybody even heard the shot, because to him it was loud as can be when it went off. He swears that he can still hear it ringing in his ears. He glances over at the Unsub's now lifeless body, not feeling an ounce of remorse for him since he's the reason you're nearly dying in his lap.

His attention is pulled back to you when you reach up and begin smacking him on the leg, your whimpers beginning to get weaker and weaker as you try to alert him that you can feel yourself leaving. His heart sinks as he squeezes tighter, though all it ends up doing is making it harder for you to breathe.

It stops the blood, though. So he takes this as a chance to try and drag you the few feet out into the open, your nearly lifeless body being pulled out into the snow. You can faintly hear him start screaming for the team, and within seconds there's sirens all around. You black out for a minute, waking to see Hotch and Morgan stand over you, lifting you from the snow and pulling you towards an ambulance that showed up at some point.

You keep going in and out, and each time your eyes open, you see Reid right there with you, feel his hands in your hair, a gentle grip to try and soothe you as the paramedics bandage you up and try to keep you awake for longer each time.

You pass out a few more times throughout the five minute ride, once waking to the paramedic when they stick an IV needle in your arm, once waking up when Reid kisses your forehead, once waking when they're pulling you from the ambulance and wheeling you inside.

The next few days seem to blur together, you're basically left alone in a hospital room after your surgery, labeled as “too unstable” to have any visitors just yet. A nurse wakes you up by changing the bandages on your neck every few hours, over the next few days she has to change them less and less because of how it's healing, getting down to twice a day.

Once people are finally allowed to visit you, it's only two people at a time. First Hotch and Morgan came to visit you, spending an hour with you before heading out. Next you saw Garcia and JJ, each spending at least three hours just hugging you and making sure the nurse is treating you gently during bandage changes. You expected to see Reid that day, but he was nowhere.

The next day, fourth day rolls around, and you wake up to a knock on the room door. A doctor walks in, followed by your doctor, Reid. Your eyes immediately light up when you see him, arms flying open in hopes of a hug, to which he gladly accepts. He kisses your cheek, giving you a gentle squeeze while whispering, “Told you that you'd be okay.”. You just smile and pull him in for an actual kiss, hearing the doctor chuckle and comment on your eagerness.

Reid pulls back, taking a seat next to you and letting his hand rest on your thigh. You each look over at the doctor when he starts to explain how to care for your wounds, and you give him a slightly confused look. Then, it clicks. “I'm going home!” You exclaim happily, voice still hoarse from the lack of talking during your recovery. “Yeah, you've been here nearly a week and are healing up nicely, so we're letting you head out a bit early.” The doctor says with a smile, passing you the discharge papers, chuckling when you sign it as quickly as possible.

The doctor clears up a few more things, demonstrating to Reid and you how to change the bandaging and giving him a list on the things you should avoid to finish recovering smoothly. Like having to yell, eating foods you need to chew a lot, no pressure around the wound, can't move your neck too much, etc. He takes the papers and bids you good luck on your at-home recovery, exiting the room so you can get ready to leave.

Reid helps you get out of the hospital gown and into the clothes he had brought you, kissing you wherever he can besides your neck as he tells you how much he missed you during the four days he couldn't see you, also scolding you on your bold choice of words that nearly got you killed in the hands of the Unsub.

Reid slips on your shoes for you, pointing out that he's not gonna let you even lift a finger during your recovery. “I may have gotten shot in the neck, but that doesn't mean my hands are affected.” You groan, giving him a playful nudge. “Don't care, I'm still gonna take care of you. Now, come on. Let's go home.” He grabs a hold of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you out of the hospital room, eventually out of the hospital into the cold, snow-covered parking lot.

He gets you into the car, and before you can even fight back or do it yourself, he buckles you in. You smile at him, deciding to not argue with him on taking care of you, instead thanking him and giving him a quick kiss. He smiles back and makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting the door, running around and hopping into the driver side. He throws it into drive and backs out of the parking space, leaving so quick you might as well think he's running from somebody. When, really, he's just eager to get you home where he can cuddle you and treat you like royalty.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x gn!reader #hotboxed x-mas ficlist #comfort #I lobe gore #this has none (i think)#woohoo #yippee yippee yippee

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cielcius · 1 year

Text

haha imagine shouto gets hit w a quirk and has a devil and angel appear.

pro-hero!shouto x doctor!g/n!reader

The sirens that ring through the streets of Musutafu echo in Shouto’s ears, bringing a headache with a sharp whip that takes a crack at his temple. Finally, after a long and unnecessarily drawn-out battle, the villain was down with their head ducking into the police car, hands cuffed behind their back as they struggle to get out one last curse to Pro-Hero Shouto.

“Curse him back.”

Shouto looks up, perplexed at the new voice but there’s nobody around him, or at least not close enough to have been so loud, and Shouto swore he was starting to see the words form in front of him. “Who said…” He trails off, moreover being physically interrupted as the paramedics usher him off the battle scene and to an ambulance where they can tend to his injuries. As they start to bandage the cut on his arm, the voice makes its appearance again.

“Stick your finger up their nose. It’ll be funny.”

“Don’t stick your finger up their nose, even if it is funny.”

This time, Shouto is sure to survey his surroundings, eyes narrow as they look for the source of the voices. Though halfway through his search, his headache comes back with a sharp pang, forcing him to close his eyes in order to bear the pain. “Mr. Shouto, are you alright?” Shouto waves it off as a headache, a concussion at worst, which isn’t anything new to him.

Or maybe the part about hearing voices was worst, he couldn’t tell at the moment as the mentioned voices had started to invade with ideas, and ideas opposing those ideas. As far as he could tell, there were two voices that sounded frighteningly similar to his own, now that he’s heard a good amount of the conversations that went something like:

“That villain was such a bastard. He oughta follow them to the pound and give them a piece of his mind. Just imagine, the look on their face.”

“He’s not gonna follow them, much less beat them up. Sure, they might have been a little rude and violent but everybody has bad days.”

“Well that guy had a bad week if you ask me. Maybe a few of them for him to have fought like such a whiny little bi—”

“Can you stop?” Shouto’s outburst comes sudden and frustrated, having been annoyed to the limit where the need to speak seemed necessary.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Shouto.” At the meek voice, Shouto comes to the realization that nobody besides himself can hear the voices.

“Oh, look what you made him do. Now the paramedic is scared. Go on, apologize.”

