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mminghaos · 1 day ago

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Can i ask a jealous and possesive mingyu that doesn't like you hangout with his friends?? And he's pissed about you not giving him enough attention...

all yours , kim mingyu x f!reader

SYPNOSIS: mingyu doesnt like sharing, especially when it comes to you.

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex (dont do this !!), fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex,

requests open, do send some in !!

mingyu's eyes have been on you all night.

you feel them burning into you from across the room, lingering every time you laugh at something wonwoo says or nudge soonyoung playfully. his expression is unreadable, but you know him too well to be fooled — he's pissed.

he barely spoke on the way home. barely even looked at you, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. now, in the quiet of his apartment, the tension is suffocating.

you lean against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the sofa.

"okay, what's wrong?" you ask, breaking the silence

mingyu scoffs, shaking his head. "youre really gonna ask me that?"

you blink. "yes?"

he turns to face you fully, his jaw clenched tight. "you ignored me all night."

you roll your eyes. "i did not—”

"oh, really?" he steps closer, towering over you. "you barely looked at me. barely talked to me. but you had no problem giving all your attention to wonwoo and soonyoung huh?"

you sigh. "mingyu, we were just catching up. you know that."

he crowds you against the counter, his body flush against yours, trapping you between him and the cold marble. his hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips.

"doesn't matter," he mutters. "you're mine."

his voice is low, rough with frustration, but there's something else there too — something desperate.

"are you jealous?" you tease, tilting your chin up to meet his darkened gaze.

his lips curl into something that's not quite a smile. "jealous?" he repeats, his hands sliding down, gripping the back of your thighs as he effortlessly lifts you onto the counter. "no. just reminding you who you belong to."

his mouth crashes onto yours, hot and demanding. he kisses you like he's starving, like he's been waiting all night to get his hands on you. his fingers press into your skin, possessive, firm, pulling you closer like he can't stand the idea of even an inch between you.

you gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, swallowing every little sound you make. he kisses you dizzy — so hard, so deep, you forget why you were even arguing in the first place.

"gyu—" you murmur against his lips, breathless.

"no," he growls, pulling back just enough to look at you. "you don't get to say my name like that after ignoring me all night."

his hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up, fingers trailing over your bare skin.

"you don't get to sit there, laughing with my friends, touching them, when i'm right fucking there."

you shiver under his touch, a soft whimper slipping past your lips. he smirks.

"oh, you like this?" he teases, voice dropping into something sinful. his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "you like when i get jealous?"

you swallow, heat pooling in your stomach. "mingyu-"

he doesn't let you finish.

his hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward until you're flush against him. you can feel just how worked up he is, the hard press of him against your core, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"too bad," he murmurs against your throat, lips ghosting over your skin. "you don't get to play with my patience and get away with it."

his teeth sink into your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. his tongue follows, soothing the sting before he sucks, marking you.

"mine," he mutters against your skin. “yeah?”

all you can do is nod, but he doesn't give you a chance to argue anyways, doesn't give you a second to catch your breath before he's lifting you off the counter and carrying you to the bedroom.

"all fucking mine."

mingyu's grip is firm as he tosses you onto the bed. he towers over you, dark eyes drinking you in, chest heaving like he's barely holding himself together.

"take this off," he tugs at the bottom of your shirt, voice low.

you shiver at the authority in his tone but don't move fast enough for his liking. he clicks his tongue, stepping forward, gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it over your head himself.

"too slow," he mutters, pushing you back against the pillows.

his hands are everywhere — tracing the curve of your waist, sliding down your thighs, spreading you open beneath him. his touch is possessive, claiming, as if he needs to erase the feeling of anyone else being near you tonight.

his mouth finds your neck again, kissing, sucking, nipping at the sensitive skin.

"you think i didn't notice the way wonwoo was looking at you?" he murmurs against your throat, his hands pushing your shorts down your legs. "you think i'm gonna let you act like that and not remind you who you fucking belong to?"

you barely have time to process before his fingers dip between your thighs, pressing against your core through your underwear.

"fuck," he groans, feeling the damp fabric. "you like this, don't you? like making me jealous."

you shake your head, breathless. "i wasn't—"

he presses harder, cutting you off with a sharp gasp. "don't lie to me."

his fingers push your underwear aside, sliding through your slick folds, teasing.

"mingyu, please—" your hand goes down to grab his wrist, to get him to hurry the fuck up, but he just moves it away, pinning it down next to your waist.

he smirks. "please what?"

you glare at him, but the way your hips buck into his touch betrays you. he chuckles, slipping one finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

"you always act so innocent," he murmurs, adding another finger, stretchiing you open. "but look at you. already soaking for me."

his fingers curl, hitting the perfect spot inside you, making you whimper. he loves it — loves the way you melt under his touch, the way you fall apart so easily for him.

"you ignored me all night," he reminds you, his thumb circling your clit. "so why should i be nice to you now?"

you don't answer, too lost in the pleasure, too caught up in the way his fingers move inside you with such precision.

he pulls his hand away suddenly, making you whine at the loss.

"turn around," he orders.

you hesitate for only a second before obeying, flipping onto your stomach. he grips your hips, pulling you onto your knees, your back arched, your body completely at his mercy.

"good girl," he praises, dragging his fingers down your spine before you hear the rustle of fabric as he undoes his belt, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through you

"you want me to fuck you?" he asks, voice rough with restraint.

you nod frantically. "yes, gyu— please—"

his hand comes down on your ass, a sharp smack that makes you jolt.

"say it properly."

you tremble, knowing better than to test his patience any further.

"please fuck me, mingyu," you whimper.

that's all he needs.

he thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you to the hilt, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck," he groans, head dropping forward. "so tight — so fucking perfect for me."

he doesn't give you time to adjust, doesn't hold back. his hands grip your hips as he fucks into you, deep and rough, his frustration from earlier spilling into every movement.

the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingled with your gasps and his gritted curses.

"this is what you wanted, isn't it?" he pants, his grip tightening. "wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you?"

you can't answer — not when he's fucking you so good, so deep, your mind goes blank.

but he doesn't need a response. he can feel it. can feel the way you clench around him, the way your body trembles under his touch.

"never gonna do that again, hmm?" he mutters, leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back, his breath hot against your ear. "you belong to me."

his hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucks you harder.

"shit— gyu!" you gasp, your body tensing as you teeter on the edge.

"you’re gonna cum for me baby, yeah?" he growls. "now." the command sends you spiralling, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fall apart beneath him.

mingyu isn't far behind — your orgasm pushes him over the edge, his grip turning bruising as he buries himself deep inside you, groaning your name.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the warmth of his body pressing against yours as he stays inside you, unwilling to let go just yet.

finally, he pulls out, rolling you onto your back, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your swollen lips.