“Wait! Sorry, I was talking to someone else.” At Shouto’s claim, the paramedic takes a look over of the scene around them—and there’s no one near conversing range. The paramedic looks back at Shouto with their eyebrows knitted, cautious hands still moving in practiced motions to fix him up. “Mr. Shouto, are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me if there’s something bothering you, or I can help with your transport to the hospital.”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

—

“Mister Todoroki Shouto? Can I come in?” Shouto nods, pausing before he voices a confirmation for the doctor to enter the makeshift room of curtains. Beyond the white curtains, he can hear the shouts of nurses and the squeaking wheels of stretchers being rolled to and fro. When the curtain is drawn to let the doctor enter, the sounds increase before trailing off into a muffle again.

“Oh, they’re a pretty one. Bet they’re a good fu—”

“How about you leave it at pretty.”

Shouto can’t stop the slight turn down of his lips at the voices, half-vexed at the atrocity and yet, he finds himself agreeing—his doctor is really pretty. “Hi, I’m Doctor Y/n L/n. I heard something happened with you out on the field?” Shouto nods, the only question in his mind being how to explain what happened.

“Okay, can you tell me what happened?” Shouto purses his lips together before nodding. “Uh, I keep hearing myself.” The voices start again, bantering between each other over Shouto’s recent statement.

“He just messed up our chance with Mx. Hot Doctor.”

“They have a name! It’s Doctor L/n, and that’s not even what we’re here for!”

“Ah, shut up. You obviously wouldn’t get it. I mean, look at them.”

Shouto doesn’t know why, but he finds himself eyeing you from head to toe, looking back up to meet wide eyes. “Mister Todoroki, do you think there’s another way to explain it?” You’re obviously uncomfortable, and Shouto doesn’t blame you. He doesn’t even know why he did that.

“They’re arguing.”

“They?”

“Yes, the voices. They sound like me, but there’s two of them, and they keep arguing about you—” Shouto stops when the voices interrupt him.

“Dipshit, why the hell would you tell Mx. Hot Doctor that?”

“It’s Doctor L/n!”

Shouto gauges for your reaction, suddenly feeling the urge to stand up and leave when he finds you speechless in the presence of his words, before you seem to come to your senses. “Okay,” you write something on a clipboard. “Are they sentient? Like saying things that aren’t your original thoughts?” Shouto begins to nod before stopping abruptly. Did it count if he agreed with what they were saying though?

“Well, they say things that I don’t think of, but I agree with them.” You scribble some more on the clipboard. “Okay, can you tell what they’ve been saying? Are they telling you to do something? Any harmful, or perhaps violent thoughts?” Shouto tilts his head in question. Though they hadn’t prompted him to do so much as set fires to buildings, at least one of the two voices didn’t seem to voice completely harmless thoughts.

“They’re not telling me to do anything right now, but one of them seems to want to do something, and the other voice says not to do it.” You nod and scribble more down, and Shouto wonders if you have the so-called “doctor’s chicken scratch” writing.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. We’re clearly causing trouble for Doctor L/n.”

“If we wanted to cause trouble, we can still burn the building down.”

“They’re telling me to burn the building down.” Shouto feels as if it was something to tell you, but the same feeling of wanting to stand up and leave returns when you stare at him blankly. “I’m gonna transfer you to ICU.”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

#tea stained letters 🍵#vi’s scribbles #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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childotkw · 1 year

Note

I can't stop thinking that for 'Listening Ears' Harry might have a Kelpy friend or something? Like, just a general friendship with dark mythical creatures, like attracts like and all that good stuff. And everybody is just so confused and terrified that Harry gets along so well with all these extremely dangerous creatures. Just food for thought :D

Oh I love this because there are some great similarities between sirens and kelpie and the whole 'luring humans into the water' schtick! But I might tweak it a little to fit!

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

Harry is a year into his stay at the orphanage when the matron announces they'll be taking a trip to the sea, excitement sparkling in her kind eyes.

They're ushered onto a bus three days later, chattering and buzzing and Harry, still more quiet than not most days, relaxes back into the worn leather seat with a soft sigh.

The trip takes almost two hours with traffic not on their side, but when they get there, the sand and rocks and eye-stinging wind carrying the unmistakable scent of salt, Harry's mouth drops open in wonder.

Because this is the sea, and even with the overcast sky painting it a dark, stormy grey, the water makes the song in Harry's head ring high and sweet.

For the first time in his life, he feels like he's home.

He barely listens to the matron explaining the rules, her voice falling away beneath the lulling, rhythmic beat of the waves, and as they're finally allowed to explore, Harry - small and silent and strange - easily slips away.

He wanders along the shoreline, shoes in hand, little feet sinking into the wet sand and salt water swirling around his ankles in welcome. Soon, the noise from the rest of the kids disappears, replaced by the call of the sea, and a part of Harry that has always been coiled up tight in his throat finally...loosens.

And when he opens his mouth and speaks for the first time in what feels like months, it's to sing.

"The waves in the sea go, up and down, up and down, up and down, the waves in the sea go, up and down, all day long."

He kicks out at the next wave lightly, splashing some of the water, his words trailing off into a gentle hum that echoes over the beach, far from any pair of ears that might hear him.

Except one.

Harry's head snaps up just as he feels the cold waft of a breath on the nape of his neck. He spins around, terrified for half a moment that it is one of the other kids - that this time the person who heard him will succeed where Dudley failed with the traffic, that they will turn and walk calmly into the water and not come out again - but it isn't a person behind him.

It's a horse.

Harry's eyes widen, his hands falling limply to his side as he stares up at the animal.

It doesn't look like the pictures he's seen in books, standing there with its wet fur and dripping, matted mane. There's nothing majestic about this one, or, or grand - like a knight's stead or one of the racing horses Uncle Vernon used to watch on the television.

It looks cold and...and forgotten. Neglected, and Harry knows what that feels like intimately.

The horses huffs at him again, cold rushing over his cheeks and bringing with it a frigid bite. He blinks, licks his lips, tastes the sour air and salt and something else that makes him think of river mud and moss and rot.

He wants to touch, to reach out and pull some of the clinging seaweed from its mane, but when his fingers twitch and his arm starts to lift, the horse dances back a step, avoiding his touch - and Harry stills because there is a gleam in those milky white eyes that warns him away.

No, the steady calm on its face says, expressive in a way normal animals aren't. I won't take you, the words whisper in his head, and Harry wonders if this, this creature is speaking directly into his mind.

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

A.k.a a kelpie that is a long way from home found local siren-descendent and was like oh ho we're basically cousins.

Harry names him Tangle because he's got seaweed tangled in his mane. Tangle might end up following Harry to Hogwarts and chills out on the far side of the Black Lake to the horror of literally everyone.

#butterrcake #HP #Listening Ears AU #harry potter

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ejzah · 7 months

Text

The Agent and the Fireman, Part 15

***

Deeks managed to get his arms in front of him before he hit the ground, saving his face from a face full of gravel but the impact drove all the air from his lungs with a painful whoosh. He couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in his ears.

The weight on his back lifted, making it slightly easier to breathe.

“Deeks. Deeks, are you ok?” Kensi demanded from above him, her voice tinny and faint. He rolled over with a groan, pressing a hand to his chest. Kensi leaned over him, her eyes wild with concern as she grabbed his shoulders.

“Ye—” His response was interrupted by a grating cough, that crackled up his throat. “Yeah, I’m ok.” His ears were still ringing slightly and it felt like the entire building had landed on his chest, but he was alive. “Yeah. Your cheek.”

He reached up where a thin line of blood streaked down from her cheek bone to her jaw.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You’re looking a little rough though.”

Beside them, Callen and Sam were getting to their feet. “Everybody ok?” Sam asked, his voice raspy. He pressed his finger to his ear. “Castor, you clear?”

Once Sam ascertained there weren’t any casualties, Kensi offered Deeks a hand, and he stood, shaking shrapnel from his hair. Now that the initial shock was over, he felt the sting of little cuts along his exposed skin.

Billows of smoke poured from the partially demolished factory, flames flickering from where the roof once was. It had already created a dark cloud around them, bits of debris still lingering in the air.

“We need to get farther away in case there’s a secondary explosion,” he warned. “We have no idea what might be stored in there.”

“As soon as we secure the area. The bomb squad is on the way, but it might be too unstable for them to safely get close enough to check,” Callen said, leading them back across the street. “The second team’s making sure there aren’t any civilians we missed.”

Deeks eyed the building nervously; it was one thing when he entered a burning structure with protective gear and the training to recognize a worthwhile risk. An NCIS Agent with only a bullet proof vest and rifles against possible blazing fire was an entirely different story.

Callen, and Kensi had started rooting around the nearby alleyway, and he could see Sam sizing up the the main entryway.

Hey, everyone needs to get back,” Deeks repeated, taking on an authoritative tone. He saw both Sam and Callen turn to him in surprise. He didn’t give them time to object again. “You may be lead in this case, but I know fire better than any of you.” The sounds of sirens signaling the approach of trucks and squad cars reached them. “Let us check it out before you go running in.”

He expected more pushback, a reminder about their federal status, but Sam looked more impressed than anything, and Callen relented with a nod.

“Ok, we’ll follow your lead then.”

They moved towards the adjacent building as a group, the other team of agents led by Agent Castor joining them after a minute.

“Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical of you to preach caution after some of the stunts you’ve pulled?” Kensi asked once they were at a safer distance.

“Probably,” Deeks agreed. “I’ve seen some nasty things with fire over the years. It sneaks up on people. Besides, I know you guys like to bend protocol. Do you not approve?”

“Actually, I thought it was…very attractive,” Kensi replied with a sly grin. “I always do when you stand up to us like that.”

“Ooh, interesting.”

The arrival of emergency vehicles ended their conversation, and Deeks headed off to grab an extra set of gear and assist with the fire while the others coordinated securing the scene.

“Be careful!” Kensi called after him.

He lost track of her in the melee of it all. First, they let the bomb squad analyze the remains for further signs of explosive devices before taking over. Since most of the outer infrastructure was concrete, it didn’t take long to extinguish the remaining fire.

Deeks and a fire investigator did a walk through to ensure it would be safe for further investigation. When they were finished, he sought out Kensi, Sam, and Callen again.

“Did you find anything?” Callen asked.

“Whatever might have been there is long gone,” Deeks answered Callen’s question grimly. With a frustrated sigh, he tugged his safety helmet off, ruffling his matted hair. “The interior is completely gutted aside from anything metal or stone-based. We were so close.”

“Hey, we’ve closed down one of his avenues,” Kensi pointed out. “Eventually, he’s going to run out of places to hide.”

“Well, we still have his mother at—”

Deeks held up a hand, interrupting Sam mid-sentence. “How many officers did LAPD send?”

“Nine,” Kensi responded instantly. “Why?”

“Because now there’s 10. Guy at your 6 o’clock.” While keeping his body and head oriented towards Kensi, he watched the man lingering near the caution tape. “He’s got a clipboard, and appears to be collecting evidence, but the fit of his vest is a little off, and he’s about McHenry’s height.”

“You’re sure?”

Kensi shifted her body so she was facing Callen, and snuck a discreet glance beyond him.

Deeks inclined his head. “I can’t be positive, but he hasn’t gotten within three yards of anyone else and we know he’s returned to at least one scene previously.” He brushed Kensi’s shoulder in warning as the man turned around, and she hastily looked away.

Callen slowly scanned the entire area, pausing in the direction Deeks had indicated for a few extra seconds. “Ok, don’t make any fast moves, we’ll try to get close enough to him without making him suspicious. Keep an eye on him while we get reinforcements.”

Callen and Sam took off towards the lead LAPD officer.

“Too late,” Kensi growled a minute later. “He’s on the move.”

Sure enough, the man had started walking in the opposite direction, heading away from the man road and building.

Kensi put a hand on Deeks’ arm as he started to pursue. “Wait, where are you going?”

“You really want him to get away again?”

Kensi considered his question for a few seconds, and then dropped her hand, letting out another growl. “C’mon,” she said, which was all the encouragement Deeks needed to break into a run, Kensi easily keeping pace with him.

***

A/N: Ooh, look at that, we’re getting closer! I hope you’re still enjoying this story, fireman Deeks, and all the many liberties I take with fire protocol.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #fireman Deeks #firefighter au #Deeks is hot #the agent and the fireman #part 15 #mild drama #mild whump #Deeks whump #ejzah fanfiction

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ciipinyomomsdms · 3 months

Text

Call Signs

Small COD: Cold War drabble (less than 1k words)

Also on ao3 here

Reader as Bell. Contains Spoiler for campaign. Tags under cut

Tags: Implied/Referenced brainwashing, No ships, one shot, migraines and headaches, swearing

They call you Bell.

You’re not entirely sure why.

Well… that’s not entirely true. You know why they call you Bell. It’s a callsign. Your callsign. Your very own special nickname. What you don’t know is why you’re the only one to have one.

Adler. Park. Sims. Woods. Mason. Lazar. Hudson.