"mine," he murmurs again, softer this time.

you smile, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "yours."

and that's all he needed to hear.

#seventeen #svt #kpop #kpop smut #seventeen smut #smut #svt smut #kim mingyu #mingyu #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #kpop fanfic #fanfic #mminghaos

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ckret2 · 2 days ago

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Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them."

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk.

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly."

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #pacifica northwest #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(god i hate the chapters from the POV of characters who don't know they're interacting with Bill)#(calling him the wrong name the whole chapter is torture. I kept having to correct his name. ... un-correct his name?)

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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My soul is yours for more Jazz 🙏 He's my absolute favorite, I love that big flirty liar so much, I'm so down bad for him

Sure!

Over It Now Pt 22

Jazz x Reader

• “Primus, I love you,” he groans, hips moving against you. And your breath catches, because it’s just sex. He doesn’t mean it. He’d just blurted it out like that about sparking you, whatever that is. It’s not like you’re under any delusions that this can work long term between you. That this can mean anything more than this. And those words only remind you that you’re a temporary diversion for him. Nothing more.

• Didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that anymore than he had about sparking you. Had imagined something romantic, figuring out your human courting rituals and doing this right. But you’re silent. Eyes shifting away instead of meeting his optics. Like maybe this is all of you he’s allowed. And it hurts, but he gets it. That you can’t love a liar. That he’s good enough for a frag, but not to keep around. But Primus it hurts. So much more than he'd thought it would. Slipping free of you, he lets you untangle yourself from him. Why won't you even look at him? "That was amazing," you say, offering him a smile, but its stilted and uncomfortable. A lie and he should know.

• Something shifted and you can feel the tension. He’s back to playing a part, lazily smiling. But there's a hardness to his jaw as he ignores you to right his plating, hiding away his spike. "Yeah. Sure, kitten. You were great." And his tone is neutral, whatever he's really thinking hidden behind that mask of smiling indifference like he had when you’d first met him. And maybe that was all he was after. Sex. Maybe he’s over you now. And you keep thinking about him blurting that he loved you. Another lie? You’d wanted it to be real, not just words. But who blurts it out like that during sex and actually means it? And it hurts because you’ve been falling for him. Think you might even love him.

• Watches you wrap your arms around yourself, awkwardly getting up and hobbling with your cast to the couch to pull a colorful throw around yourself, hiding your body from him. "So, you going to spark me?" You ask, voice awkward and teasing and that ache in his spark expands. Knows you don't understand how badly those words mock him, how much it hurts. That he'd offered you everything, confessed to you and you'd not said anything at all.

• "Drop it, doll." Not even a smile now, his expression is so oddly empty it's unsettling. And you catch his arm when he tries to walk past you. Leaving. "Really. You wanna let go of me." There's an edge to his voice you've never heard before but it makes the fine hair at your nape prickle. Yanking his arm free and walking past you and your own temper flares, hurt that you mean so little. All those days waiting for you. Sitting together talking. Laughing and getting to know each other. None of it meant anything?

• "So that's it? You just wanted to be fucked?" Stopping short at the angry edge in your voice, he doesn't quite trust himself right now. Feels almost out of control as he vents raggedly, internal fans a soft hush. You really want to play the victim now? He'd been honest with you, laid it all on the line and you hadn't been able to give him anything in return. And you're angry?

• "You couldn't even entertain me, could you? Lie to me and say it back." Low, drawling voice sharpening into a snarl, he still won't look at you as his big hands curl into fists at his sides. Say it back? Wait. Breath catching you stare at his back as his door wings drop. Had he actually meant it?

• "No one just blurts that stuff out in the moment and means it," you protest and he glares at you over his shoulder. No, because you still think he's a liar. Always smiling and lying. And why would you think he'd been honest then? Isn't that all he does? Turning and walking away, he hears you hobbling after him. "Wait. Jazz." Ignoring you, he keeps moving and then freezes as something shatters against his back. "I said wait, you idiot." Your face is red and angry when he turns, chin lifting as he looks at the broken glass you'd thrown littering the floor near his peds then at you. "I love you, too."

• And he's just staring down at you, door wings flicking slightly before slowly lifting some. Gasping when he rushes you and hooks his arms around you under your butt, hauling you up off the floor, nearly banging your head on the ceiling fan as he presses his face against you, whatever he's saying muffled against your skin. His servos almost bruising on you. Still irritated at him, but also feeling oddly light. You have no idea how this will work, but you want it to. Want him to stay.

#transformers x reader #jazz x reader #tf jazz

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book-lore · 10 hours ago

Text

Okay so I wasn't going to reply to this but I am still getting over being sick and this stuck to me. And for the record, it's okay that the OP feels this way and what I'm about to say doesn't mean they are wrong or bad or anything. Let's leave that person in peace. But as to why people don't like Valentine's day and some people even hate it, a gentle reminder:

There are a wide variety of reasons people can find certain holidays objectionable and one that tackles love specifically can be especially difficult for people who are struggling. A recent divorcee might wish to sit this day out because it can bring up how difficult being newly out of a relationship can be. This can be made even worse if the relationship was decades long and they aren't sure how to navigate the world of being single that looks nothing like when they were dating before. People who struggle socially who want relationships can find this to be a day that makes them feel a little more lonely. People who have lost a partner might feel their absence more acutely, even if that loss was years ago. People who have escaped abusive situations might have extremely mixed or hostile feelings about Valentines day (especially given how violent partners tend to become worse around holidays and this is extra true where the abused party is expected to behave a certain way). People who are in the closet might be feeling particularly confused or wounded right now as they feel worlds away from being able to accept or even find love.

The point of this isn't to drag the original poster, but it can be good to understand why sometimes hearts can be delightful for some and heavy for others. I know that some people can be well intentioned and say things like "think of the chocolate and candy" or "it's made up anyway" or "celebrate it with your friends instead", but those aren't really helpful. Love and its reminders can mean a lot of things to people and sometimes they bring up the bad emotions. Sometimes what people need isn't candy or hearts or even a pretend reason to see a friend. Sometimes they need to cry and a day that reminds them of loss or something they lack is what does it for them. Sometimes what they need is to know that they aren't the only one who feels like that when stores and displays and everything around them seems to point out what's making them feel sore.

It's okay to enjoy Valentine's Day. There are plenty of ways to do so if that's what you like. It's also okay to sit it out if you're sore or you're feeling a lot. It's alright if it's just another day in February.

dont understand people who "don't like" valentines day... I personally dgaf that its "made up" and "commercialist"... i love heart shaped things and i love everyone in my life. Its really simple

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screwitbaby · 3 days ago

Text

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader

day 6/7

summary: part 6 of the naive series!! mandy and martin get back together in the worst way possible but it’s okay because you and hamzah get to have some fun of your own…

contains: SFW and NSFW content ;-)

w/c: 2.8k-ish

It's awkward. You know that. Hamzah knows that. The mosquito buzzing by your ear knows that. You only hope Mandy knows that she scarred you for life.