You know call signs aren’t unusual. You’ve been a soldier for 10 years. No, 20. No 5? Since the war. Why can’t you remember? Years. You’ve worked with plenty of other soldiers who had codenames. From the KGB. M16. The Cia every unit you’ve been in, from every country you’ve visited. Butcher. Cub. Niagara. You know it’s normal in this field, something to both keep anonymity and keep things fun…

But they had reasons for their call signs. Stories. Memories attached to them… you don’t. The name ‘Bell’ doesn’t bring up any nostalgia or amusement to your mind. It’s been your callsign since Vietnam and you can’t even remember why-

You groan. The concrete floor of the safehouse seems to swim as another migraine comes on. You get them sometimes. A steady thump, thump, thump on the right side of your head. Right by your temple. You can’t fully muffle the low groan that falls from your lips as you rub the spot through your balaclava, feeling the small bump of a scar there. Arash. The fucker betrayed you. Shot you, the bullet barely missed. Blood stains the seats of the car and you’re sure you’re dead- How did you get that again?

“Everything alright, Bell?” Park asks. You jerk at the sudden noise. Looking up, you realize every eye in the safehouse is locked on you. Park takes a step forward and tilts her head the slightest bit, her lip quirks downward.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” you mumble, “another migraine. Nothing major.”

Park lets out a deep breath, she gives a slight nod. You feel like you can breathe again too. You hate when they do that. Stare at you. You feel like someone on the team is always watching you. Like you aren’t on the same side as they are you’re not. You’re not. You’re not. Park walks away, going towards a drawer in the small office and returns with two small pills.

“Here. These should help.” She watches as you pop them in your mouth and swallow dry. Your head is starting to feel like someone’s taking an ax to your skull and you just want it to stop. “Better?”

“Don’t know. Just took ‘em.” You quip. Nobody laughs. You mumble out an apology but either none of them hear or none of them care. Probably a healthy mix of both.

“Take it easy, Bell.” Adler claps you on the back as he returns to his seat in the middle of the room. He does it a bit too hard, your body jolting slightly under the force and making your head swim some more. You give him a glare but he doesn’t even look back at you.

“Why does everybody even call me that anyway?” You ask.

He stiffens. He leans back in his seat, arms crossing. His blue eyes peer at you over the rim of his sunglasses and you suddenly feel cold. Your stomach churns like you might be sick.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks.

“My call sign,” you clarify, “What’s the story behind it?” For one, brief moment, the safehouse is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Nobody seems to breathe. Nobody seems to move. There is no wind. No rumble of cars driving down the shitty dirt road outside. All you hear is your own breathing and the pounding in your head that currently reminds you of a siren. You feel strange, an odd sense of otherness settles deep in your bones. It almost feels like you don’t belong here. The pounding on your head resembles the pounding on a door. A red door. A bunker door. Perseus. He thinks you’re a traitor. He thinks you betrayed him. He must be so disappointed in you.

“Bell.” Adler finally says, he seems to force his muscles to relax. “As in ‘ring a bell’. We started calling you that during the war. You could never seem to remember anything.” He leans back against the table like he usually does, his eyes hidden safely behind his sunglasses once more. You look towards the evidence board, just in case you have to look into them again.

“Seems you still can’t.” He continues. He laughs but there is no real warmth behind it. Just the vague imitation of fondness. It feels almost like he is chuckling simply to placate you. “Get out of your head, Bell. We’ve got a job to do.”

Your headache stops. The pounding stops. The meds must have finally kicked in. You feel your migraine disappear behind a thick fog. You feel at home again. You know these people. Why on earth would you question their friendship?

“Sorry. You know me. Glad it still fits me though. My memory’s at this point. I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t attached.” You joke. Adler chuckles again, this time it does sound real.

You can’t even remember what pathways your mind was trying to lead you down, not when you feel like you’re floating. Your mind is soup. You don’t care. Adler is right.

You’ve got a job to do.

#cod: cold war #call of duty cold war #cod bell #fanfiction #small drabble

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areyoudreaminof · 11 months

Text

To Hell With a Reputation: A Mor Playlist

Not who you were expecting? Neither was I! Mor caught me by surprise the first time I read ACOMAF. This bright, fearless, and loyal lady was the first female friend Feyre had ever had, giving her the guidance that the males in her new fae life weren't quite able to give. "Don't Let The Hard Days Win" is probably a mantra for most of us now. Beneath that bubbly exterior, you have this complex individual who has survived terrible trauma and hides a lot of herself, to her own detriment. I think she deserves more in story. Like Cassian's playlist, I gave myself a lot more leeway with the music. Much more colorful sounds, but some darker lyrics. Listen Here! And meet me behind the cut!

PYNK-Janelle Monáe. Grimes)

Pynk like the paradise found Pynk when you're blushing inside, baby Pynk is the truth you can't hide, maybe Pynk like the folds of your brain, crazy Pynk as we all go insane

'Cause, boy, it's cool if you got blue We got the pynk

Raspberry Swirl-Tori Amos

I am not your señorita I am not from your tribe If you want inside her well Boy, you better make her raspberry swirl Things are getting desperate When all the boys can't be men Everybody knows I'm her friend Everybody knows I'm her man

Jesca Hoop-Free of the Feeling

When the ringing bell falls deaf, we go look for dark Where no flag is waving red, we look for dark Out where there's no whites of eyes, out where there's no stars Casting far and watching night, we go look for dark

To get free of the feeling Free of the feeling

Uninvited-Alanis Morissette

Like anyone would be I am flattered by your fascination with me Like any hot blooded woman I have simply wanted an object to crave But you, you're not allowed You're uninvited An unfortunate slight Must be strangely exciting To watch the stoic squirm

Same Ol' Mistakes-Rihanna

I can just hear them now "How could you let us down?" But they don't know what I found Or see it from this way around Feeling it overtake All that I used to hate Worried 'bout every trait I tried but it's way too late All the signs I don't read Two sides of me can't agree When I breathe in too deep Going with what I always longed for

Birch Tree-Foals

Come meet me by the river See how time it flows I'll meet you by the river See how time it flows And when we age Shed our skin and grow We shed our layers Spread our wings and go

Some things Cosmic-Angel Olsen

Before we draw, my dear dear friend I promise you my word If we should part, my dear dear love You know you’re in my heart And though I may be getting older Know that I'm going with you Know that I'm hanging on to the things that you said The things that you said

Laura Palmer-Bastille

Walking out into the dark, cutting out a different path Lead by a beating heart All the people of the town cast their eyes right to the ground In matters of the heart The night was all you had You ran into the night from all you had Found yourself a path up on the ground You ran into the night; you can't be found But this is your heart Can you feel it? Can you feel it?

Ocean Drive-Duke Dumont

As the sirens fill the lonely air Oh, how did we get here now, now, now, babe We see a storm is closing in Pretending we ain't scared

Don't say a word while we dance with the devil You brought a fire to a world so cold We're out of time on the highway to never Hold on (Hold on), hold on (Hold on)

Silent Machine-Cat Power

I walk on through woods and its streets every night Walk through people who walk too close Into each other they're hanging I am told there's a mother you may remember

In the name of the father but never the ghost Me I use the money for those just as hard Who hung his head for the ladies or pretended he did

The Lion's Roar-First Aid Kit

But don't you come here and say I didn't warn you About the way your world can alter And oh how you try to command it all still Every single time it all shifts one way or the other And I'm a goddamn coward, but then again so are you And the lion's roar, the lion's roar Has me evading and hollering for you And I never really knew what to do

Leave a Trace-CHVRCHES

I will show restraint Just like we said we should You think I'll apologise for things I left behind But you got it wrong And I'm as sane as I ever was You talk far too much For someone so unkind I will wipe the salt off of my skin And I'll admit that I got it wrong And there is grey between the lines

Birth in Reverse-St. Vincent

Like a birth in reverse What I saw through the blinds You could say that I'm saying Phenomenal lies On the cosmic eternity Party line

This tune will haunt me through the war Ha, ha, ha, ha ha Laugh all you want but I want more 'Cause what I'm swearing, I've never sworn before

Woman King-Iron & Wine

Blackbird claw, raven wing Under the red sunlight Long clothesline, two shirtsleeves Waving as we go by

Hundred years, hundred more Someday we may see a Woman king, wristwatch time Slowing as she goes to sleep

Rainbow-Kacey Musgraves

When it rains, it pours But you didn't even notice It ain't rainin' anymore It's hard to breathe when all you know is The struggle of stayin' above the risin' water line Well, the sky has finally opened The rain and wind stopped blowin' But you're stuck out in the same ol' storm again You hold tight to your umbrella Well, darlin', I'm just tryin' to tell ya That there's always been a rainbow Hangin' over your head

taglist: @highqueenmorrigan, @foreverinelysian, @octobers-veryown, @melting-houses-of-gold, @velidewrites, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron@ultadverb, @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn, @foundress0fnothing, @vulpes-fennec ,@asnowfern, @mossytrashcan , @thelovelymadone, @the-lonelybarricade, @shadowriel, @separatist-apologist , @fieldofdaisiies, @stickyelectrons, @vanserrass, @panicatthenightcourt, @krem-does-stuff, @iftheshoef1tz, @damedechance, @headcanonheadcase, @cursebrkr, @andrigyn, @mossytrashcan, @thelovelymadone, @wilde-knight, @moonpatroclus, @stickyelectrons, @kataravimes-of-the-shire, @mossytrashcan, @sunshinebingo, @filthyglamdoll, @ablogofbipanic, @corcracrow, @morweekofficial

#acotar playlist project #mor #pro mor #acotar #Spotify

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illarian-rambling · 2 months

Text

Character Intro: Djek Kagura, the Bleeding Heart

Gods beyond, his friend and his only sense of direction in this crazy world.... Without Tyche, Djek was as lost as a toy boat on the high seas. And like most lost people, he jumped at the chance to latch into anything familiar. Moral improvement may have been a stretch, but taking orders from bigger, stronger people---that was as familiar as his own right hand.

"Well, everybody knows that the eastern seawall is super off limits," Djek smirked. "Even the meanest daggers and bloodiest Wasps avoid the place."

Twenari watched Sepo’s hands for a moment and then replied, "That sounds promising, but you'd better be telling the truth, because if you're not, then... um...." She looked back at Sepo with a grimace and was met with a brisk flicking gesture. "Then, uh, you're going to be in for a very unpleasant time."

Given the siren's scoff, Djek guessed Twenari was taking some translator's liberties.

"Alrighty then, you got a plan?" he drawled.

At that, Sepo gave a great, rictus grin that was grotesquely at odds with the killing gleam in his evil, black eyes.

Djek sighed. He always fell in with the nicest people, did he?

Poor, unlucky Djek, a former street-kid sorcerer with only one spell. What other choice does he have but to make people laugh and talk like a bigger man than he really is? Clearly, no one would want to keep him around otherwise.

This particular headspace is the product of Djek’s too-short childhood. He was born the fifth of sixth Kagura siblings in a destitute corner of the city of Fayuki. His parents were canning factory workers, so when the famine hit, they were among the first to lose their jobs. Now, six mouths is a lot to feed. Especially when half were too young to work. Djek’s parents had to make a sacrifice, and they chose him. His father left him in an alley at the ripe old age of eight, hoping that by leaving one child to die, he might save the rest. Djek always assumed this was because he was the weakest and neediest of his siblings, though perhaps it had more to do with the boy's striking resemblance to his mother's coworker.

But Djek didn’t die. He instead discovered the latent gift of sorcery in his blood by way of defending against a beating a few months later. After all, the shadow sigil is very close to putting your hands up to shield yourself from a haymaker. Djek used his shadow magic to survive on the dusty streets of Fayuki for seven long years, stealing food and later coin. Despite the harsh circumstances, he never lost his soft heart, which caused him to be somewhat of an outcast among urchins.

When he was fifteen, Djek was scouted by an ambitious member of the Tunnel Wasp smuggling ring named Tyche Loros. She noticed his meager sorcery and thought that by taking him in, she might be able to raise herself up on the smuggling ring's ladder. Djek, of course, thought of Tyche as his best friend in the world. She saved him, took him away from Fayuki, and taught him the ropes of the criminal trade. Even if she got mad at him sometimes when he was unable to kill somebody or threw up at the sight of a particularly vicious beating, it was only because she wanted the best for him. Right?

Djek earned himself a reputation as Tyche’s pet fuck-up due to his inability to kill. This frustrated him, of course, so he compensated for it by talking big and walking with swagger. This shield worked for a while, and it might have continued to work for a while more, until Tyche and Djek got the order to recapture their smuggler queen’s daughter... and kill the seafolk accompanying her.

This is where the story of Honor's Outcasts picks up. Obviously, all does not go to plan, and Djek ends up falling in with Twenari, Sepo, and Izjik.

Despite his core of self-doubt, Djek is a pretty chill dude for the most part. He's resourceful, scrappy, funny, and deeply loyal to his friends. Though far from the most powerful member of the group, he had a good head on his shoulders and acts as the heart of their little band. He loves to annoy people (mostly Sepo) on purpose and has no compunctions about learning sorcery from Twenari, a girl seven years younger than him.

As for what he looks like, Djek’s about 5'5" and 115 lbs sopping wet. He's 19 in the first book, 23 in the second two. He has brown skin, red Amaranthi eyes, a permanent squint due to untreated nearsightedness, and wears his black hair in what might've been a buzzcut two weeks ago. I always picture him dressing in a fantasy version of Chicano fashion.

Now for fun facts!:

Djek vomits seven times across all three books. The man has a weak stomach and sorcery hurts, what's can I say?