"In my defense, I thought you would come back a lot later," she says.

You stare at her blankly. Martin hasn't made eye contact with you since last night. Hamzah's sat next to you, completely checked out of the conversation and scrolling on his phone. If you could click your heels three times and teleport home, you would.

"So you could fuck in my bed for several more hours?" you seethe.

"It's a hotel bed! It's not even yours!" Martin argues.

"It's a bed that I was supposed to sleep in!" You feel like you're about to pop a blood vessel. "Why didn't you just do it in your suite?!"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," Mandy says, walking over to sit next to you. "We were just going to talk. I didn't plan for it!"

Hamzah looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrows at the familiar words. You roll your eyes and turn to Mandy before he can see the red rush to your face.

"But hey, we aren't fighting anymore," Martin points out, scooping more sand over his pale chest.

He's been working on burying himself in the sand for the past hour since you and Hamzah joined them on the beach. You're grateful for that fact.

After being unpleasantly surprised by the sight of him in his birthday suit upon entering your hotel room, even a single glance at his body reminds you of the unholy vision. You and Hamzah had returned from your day on the town after eating out (ahem) and wanted a peaceful place to recover from your food comas. The couple seemed to have other ideas. You did a 180 and left without a single word.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," you tell Martin without looking in his direction. "Mandy, why? Just why?"

"I'm sorry," she says, but there's a smile on her face that makes you scowl. "It's a little funny!"

"No, it's not!" you cry out. "Every time I shut my eyes I get a flashback to Martin's pasty asscheeks!"

"Hey!" Martin shouts. "Mandy loves these pasty a—"

"Shut up," you and Mandy say at the same time, albeit your tone is a little more hostile.

"At least you get to sleep in Hamzah's room from now on," Mandy whispers to you. You pinch her and she squeals. "I basically did you a favor!"

"You only have to do me a favor because you did some shit in the first place!"

"Guys, calm down," Hamzah says, waving his hand between you and Mandy, "we'll just get the sheets changed. It's not that big of a deal."

"So you're on their side?" you question him.

"Oh my god," Martin groans.

"Okay, if you're that disgusted, we'll get you a new room," Hamzah offers.

"They're all booked for the season," you grumble. "I checked last night after... the incident."

"And there's no way I'd pay for that," Martin says. You glare at the side of his head.

"When I said 'make up and make out' I didn't mean it literally," you tell Mandy. "I can't believe this."

"So dramatic," Hamzah teases. "C'mere."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and even though you're upset, you don't move away. It helps you to cool off, but you can't stop your brain from wishing the clouds would part and smite the couple down in that moment. You lean closer into Hamzah's embrace and take a sip of your cocktail, avoiding Mandy's inquisitive stare.

You don't even know why you're so distressed by this whole thing, it should be a net positive that Mandy and Martin made amends. Plus, you had such a great time prior to the event, you shouldn't let it ruin your mood. It really isn't as big of a deal as you're making it out to be. Something about it rubs you the wrong way, though.

"Okay, I have one last question." Your words make the group groan and you shush them. "If I didn't walk in on you, were you going to tell me about my bed?"

The couple's silence speaks volumes.

"You fucking freaks!" you nearly scream. Hamzah flinches away from your voice and coughs into his fist to poorly disguise his laughter. "Ew! Ew-uh! What the fuck!?"

"We didn't even think that far," Mandy laughs out, "I'm sorry!"

"I hate you."

Since there isn't much to do on the beach but lie around and day drink with the two people you currently despise most, you and Hamzah decide on going someplace else. Nearing the end of a trip is usually draining, but with him it's like every minute counts for something more and that gives you the strength to push through your desire for self-isolation.

"We could get frozen yogurt?"

You shake your head.

"Go to an aquarium?"

You shake your head again.

"Do our laundry?"

"For real?" You scrunch your face in disapproval.

"I don't know what you want from me," Hamzah says, squeezing your hand tighter. "We're in a foreign place and we're bored as hell. You try to give me some ideas."

As you walk further up the street, swinging your hand in his, you spot an interesting store in your peripheral vision.

"Hamzah," you say, pointing. "We need to go."

He looks up and scoffs. "Are you 12? We're not going in there."

"Why would a 12-year-old be in a sex shop?" you joke and pull him along. "It'll be goofy and silly. Please."

"This is so stupid," he says, but ultimately obliges.

The two of you walk in and are instantly greeted by a wall of monstrous dildos. You bite your lip to not laugh out loud at Hamzah's disgruntled reaction and drag him over to an idle worker, all while he's quietly protesting your mischief.

"Please don't," he mumbles, much too late.

"Hi," you greet the worker cheerily. "My boyfriend and I would like to know some of your recommendations for starter toys."

Hamzah blushes beet red and you grin deviously.

"Sure, follow me," she replies, leading you to the back of the store.

You feast your eyes on the seemingly never-ending array of degeneracy. It reminds you of walking into the back of a Spencer's when you were in middle school, only so much more serious. This is top notch stuff. You find yourself actually becoming intrigued.

"Here we have our bestseller," the worker says, taking a toy from the shelf and presenting it to you. "This is a bullet vibrator. Great for travel."

You hum, nodding your head. Hamzah's hand is a dead weight in yours as he looks between the ceiling or his shoes, avoiding eye contact with the multitude of phalluses surrounding him.

"This here is another great pick," she says, showing you a glass dildo. "Simple, but satisfying. Comes with your choice in any of our flavored lubes."

"Ooh," you exaggerate. Hamzah makes a grunting noise and it takes all of you to keep from bursting out laughing. "Do you have anything that's more for... him?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

The worker turns to unlock a display case in the corner and brings a little rubber toy out. Hamzah rubs his eyes like he's trying to awaken from a nightmare.

"This is very popular with the tourists," she says, handing it over to you. "Press this button."

You do as she says and the cock ring not only lights up, but also starts wriggling in your hand. It tickles your palm and you giggle, reaching over to press it to Hamzah's arm to catch his attention. He jumps as if he's shocked by an electric current.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes to the worker, pinching the toy between his fingers and hastily dropping it back in the display. "I just realized I'm perfectly capable of pleasing my girlfriend on my own. Goodbye."

With that, he tugs on your hand and nearly sprints to the exit. You cackle while he makes you cross the street to get as far from the store as possible.