He once flirted with a woman who was actively kidnapping him

His nickname for Sepo is 'pasty' and he's the only one who gets away with calling Twenari by 'Nari'

He invented auditory illusions

He can pick locks well, but he's clumsy enough to make a poor burgler

In the 2nd book, he fast talks a god and asks if swearing is a real sin

Hope you enjoy my unlucky, tricksy, red-eyed sneak thief! Lmk if you have any questions about him! After Djek, the only outcast left is Izjik, scion of the hateful stars, so I'll get to her soon.

Have a bitchin day <3

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #author

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milyz · 7 months

Text

[ 4:10 pm ] ━━ Price gets revenge

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ info : hdc sorry for not posting for a while ! currently busy with a lot of things and was a bit unmotivated xd and I'm sorry that it's rushed :( enjoy!

you were forced to retire early. you were married to price, the captain of TF141. it was a Sunday morning, the sun rays hit you with a feeling of comfort. With a moment of silence , a knock can be a heard from the door.

you were alone at the time, wrapped in blankets, you waddled yourself to the door. nothing could prepare you for the moment you will lose everything.

"hello?" the door slowly opens to reveal 2 men standing in the doorway wearing full armour gears, with guns on hand.

"is captain here with you today?" the man's voice rumbled, imprinting to the room.

"I am his wife, do you need to leave a message?" your voice trembles, are they looking for him? you thought to yourself a million questions.

"good enough" his head tilted to the side talking to a mic on his collar with a foreign language.

"shoot her" ears ringing, that was the last thing you heard before your life ended. the last memory you remembered was a picture frame of you and price, wedding pictures surrounding it. you wished your last words was something , anything but the devil is evil.

everyone was training at base. clueless of what happened. Price was sitting in his office with laswell before the phone rang vigorously. price picked the phone without knowing his life is going to shatter apart.

"is this John Price that in speaking to?" the sounds of sirens and talking make his body stiffen. struggling to talk, price answers "who is this?"

"your wife has been admitted to the hospital due to gunshots ..." price stood there in disbelief, he knew who did it right then and there. anger filled his veins and his temper grew hotter. his wife is dead, and he wasn't there to save you.

silence neighbouring the whole room, "unfortunately, your wife passed away sir. I'm sorry" a click was then to be heard. death is in his mind, "till death meets me myself" he storms out from the room.

price burst into the bunks, veins visible on the temple. everyone stared at him. it was a long time since price was this angry, very angry.

"meeting room. now" he growled at everyone. tension is all that they could feel.

everyone rushed themselves to the meeting room, scared out of their lives. the base was quiet, "what's going on, cap'?" gaz's arms crossed on the table, preparing on what's happening.

price slams his hands on the table grabbing each person's attention. "we're going on war." he lifts his head watching everybody there looking dumb founded.

everyone sat there processing if price was actually serious. "since when.. why?" soap's speech stutters. a tear can be seen rolling down his cheeks.

"since my fucking wife took a bullet meant for me !!"

y'all got some daddy issues.. (me fr 💋)

xoxo, mila<3

#cod #milyz #milyzangst #milyzsad #john price #captain price #price #daddy issues

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jamiesfootball · 8 months

Note

a drabble for #7?

“Can you feel this?”

Light glinted off metal.

'Only the phantom sensation of pressure at a distance.' That's how Beard would have liked to respond, if Dr. Buddy's hand wasn't pressed up against the roof of his mouth.

The situation being what it was, he settled for a cordial, "Uh-uh."

"Good. Good. That's what I love to hear," said Dr. Buddy, smiling with eyes and likely a mouth underneath the face mask. He handed the dental pick to his assistant. His thumb stayed hooked on Beard's mouth. "Now you just let me know if we need a break, you hear? Any discomfort that comes up, let me know straight away. Raise your hand up if you need me to stop."

Prison had reset Beard's tolerance for discomfort, but sitting in the leaned-back dental chair, a precipitously high wave a nausea threatened to make landfall. Accompanying it were persistent tremors in his fingers and a dry mouth, and tunneling vision to round out the quartet. Had Ted told him ahead of time where they were going, Beard would have jumped out of the moving vehicle to join the errant cows of the field who didn't yet know that they were livestock.

All things considered, Willis Beard was experiencing a typical level of comfort, solidly below the baseline of what he could endure.

He offered the dentist a thumbs up, and the hand that hitched Beard's arm to the chair gave him a reassuring squeeze.

The dental assistant handed Buddy a corded instrument.

While Beard's ears began ringing like a tornado siren on a clear day, Buddy picked up on their prior conversation with, "I'm not sure, Ted. I still think Vermeil screwed the pooch last year. Should'a stayed retired if you asked me."

"Oh ye' of little faith," Ted responded. Beard didn't need eyes or mouth to know when Ted was smiling. "I thought he whipped them boys into pretty good shape last year. It's rough starting out fresh, these things take time."

College may have been a life left behind in the rearview mirror, but Beard could swear that once upon a time Ted's Ted-isms didn't clock overtime carrying the weight of all the baggage booked between them. Or maybe they had. Maybe every one of their elbowing, crushed conversations under stadiums of lights, kicking heels at each other while they waited for second string to get its call, maybe all of those moments had always been a guise for the gentle hand reaching out underneath, and Beard had been too tone-deaf to notice.

He'd been experimenting with a lot of MDMA at the time so he supposed he'd never know. Too bad no one had ever made a future in fixing maybes.

Ted tried to lasso the dentist onto his side. "C'mon, pal. You ain't ever heard of second chances?"

Finally the thumb prying him open let go of his mouth. Beard stretched his jaw out, making a show of it while he bid his time. He'd need every deep inhale for this next part.

Buddy fiddled with his glove, pulling the rubber tight over a bulky status watch, the kind that made a regular man feel wealthy but wouldn't fetch much in a pinch.

The dental assistant placed a stacked tray before him, all sharps and gauze. Dr. Buddy picked up another poker. "How about you, Beard? Who do you favor for the playoffs?"

"The Buccaneers."

"Hah!" Buddy scoffed. "Now that's a longshot. I'll give you that one, Ted; the Chiefs have a better shot of making it to the playoffs than the Bucs ever will. Those bookies down in Vegas, they're printing money saying otherwise. No siree, it doesn't matter how good the odds are. They've got no experience keeping their heads up under pressure."

Ted hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe. Everybody loves a longshot, though. And hell, who doesn't love a pirate?"

"Captain Fear," Beard added.

"You're both nuts," lamented Buddy, shaking his head.