"It could've been worse," you tell Hamzah as he slides the key card to his door. "She didn't even get to the sex swings."

"Please shut up," he says, tired of your bullshit.

He still holds the door open for you, even though you've been messing with him all day. You walk into the room and place your shopping bags down. You had convinced Hamzah to window-shop after your little stunt, but you couldn't help yourself. You ended up buying some knickknacks and cute postcards for your family and friends back home.

"Do you mind if I take a shower in here?" you ask him, taking your shoes off.

"You're really not going back to your room?"

"You wanna get rid of me that fast?" You dramatically fall back on his bed. "I thought what we had was special."

Hamzah walks over to you and holds himself above you at arms length.

"I didn't exactly agree to the whole 'boyfriend' thing," he quips.

You pull him forward by his collar and smile. "Then why'd you call me your girlfriend?"

His eyes hone in on your lips. "I was just playing along."

"Really?" you question, placing your hand on his cheek. "And how far are you willing to play along for?"

You move up and capture his lips in a kiss. He responds eagerly, like you knew he would. His hand grips your waist and you quietly moan into the kiss, trying to rile him up. He takes the bait, pressing his body to yours and pulling the both of you further up the bed. When your head comes in contact with the pillows, you roll him over and sit in his lap to grind your hips. He tries to touch you and you stop him, holding him down by his arms. He could easily overpower you, but he stays pinned down, staring up at you with his big doe eyes.

"I don't think people who aren't really girlfriend-boyfriend should do this kind of thing..." you trail off.

You climb off the bed and walk straight to the bathroom, tossing your shirt off before closing the door behind you. You hear some shuffling outside as you strip and step under the shower head. You begin to lather some hotel body wash in your hands right when the door opens. Through the fogged glass, you see Hamzah taking his clothes off, but you pretend not to take notice as you rub the suds all over your body.

Hamzah steps into the shower behind you. You close your eyes to step under the shower head and wash the soap off, still paying him no attention. When you bend over to grab the shampoo, you feel his hands trail up your thighs and settle on your hips.

You turn with the bottle in your hands. "Do you mind?"

"Nope," he says.

He takes the bottle from you and pours some into his palm before placing it back. You watch his face as he reaches up to massage your scalp with the shampoo. He's concentrating hard, but the contact is gentle as he takes extra care of not tangling your hair. It's cute, but it would be cuter if you didn't feel him growing against your thigh.

"Does shampooing usually give you a boner?" you ask.

"Yeah, always," he replies sarcastically.

You giggle and close your eyes, enjoying the salon experience. When he's done, he moves you under the water and dips your head back to rinse your hair. You switch places with him after teaching him how to apply conditioner and grab the body wash again, but for him this time. He sighs as you massage his shoulders with the soap and you spread the rest down his torso. Your hands trace the curvature of his pecs and waist, taking a little too much time with each section just to feel him. When your touch begin to descend, he places his hands on your hips and pulls you forward. You sharply inhale as his dick prods your lower belly.

He leans in to kiss you, making you completely forget about your task and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His tongue finds yours and you feverishly return his advances, running your fingers through his soaked curls to smooth them out of his face. When his hand reaches down your back to cup your ass, you moan and lift your leg to wrap it around his hip. His other hand does the same and he carries you to push you against the shower wall. His erection nudges your center and you thrust forward, desperate for any friction. He teases his tip through your folds and against your clit.

"Be my girlfriend," Hamzah whispers, in between leaving open mouthed kisses on your décolletage.

You toss your head to the side, too overwhelmed to even respond. He continues his actions, feeding off your pleasure. You grip the back of his neck and bring his mouth back to yours.

"Be my boyfriend," you mumble against his lips.

You reach between your slick bodies and pump his shaft a few times, your foreheads pressed together as you watch his eyelids flutter from the sensation. Lining him up, you feel him gradually enter you. Both of you breathe heavily and as soon as you get used to his size, you buck your hips. Moans fall from your lips like water droplets, echoing against the bathroom tiles as he begins to thrust into you faster and faster. You clutch his shoulders and he buries his face in your neck, his groans vibrating against your wet skin.

Letting go of one of your legs, Hamzah kneads your tit, pinching your nipple then soothing it with the pad of his thumb. You whimper and stand on your tippy toes as he pounds into you, trying your best not to buckle from the feeling. His lips suck on the side of your throat, sure to leave marks in the places he lingers. You dig your heel into his lower back, wanting—no, needing to feel all of him.

When you start clenching around him, he glides his hand down your front and rubs circles on your clit. You gasp out breaths, digging your nails into his back.

"Feel good, baby?" he pants in your ear, his hips crashing into yours with each word. "Tell me."

"Yes, Hamzah, yes," you sob. "Harder, please!"

He complies, the wet slapping getting louder between you. Your eyes screw shut as white heat fills your veins from your head to your toes and all you can do is moan haphazardly. He's in a similar state, his voice breaking as curses fly from his lips. He fucks you through your climax, holding out as long as he can while he flicks his hand relentlessly. Once you’re completely spent, he pulls out with a groan and cums all over your stomach and thighs. You raise a trembling hand to stroke him until he finishes and his moans steadily fade out.

Your chests rise and fall as you attempt to catch your breaths. Hamzah lightly kisses up your neck, still holding you against the wall as the both of you recover. You bring your other leg back down to the ground and lean your weight on him.

Pushing him under the shower head, you watch the way his curls slowly shrink back into place.

“Shampoo,” you breathe out.

Hamzah hands you the bottle and watches as you return the favor for him.

“Put your head down, please,” you request. “I’m too shaky.”

He laughs silently but does as you say. Your fingernails graze his scalp and he makes little noises of approval.

“Body wash me,” you say.

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah.” You bring his head up to make eye contact. “Boyfriend-ly duties.”

The two of you leave the shower after a couple more minutes of teasing and fondling. Hamzah wraps a towel around you and you plug the blow dryer in as he grabs one for himself. He’s about to leave the bathroom when you call him back.

“C’mon,” you say, beckoning him to the mirror. “You don’t style your hair?”

You grab a tiny dollop of conditioner and run it through his curls.

“I usually just let it air dry.”

“That’s fine, but you should always moisturize.”

“Every time?” he asks like it’s an unfathomable chore.

“From now on, yeah.” You scrunch some of the strands. “Can’t have my boyfriend looking crazy.”

“You’re really loving that title, huh?” he teases.

“Am I not supposed to?” you ask, washing your hands in the sink and looking at him through the steamy mirror. “If I knew how simple it was to get that title, I would’ve fucked you a lot sooner.”

Hamzah chokes on his spit.

a/n: i realize this whole chapter was basically abt sex and yk what i don’t even mind it. how we feeling abt there being one part left? what do yall think is gonna happen omggggg🙈 also should i do an epilogue or just stick with 7 being the ending? lmk!!!! love yall as per usual<333

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah fic #hamzah x reader #slushy virus #hamzahsmut #hamzah fluff #hamzah imagines #hamzah x y/n #martin and hamzah #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah angst #slushynoobs

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ethereacals · 1 day ago

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so american <3

synopsis: Remus grows attached to an American transfer student from Ilvermorny pairings: remus lupin x gryffindor!american!reader

content: stupid gilderoy makes fun of ur accent >:(, remus and r share a cute lil moment, r discovers butterbeer, remus comfort

warnings: profanity (:

wc; 1.6k

series masterlist

EVERYONE WANTED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT the new american girl

What was American food like?" "Have you ever been to New York?" "Disney World?" "Disneyland?" "Have you gone to Florida?" "How much does it rain?" "Did it snow at Ilvermorny?"

Every single one of those questions were asked by James and Peter.

You really didn't mind the curiosity, and in your head it made it less embarrassing for you to ask questions about their culture and life since they equally didn't know anything about yours.

Your questions were justified.

Everyone was extremely kind and forgiving as you made your way around the colossal school that was Hogwarts.

For the most part.

There were a few people who didn't really appreciate your presence.

Mulciber and Avery thought of you very little, not even relating to your blood-status.

And one boy in particular thought your accent was the funniest thing since The Prewitts had unleashed the giant squid in the third-floor corridor.

He was then stuck there for 1 month.

They haven't run out of ink for the quills since, on the bright side.

But you weren't sure how you felt about someone poking fun at your accent.

It simply wasn't something you could control, sure you could fake a british accent. But what good would that do?

Everyone already knew you were from America.

And you weren't making fun of their accents.

"She calls pop- So-da, what even is So-da?" The ever-famous wizarding world Quidditch gear model- Gilderoy Lockhart mocked, and his posse of surrounding fifth year girls giggled in agreement.

Remus was fuming, all the way across the Great Hall from the Ravenclaw table.

He could tell you were upset by this, but you didn't want to draw anymore unwanted attention onto yourself.

So you tucked your head in your arms, and merely pretended to be studying your Herbology book.

"For a Ravenclaw, He's not very smart, y'know?" Remus snapped bitterly, James looking up from his Potions essay.

"He's like that guy from that movie my mum loves." James equated, looking over to Sirius for his agreement.

"Which one?" Asked Sirius, his head cocked to the right slightly.

"Grease." Sirius stared blankly.

"Danny Zuko?" James sighed defeatedly, knowing of his boyfriends' infatuation with Danny Zuko.

"Oh, I forget the movie isn't called 'Greased Lightning'." Sirius sighed dreamily in the reminder of Danny Zuko from Grease.

The two boys' conversation faded into the background, as you heard Remus mumbling to himself softly.

"Shut up, Lockhart." His fists clenched, his knuckles going white.

Something had been up with Remus for the last few days, and you had not a clue why.

He'd almost been more attached to you than usual, always by your side, always protecting you.

And what made matters weirder was that James and Sirius kept alluding to "The Big Night".

Whenever they mentioned it, Remus would either shy away or shush them coldly.

Gilderoy's deep, egotistical voice echoed in your head as he poked fun at something you couldn't control.

And you feared Remus could sense your discomfort.

The patience level Remus' head snapped, and he pushed himself up to his feet and marched over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Didn't your mum ever teach you how to not be a dick, Lockhart?" Remus snarled, as you turned around- absolutely mortified.

"Excuse me, Lupin?" Gilderoy clutched his pearls (which weren't imaginary), as he gawked at Remus' tone

"You're excused." He deadpanned, the girls surrounding the boy quickly saw themselves out of the conversation.

"You need to shut your damn mouth about Y/N." Remus spat, towering over Gilderoy.

"And what if I don't? Why? Is she your little girlfriend?" Gilderoy bit back, seemingly proud of himself for his little quip.

"W-What? No! I just know how to be a good friend and I know that you are hurting her feelings." Remus was quick to defend his actions.

"You're just jealous that I have a pond of girls surrounding me, and you don't! Right ladies?" He turned around to see that none of them had stuck around.

"Looks like you bored them, Lockhart." Remus smirked, as Gilderoy stood up- fuming.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you how to respect your superiors?" "I surely don't hope you mean yourself."

"I do! As a matter of fact. And I don't think your parents did, because why else would your father have married a filthy muggle-"

*CRACK*

Gilderoy clutched his perfect nose in agony, as Sirius cheered complimentary.

Remus had just broken a boy's nose for you.

Your heart really shouldn't have fluttered like it did.

"I'M SORRY I GOT YOU DETENTION."You apologized, feeling rather badly that he punched someone because they were being rude to you.

"It's alright, It was worth it to shut Lockhart up." Remus shrugged, his knuckles wrapped in bandages.

"Still, you didn't have to do it for me. Thank you." You expressed, a small smile spreading on his lips.

"Your welcome, Y/N."

It was a lovely evening at the Astronomy tower.

The sky was crystal clear, and the stars were illuminated by the beautiful waxing moon.

It was nearly full.

"I... apologize if I've been off this week." Remus hesitated, glancing over at you quickly.

"It's alright, Remus. Everyone has bad weeks." You accepted, a hand coming to his shoulder consolingly.

"I'm glad you understand." The tension in his shoulders released steadily.

"I'll always try to." You smiled comfortingly.

HOGSMEADE WEEK WAS UPON all third-year students and above.

Hogsmeade Week was the first week that Hogsmeade would be open for students to come and go as they please.

Shops that were owned by alumni hosted parties and celebrations.

And Remus had planned to take you to your first ever party at Hogwarts.

Lily had invited you to get ready with her and the girls.

"So, Y/N. Did Ilvermorny have any sort of Hogsmeade place?" Mary asked, while meticulously placing small butterfly clips in her hair.

"No, not really. We usually just went on school trips every so often."

You explained casually.

“Where did you hang out, then?” Marlene quirked her brow, lounging next to Dorcas.

“No where, really. We just hung out in our common rooms and on the grounds.” You tried to gaze over to her, but Lily scolded you for moving your head as she was busy curling your hair.

"That's interesting. I couldn't imagine not having somewhere to get food that wasn't served by the house-elves." Alice mused, puckering her lips to apply gloss.

"Alright, I think it's done." Lily marveled at her masterpiece that was your hair.

"Wow.. Lily, it's amazing." You smiled, standing up to hug her generously.

"Oh, It's nothing." Lily reasoned humbly.

"Ready to go?" Mary handed Lily her purse.

"Absolutely." Lily grabbed your hand excitedly, and pulled you out of the dorm room.