"I don't know about that, Buddy," said Ted with a smile as wide as the sign out front. "After all, the game's not over 'til it's over. Chiefs, pirates—as long as the team keeps trying, we'll keep rooting, and sooner or later all that effort's going to pay off. Might take a little time and a little luck, but it'll happen."

"We'll see about that. Alright, gentlemen, enough of the small talk. Time to let her fly."

Beard white-knuckled his grip on the chair. Ted's hand tightened on his forearm, holding him steady. He was ready. Ready steady.

Loosely based on this post

#coach beard #ted lasso #dentist cw #ask box is always open #writing bits #thank you anon!

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hongjoongscafe · 2 years

Text

Stay with me

Part: 14 {serieslist}

|In the raid|

Pairing: hamsterhybrid!hongjoong×reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut.

Summary: she couldn't help but adopt the sweet and shy but stressed hybrid. Will he be able to open up?

Word count: 2.4k+

Masterpost

ATEEZ masterlist

*Do NOT repost, plz*

"Yes, that's him."

Jungkook couldn't believe his ears. He felt like his world stopped for a while. They earned a lead! But instead of celebrating, he composed himself.

"Kim, call for backup to assemble in the station… we are going for a mission," he commanded. "Mrs. Kim, thank you for being attentive to your surroundings," he patted her head and headed out.

"Y-your welcome," she looked at Namjoon with a confused expression.

"Later, sweetheart," he kissed her forehead and followed Jungkook's car, and called for backup.

Jungkook was driving to the station. The orange lights from the streets were reflecting on his face. He was on the verge of crying. He was close. He knew that. The killing memories of Han came in front of his eyes. The hybrid's playful face gave him strength.

'Kookie~ go save my buddy,' Han's soft voice echoed in his mind. 'Remember, I love you. And I want you to be happy. Remember me but move on my dearest~'

Jungkook felt his presence. He felt like Han was there with him at that moment. He wanted to embrace him and love him all over again.

"I love you too… my sweet love."

…

"All right everybody. We will be raiding a building where an illegal brothel business is going on. I want you all to be fully alerted. Namjoon will be leading us to that place. No one shall turn on their sirens," Jungkook informed.

"There are three roads, we will be blocking all of those, and the newbies will be covering the back of the building. Make sure that no one gets away from that place," Namjoon warned by showing the map.

"It's the time to go," Jungkook and Namjoon lead them outside.

All the police backup staff settled in their vans and cars. They were well-armed. None of them know about those rotting people. Without taking risks, they followed Namjoon's car.

Jungkook was behind them alone in his car. He informed the medics to be there as well, telling them not to make any noise that could alert the people working in that brothel.

He was waiting at the red light. If he went straight, he would reach where he was headed. But if he took a right turn, he would end up at your place. He wanted to inform you. But he didn't want to risk anything.

'Hongjoong might freak out from us,' he thought.

The light turned green and he took a right turn. He couldn't go there without telling you about their biggest lead.

…

You were in your room looking at the pictures of Hongjoong. It was frustrating how his memories were so painful. You had a great time with him around you. At the beginning of your relationship with the hybrid, it was tough… but it all fell in place after a while. However, the situation took a harsh turn, leaving you with nothing.

You heard a harsh bang on your door along with the ringing of the doorbell. You quickly wore your slippers and ran downstairs and opened the door.

"Y/n! We don't have time. We have to be somewhere. Quick!" Jungkook looked in a hurry, sweat running down his face.

"But where?" She asked. Anxiety was clearly visible on your face.

"We found a lead. We are going to get Hongjoong back. We need you there. He might get scared of us. You could help us there. Alright? Please be quick," he held your shoulders and informed you calmly.

You nodded and picked up your shoes that came first in your hands. You both ran towards his car and settled in. You removed your slippers in his car and tightened your shoes.

Your heart was racing a hundred miles. You didn't know if you had to be worried or happy. It was all happening too fast.

…

"Take your positions!" Namjoon roared through the earpiece.

It was deadly quiet. It was the silence before the thunderstorms. All of the policemen took their positions. Jungkook and Namjoon were behind the two backup staff. They were ready to burst through the door.

"Y/n, when I say, you come inside. Alright?" Jungkook asked through the earpiece.

"Yes," you replied.

Jungkook slowly counted to three (3) and then they broke the door and flooded in. The quietness soon filled with gunshots. It was terrifying. You were worried for Hongjoong, he was easily scared of loud noises.

You were sitting in the operational van. A female worker helped you into a bulletproof jacket and handed you a taser. They couldn't give you a gun and you doubted your capability of pulling the hard trigger.

…

Hongjoong was laying down on the floor in his room. His bum was hurting and was causing him trouble sleeping. He just wanted a few hours of sleep before he got strapped up.

He closed his eyes and rested his head on his arms. After a few minutes, he heard loud gunshots. His hamster mind shivered to death. He was scared. He quickly shuffled and sat in the dark corner. He tried his best to not freak out without knowing that he was freaking out.

Hongjoong started whimpering unknowingly.

He got a flashback of the day when you all went to the movies, how he was scared and you took care of him. He remembered those tears you shed because you were sorry for scaring him even though it wasn't your fault.

Right now, he wanted to feel safe.

…

Jungkook asked Namjoon to search for the head of the brothel. He himself moved towards the cellar areas along with a few others. He opened every capsule room.

"Y/n, come in. Towards the right. You take the stairs to the basement, there are cellars. Come here, quick!" He roared. You immediately implied and followed his order and came inside along with the other female cop.

Jungkook was still opening the doors and one of the other cops started looking through the opposite wall. The leader pushed open one of the doors and he saw a shivering body curled up in the corner.

Hongjoong was listening to the doors open. He knew it wouldn't take them long to find him. So when they opened his door with a loud band, he lost his senses. He backed away into the wall as much as he could. His whimpers got louder.

"Hey, don't be scared. I'm here to help you. Please, don't freak out," Jungkook tried to calm down the hybrid in the softest voice.

He took a step towards Hongjoong. When the hybrid saw it, he abruptly stood up and turned around, and started trying to climb the wall. He was going harshly. His nails scratched and his fingertips started bleeding.

It was painful for Jungkook to see such a fragile hybrid. Han wasn't a scared hybrid. No matter what he stood tall and faced what came next. But his leftover heart shattered at the scene. He wasn't trained to see such a sight. Hongjoong's loud cries were a huge slap for him. Only this hybrid knows what he had gone through. For Jungkook, everything was happening in slow motion.

"Hongjoong," a famine voice whispered that Jungkook's senses halted to the present. He looked at you. You were breathing heavily, trying to catch a breath.

You looked at Hongjoong who was struggling to escape.

"Hongjoong!" You said out louder this time.

Hongjoong looked back at your voice. Oh, he was dying to hear your sweet-sweet voice. He looked at you and slowly turned around, still breathing unevenly.

"Joongie, it's me. Baby, calm down, oky? We are not going to hurt you. We are here to get you out of here. Look, they all are good people who came here to help you," you said in a hushed voice. You knew his hamster ears heard you just fine.

Hongjoong slid down along the wall, copying him, you knelt at a distance and opened your arms for him to come into. His breath started to come back to normal. He was looking in your eyes. They looked tired as if they shrunk into your sockets.

Jungkook found it heartbreaking yet satisfying. He melted when Hongjoong calmed down after listening to your voice. He made others leave and take care of the other things.

Hongjoong let out a painful sob and crawled towards you and fell on your lap. He cried out loudly. His cries echoed in the whole hall. You immediately wrapped your arms around his weak body, resting your head on his head.

Jungkook stood outside giving you both privacy. He too slid down along the wall and started crying. Thinking about everything. His heart wanted to let it out. He was feeling relieved.

"Joongie, baby, I wasn't going to hurt you. Sweety, it was a huge misunderstanding. Hmm. I didn't buy that musical box to mock anyone. I love you, Joongie. I would never hurt you. I can't even think about it," you cried holding his fav in your hands. "I bought it to keep it away from someone who could have used it for that. I never meant to do this to you or anybody. Not even an enemy, my love. Please forgive me… please forgive me," you cried with him.

"I missed you. I can't hate you! I wanted to but I can't… I-I was feeling like a loser without you. Y/n, I fucking love you too. I love you! I can't hate you," he screamed. "I was scared. You were all I could think of. You make me go crazy. I wanted this. I wanted to be here… in your arms…" he said in a more vulnerable voice.

They both sat there without saying anything. You both were seeping in each other's warmth. It felt good.

…

"Look who we got, Jungkook!" Namjoon happily exclaimed when the three of you came out.

"Who?"

"See yourself, sir," Namjoon led him to the car in which the head was sitting, all handcuffed.

"Ah, Shin. The bastard. So he was hiding here? This was close," Jungkook huffed.

"Bitch was jerking off when we caught him. His expressions were million dollars," Namjoon laughed.

"Kim, I gotta say, we need to award your wife with something, no?"

"What do you mean?"

"She practically solved this case. She deserves something great."

"That is true but I'm still confused," Namjoon asked.

"It's been a long time since you took a leave. Right?" Jungkook looked at Namjoon with a smug look. "Maybe go somewhere romantic. Who knows we might get tiny fox hybrids or human babies after nine months," he smiled.

"You, asshole," they laughed. But Namjoon accepted the award. Maybe whatever the senior said comes to life. Namjoon and Miso would be more than happy.

…

Hongjoong and you were brought to the police station for some formalities and some other questions.

Although, while raiding, the cops collected all the records of the customers and regulars. There were many and they were going to take every one of them down.

Hongjoong was given medical care. He was dehydrated and was living on the least food. He was provided with the glucose drip along with balanced food. He slowly ate everything.

You were sitting close to him in the police station. He placed the empty plate under the bench and scooted in your direction. His ears were flat on his head. You placed your hand on his shoulder and massaged them gently. He was back to his reluctant self.

"I hope you forgive me," you whispered.

"Y/n, can we ask questions now?" Jungkook asked politely.

You looked at Hongjoong who was fiddling with his fingers.

"Joongie, are you okay with answering a few questions? If not, we won't force you," you asked. He nodded slightly as yes.

You both followed the officer to his desk and took seats. Jungkook looked at you with mixed emotions in his eyes. He passed you a soft smile. He was happy to see you with your Hongjoong. And Hongjoong seemed to get more comfortable around you. Although, he was sitting funny. He sat slightly facing the other way, his back slightly turned towards. It made the officer chuckle.

"Hongjoong, I'm officer Jeon Jungkook. When you ran away, your friend— y/n— came to us for help," he started by introducing himself. "Would you mind telling me how you ended up there at the brothel?"

Hongjoong took a deep breath and looked at the officer but immediately looked down. " …no," he softly started. "I-I ran away… I w-was standing outside of a shop I t-think. Then someone hit me in the h-head and I blac-ked out," he took a deep breath. "I-I woke up at the Master's place, in the punishment room."

"Punishment room?"

"Whoever makes a m-mistake, is k-kept there. It's a d-dark room, without a window and any light."

"Oh. Was that all he did as punishment?"

"N-no."

"Could you specify, my dear?"

"T-torture belt," Hongjoong whispered. "Sometimes other tools."

"What happened next?"

"I got clients. Everyday t-they would increase…" he sobbed.

Jungkook wanted to stop but he had to ask more for Hongjoong's own good.

"Where did they take you today?"

"A-at a party. It was a classy party. At s-someone's mansion."

"Whose mansion, love?"

"I d-don't know exactly b-but they called him Mr. Smith."

"Something else you would like to tell, Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong thought about the other four hybrids there. He wanted to help them too. "There were f-four other hamster hybrids too," he told the officer.

"Hongjoong, do you remember anything about them?" Jungkook asked in a sweet voice that he had been using since the start.

"I-I don't remember anything else, so-sorry."

"No, Hongjoong. You helped me a lot today. You have been so good. Now one last question… Do you wanna go back with y/n? Or do you want us to arrange somewhere else for you to stay?" You tensed. You didn't want to force Hongjoong to stay with you. In the end, he ran away from you. But still, you didn't want him to be afraid of you.

Hongjoong thought about it. He looked at you and made eye contact with you. "I wanna go home… with y/n," he whispered and looked down.

You teared up and couldn't help but hug Hongjoong. You cried on his shoulder. So did the hybrid. Jungkook teared up as well. He was happy that you were able to reunite with your hybrid.

Hongjoong sensed Jungkook's feelings and looked at him. The officer wiped his eyes and smiled softly at the hybrid and nodded as assurance.

'Kookie… I'm so proud of you. You saved him. Look at them, they are so cute. But now it's my time to go forever…goodbye…' Han's voice faded away.

.....

Sanaa's note:

Just a heads-up, only one part is left.

The behavior of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@sungiesangel @untitled76543 @bbc-minji-oc @tenelkadjowrites @hongjoongtrasher @paralumanniluna @shiningstar-byulxx

@ryo-84 @yunhosleftpinky @damselindistressanu @r000l @bikiniholic @playboygeniusphilanthropist @hippohippo @hwachu @veneziamadness @solarswonderland @cheline @gayliljoong

@giulianacelestino @yeosangsbiceps @lose-lose07 @nymeriaaa @yoonjikim

*lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist*

*original pictures are not mine, I just edited them*

Have a nice day/night💓

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