"SHE LOOKS PERFECT." Remus stared at you in utter awe.

You were stunning.

Remus knew you always had been, even since the day he met you.

But today was certainly no exception, as you looked exceptionally beautiful.

"Remus!" You shouted excitedly over the booming music, as you ran to him through the thick crowd.

He relished how your gorgeous eyes lit up just at the mere sight of him.

He caught you as you jumped forward to hug him, spinning you around.

"Hi, dove." Remus smiled, plopping you back down on your feet.

"You look great!" You praised enthusiastically.

"Thank you, and you look lovely." He brushed a hand through your hair.

The party was in full swing.

Unbeknownst to you both, Sirius and James had been plotting something.

They saw how Remus' eyes could pick you out from a huge crowd. How even if there were dozens of free tables in the library, you would choose to sit at Remus'. How he shared his chocolate with you (he never once had given James a piece of chocolate). How you read every single book he suggested to you.

Now- sure, you could just be really good friends.

But James and Sirius weren't stupid.

Their boy was in love.

So, they devised a plan to somehow lock you and Remus in a supply closet in The Three Broomsticks (the party venue) for a few minutes, and see what happens.

Was it a great idea? No, but would it get some clueless people to think for a moment? Absolutely.

Just as they were figuring out the logistics to the plan, Marlene suggested to play "The Closet Game".

Which her and Mary made up last time, and It was a bit it.

Basically, everyone would decide on one person to go into the closet and wait. Then, everyone would then close their eyes and someone else would have to decide themselves to go in after the person. Once that person was in the closet, they would shut the door. Everyone outside of the closet had a few minutes to guess who was in the closet.

After a few rounds, and some right and wrong guesses.

Lily voted on you to go in the closet first. Then Marlene. Then Mary. Then Dorcas. Then Alice. Then Sirius. Then everyone.

Well, everyone except for Remus.

He didn't seem very enthused, clearly only playing because you were.

There weren't that many playing, but he did know of some of the blokes playing and he didn't want you anywhere near them.

So then, it was time to close their eyes.

Remus' eyes shut, and he panicked.

The wait inside the closet felt antagonizingly long, until- you heard the door click shut.

Someone had walked in.

Tune in next time on; so american <3

so american taglist

@hisparentsgallerryy @lydpop @amatoanima @po3tbbygirl @thequeen0fhearts @yourlittlefries @jsprien213 @liviessun @wandasbitch22 @michtellch @hellokitty-girl666

#marauders era #remus lupin #marauders #fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #calli's so american

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crookedteethed · 2 days ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 Beautiful Destruction . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- Some addictions aren't found in powder form. Sometimes they're found in the way he says your name between midnight fights and morning regrets. A toxic love story.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, allusions to smut, mature/dark themes, mentions of blood, substance use, domestic abuse (from both parties), jealousy, toxic relationships, angst, no happy ending...

disclaimer -- with having read said warnings please note that this is a work of fiction, and as a writer, I do not condone or romanticize toxic relationships, substance abuse, or any form of physical/emotional abuse. This story explores dark themes for fictional purposes only. Please proceed with caution if these themes might be triggering.

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 1.4k

The moonlight catches in his hair as Rafe Cameron stares at you across his bedroom, and you hate how beautiful he looks in this light—all sharp edges and barely contained rage. Your lip is still bleeding from where he kissed you too hard, punishment for the marks you left on his neck, visible enough that everyone will know. That was the point, after all.

The residual high from the lines you both did earlier is wearing off, leaving that familiar hollow feeling in your chest. It started as just a party thing, but now neither of you can seem to face these conversations sober anymore. The powder traces on his credit card mock you from the nightstand.

"Stay," he demands more than whispers, and there's that dangerous edge to his voice that should make you run. Instead, it makes you want to push harder, see how far you can take this before something breaks. "Just fucking stay this time."

You don't turn around as you pull your torn shirt back on, trying not to remember last month when you ripped his favorite button-down to shreds after finding texts from another girl on his phone. The fight that followed left a scar on your shoulder from where you hit the corner of his desk, and a matching one on his forearm from your keys. You both swore it would never happen again, but that's what you always say.

"Why? So we can pretend this is something it's not?"

"Don't do that," he says, and you hear him stand up, the sheets rustling. "Don't act like this is just sex when you're the one who showed up at my door at three AM last week, drunk and crying about seeing me with that girl at the Wreck."

"I wasn't crying," you snap, but your hands shake as you button your jeans. "And I don't care who you fuck."

He laughs, that hollow sound that means you've hurt him. Good. That's what you do best. "Right. That's why you made sure to let the whole party hear us tonight? Why you kept saying my name loud enough for everyone downstairs to hear through the walls?"

You finally turn, a cruel smile playing on your lips. "Maybe I just really enjoyed myself."

"You're such a liar," he growls, crossing the room in three quick strides. His hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of how he held you earlier. "You're so scared of actually feeling something that you'd rather destroy us both."

"There is no 'us,'" you say, but your pulse races under his palm. "There never was."

His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt. "Then why do you keep coming back?"

"Because you're convenient," you lie, watching the words land like punches. "Because you're always so desperate for it, aren't you? Poor little rich boy, so starved for love he'll take whatever scraps I throw him."

You expect him to push you away, to finally give up. Instead, he kisses you, hard and brutal, tasting of bourbon and blood. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than you've ever seen them.

"You want to talk about desperate?" His voice is dangerously soft. "You're the one who begged me not to stop last night. Who cries my name when you come. Who shows up at my door every time you're lonely because you know I'll let you in. Because you know I love you, even though you don't deserve it."

The truth of his words feels like drowning. You shove him hard, needing space, needing air. "I never asked you to love me."

"No," he agrees, letting you go but not backing away. "You just made sure no one else could. How many people have you scared away from me? How many times have you shown up just when I was starting to move on?"

Your hand cracks across his face before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes in the quiet room. It reminds you of that night three months ago—the one you both pretend never happened. When the coke and jealousy and rage all exploded at once, leaving you both with bruises you had to explain away to concerned friends. He'd grabbed your wrists too hard; you'd thrown a bottle that shattered inches from his head. You both ended up on the floor, somewhere between fighting and fucking, leaving trails of blood from the broken glass neither of you had bothered to avoid.

"Fuck you," you spit, but there are tears in your eyes now.

"You already did," he says coldly. "Multiple times. Loud enough for the whole fucking house to hear. Was it worth it? Did it make you feel better about the fact that you're in love with me too?"

His smile is all teeth. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"I don't love you," you say, the words scraping your throat raw. "I don't even like you."

"Keep telling yourself that." He grabs your wrist as you reach for the door. "But we both know you'll be back. You always come back."

You jerk away from him. "Not this time."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair—the same nervous gesture he made the morning you found him passed out in his bathroom, nose bleeding, pulse too fast. You'd stayed then, nursed him through the comedown, only to steal what was left of his stash before leaving. "Give it a week. You'll get drunk, see me with someone else, and show up at my door pretending you just want sex. And I'll let you in, because I'm stupid enough to keep loving you even though you're destroying me piece by piece."

"Then stop letting me in," you challenge, even as your chest constricts at the thought.

His laugh is bitter. "Maybe I will. Maybe next time I'll have someone else in my bed. Someone who isn't afraid to stay until morning. Would that finally make you feel something?"

The image hits you like a physical blow—Rafe with someone else, someone who deserves him. Someone better than you. The jealousy rises like bile in your throat.

"Do whatever you want," you say, proud that your voice doesn't shake. "I don't care."

"Prove it," he dares you. "Walk out that door and don't come back. For real this time."

Your hand finds the doorknob, and for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine turning around, confessing everything. How you've been in love with him since that first night. How you push him away because you know you'll only break him in the end. How you'd rather hurt him on your terms than wait for him to realize you're not worth staying for.

Instead, you say, "Goodbye, Rafe," and step out into the night, leaving behind the only person who's ever seen through every lie you've told yourself.

Through the door, you hear glass shatter against the wall. Then another. And another.

You make it to your car before the sobs tear free from your chest. Your phone buzzes—a text from him.

I hate that I still love you.

You type back through blurred vision: I hate that I let you.

You drive away, your hands shaking as you resist the urge to dip into the baggie in your purse—the one you bought with money stolen from his wallet while he was sleeping last week. He probably knew; he always knows. Just like you know about the times he's followed you to parties, watched you flirt with other guys just to hurt him, waited for you to break down and come crawling back.

Next week, or next month, one of you will break. You'll end up back in his bed, adding new scars to your collection, both physical and emotional. You'll share lines and lies and bruising kisses, pretending the chemicals in your blood are the only reason your heart races when he touches you. Because that's what you do—you break each other apart and call it love.

Maybe one day, one of you will be strong enough to end this for good. Maybe it'll be when one of you finally goes too far, pushes too hard, breaks something that can't be fixed with apologetic kisses and promises you never mean to keep.

But not tonight. Tonight, you're already calculating how long to wait before texting him about the coke you just bought, knowing he'll let you in even though you both swore last time was the last time.

It's never the last time.

a/n -- Thanks to anyone who made it to the end of this fic! As always, all likes, comments, and reblogs keep me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt @iluvvmeeee @ecliptide @mrsdrewstarkeyy @blaustappen @disaster-rose @neslayuh @justdamnpeachy @rafecamlovr @lhhlver @upsidedownjill @niyalovests @cl4uus

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ziminy · 2 days ago

Text

Coming back to you

How to get back with your ex

Tags: smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, f!reader, normal au (because we suffered enough), my bbg Caleb the manipulative king he is (break me in half and all I'll say is thank you), implied stalking (if you squint), creampie, oral (f! receiving), fingering, marking, dirty talk, praising, size difference, little bit of crying, not proofread

Author's note: almost lvl 60 affinity with him, it was hard work and a lot of dedication. Trust me when I say I won't be able to recover financially from this any time soon.

Masterlist

Life was good when you were together, and somehow it even better after breaking up. It's not like your split up was messy, because you two parted ways on mutual accord, deciding that this isn't going to work since both of you were so busy lately. Why dragging the other down when you have your futures set?

In fact, the break up wasn't even supposed to be a break up, you were supposed to take a little break from each other that turned into a break up some time later. You said that you'd still be friends, that it's alright to talk and greet each other if you somehow managed to meet again.

But it was all lies. Both of you knew that. Because you never texted each other after that, and somehow you tried to avoid all the places he might be at. You don't really know why you're doing that, if just.. you feel a little uncomfortable looking back at what you two used to have.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, how he leaned down to talk to you, or that dumb smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He was caring, attentive, maybe a bit obsessive, perhaps a bit insane too. And maybe that what scared you, kept you away from dating again. Finding another one like him. God, what if you had the misfortune to wake up with another one like him at your door? You'd rather jump out the window than have the luck of getting another Caleb.

But he was good, in his own ways.

Well.. you can't really name any of his good traits at the moment, but he was a great guy. If you put aside his manipulative side, that he doesn't even try to hide to begin with.

You promised yourself to not fall for another guy like him, that empty words mean nothing to you. Threats had no effect, and you don't feel guilty anymore over things that you shouldn't be to begin with.

So, why was he here? You were supposed to meet with the old friend group, to reconnect and talk about the old days and how college used to be. I mean, he was part of the group, but why exactly was he here? And why did nobody told you he was coming?

"It's so good to see you guys!" one of your friends said, instantly jumping from person to person to hug.

"I feel like we're young again." someone else said, making you shake your head and let out a soft laugh. You can't show that you're affected, you're all grown now, you matured. He had no effect on you anymore. Even if it only been a year, you're still a different person that you were a few months ago.

"We aren't old to begin with." you said with a smile on your face. "How haves everyone been?" you sounded so calm, like you forgot how much stress was put on you back then. Everybody looks in much better shape after graduation, perhaps that place was rough for everyone.

"Let's just skip greetings and drink." of course there was that one person. "Caleb, you pay." everybody's eyes were on the tall man.

"You brought your wallet, no? Why should I pay." your eyes made contact for a moment, and you felt your face getting hotter. This night better go quick, because you don't know for how much longer you can handle this.

Everything was how it was back then, the way you sit in groups at the bar. How you found yourself next to the same girls you used to, deciding that you don't want to be loud and take it easy, just like before.

"So, how have life been for you? Haven't heard anything from you after we graduate." one of the girls looked at you, reminding you of how you chose to go no contact with everybody after your breakup.

"You and Caleb broke up? I thought you'd last a life time." is there nothing better to talk about?

"I'm a career woman now." you decided to change the subject, rather chosing to talk about work that your failed relationship.

"Oh?" why everybody looked so surprised was a mystery. But somehow you understood their reactions, you're also surprised you went this path.

"Got any boyfriends?" they still want to get info on your personal life, huh? Well, guess you won't be able to dodge that question any time soon.

"Nothing at the moment. Just focusing on work."

"I guess it's hard to date again. Normal guys must be so bland, not comparing to that piece of meat over there." you looked displeased with your friends choice of words. Yes, your ex might look good, but looks isn't what matters right now. Your well being was your top priority, and you enjoyed the freedom you had way too much.

"I'd be like that too if I had your ex. Imagine recovering from that." you don't even have to imagine.

"Is it even humanly possible to find somebody who's better than him?" their questions doesn't affect you, because you already know that you're the best you'd find. You understand and give yourself more than enough space that it's needed. So the right questions was if he will be able to find someone as good as you, because he won't.

"He's looking in this direction." the girls started giggling, and somehow, this was nostalgic.

Didn't this happened already? Before you started dating, right before you two confessed your feelings. Because somehow, you managed to do that at the same time. It was funny, if you're thinking about it. How you two were so in sync, you had no idea.

"Go talk to him." the girl next to you tried to push you, to make you get up and walk to the dark haired man.

"Don't want to." you kept avoiding any eye contact ever since you got in that bar. If you don't acknowledge him then he doesn't even exist to you.

"But he's looking at you." you grabbed the drink in front of you and gulped everything down your throat, trying to ignore him.

"Are you shy?" the girls started giggling again.

It was annoying. Why can't they understand that it's over? He understands this, so why can't they do it as well?

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"But he seems to want to?" it doesn't matter even if they point it out. It's been a long time already, you both moved on.

"Isn't there anything you want to tell him? Like things you didn't got the chance to while you were together?"

"This is the time to clear any bad blood between the two of you." but that wasn't necessary.

Frustrated, you looked in his direction. Eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip so you wouldn't let out any curses you wanted to say at the moment. That classical expression, looking like he's good, even if there was no smile on his face, but he kept nodding to what his friends were saying. His eyes were betraying him however, those sleepy eyes, looking at you like you were more interesting, like he had to or else you'd evaporate from there or who knows what worse. It wasn't often when you'd see him like that, so you can't even answer your own questions on why he seemed like that.

No, if you payed attention to his surroundings, his friends might be annoying him. Saying something that he doesn't like, or.. they were talking about you. Just the way your friends were talking about him.

Was he feeling like that because he didn't want to talk to you either? No, you doubt that. It's probably because you refuse to give him any attention.

You turned to face the girls around you, who still seemed to push you to him. Maybe you should in fact go for it?

But, was there really anything that needed to be said? You don't have any regrets, you can't think of anything you want to say. And he's the same, even if he looked like he was holding back from time to time. You doubt he ever did something he's regretting. After all, you matched each other's freaks. You managed to stay together for that long just because you completed the other, understood yourselfs on a level no one else around you could.

Was this why you were pushed to him? Because everyone knew how well you fit each other?

You looked at your friends one more time, sighing as you finally gave up. You're still afraid to approach him, because he was still intimidating in a way you can't explain.

Or you can, because whenever you look at him you feel a chill down your spine. Your head was filled with stuff you said to him in the past, memories coming back to embarrass you, to make you forget what you want to do so you'd fuck up in front of him.

You stopped in front of him, staring at him as he looked at you. He still had that expression on his face, like you're still his softest spot, his weakness that makes him weak in the knees when he's around you. You opened your mouth, trying to say something but then forgetting everything once you looked into his purple eyes.

You can't be like this forever, you had to step up your game. You really had to move on, and maybe that's what you have to talk with him. Because he seems to be stuck in the past too. "You have time?" you noticed the way he almost raised his hand, to grab onto you and drag you closer like he always did. But he held back, because he knew this wasn't the time.

"Yeah." he tried to keep it nonchalantly, but you could see past his poorly executed facade. Should you feel happy with how you still affect him? You feel like you could laugh.

"Wanna talk outside?" you don't even know why you said outside of all places. You wanted to stay inside, where everybody else was. You wanted to have a reason to keep it cool, to not lose yourself in your emotions, because you know you'll fuck up if you're alone with him.

He got up, standing much taller than you as he followed you quietly. Seriously, this was like a deja vu. You still remember how you used to follow him just the way he's doing now. Not questioning a thing, and trusting him a bit too much. But you also had no idea where you're going. All you know is that you want to go outside, take some fresh air, say a few words and then go back to your friends.

For a moment, he got in front of you, opening the door and letting you walk out first. He used to do this all the time, didn't he? You almost forgot about it.

You walked a little further from the bar, resting your back against a building's wall as you looked at the sunset. No one said a thing, and the distance between the two of you was colder than the night's breeze.

"So.." a few words and then go back, that's all. You can go to your friends after this and rest. "How have you been." avoid eye contact, because you don't know when you'll fuck up, look forward, don't let yourself be distracted.

"Busy." his voice still makes something in your head ring, like a little bell that seems to not calm down until he said so. "You?"

"Busy." you couldn't even think of what to say, just biting your lip in frustration.

It was quiet again, like both of you forgot how to communicate.

For a moment, you looked to your left, at where the bar was, and then at him, catching him staring at you with a expression you can't quite explain. Sadness? No, it was a mixture of sad and frustration. And you understood him. He had you this close, next to him, and yet he couldn't do anything.

"You're bigger than I remember." you don't even know why you said that. It's just.. he looks different and you can't exactly say what it was.

"I stopped growing a long time ago." he kept looking at you, at the way you were scanning him for anything that it might have changed. "Maybe you're the one who shrinked." he extended his hand, he doesn't really know why, but it seemed alright in that moment. Like he knew you wouldn't run anymore. "My hands are still the same."

You looked at his palm, at his long fingers and at the way he looks so familiar, yet new. Like you forgot how his body looked for a moment, like you were back in the past before you two started dating. Because you did this back then too, you were in this situation before.

How he was trying to tame you, let you touch him just the way you want, explore and discover more. All just to show you how inoffensive he is, that he's not a threat.

And you bite the bait every single time. Taking his hand in yours, slowly touching it just to see if it was indeed like what you remember.

You should put more effort if you don't want him back in your life. Just look at you, you look like you've missed him so so much. You shouldn't be this sweet or else you might not be able to break up again this time.

He tried his luck, interlocking his fingers with yours, and showing you more of that size difference you haven't seen in a while.

You don't reject him, his actions only made you be more curious. What else was he hiding? You looked up at him, only to see that expression again. You really didn't understand how his eyes can be just this dark, like there was absolutely no life in them, only a purple abyss that seems to drag you in towards him.

"It's getting dark." he said in a low voice, forgetting that he was supposed not to scare you for a moment. "Let me drive you home." he's the same as ever. Getting ahead of himself just because he was able to feel your perfume for once, the same scent that you had since back then. It suited you, and he missed it.

"Alright." he always knew how to calm you, let down your guard so he can get more under your skin. Or perhaps you were doing that voluntarily, because he doubts you'd be like this just for anybody.

The ride back to your place was quiet, only the radio on, playing some mainstream songs over and over again.

The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was better this way because you had nothing to say. And he will not talk until you talk.

But once you got to your house, you somehow didn't wanted to get out the car just yet. It's just.. can't he stay? You don't know why you want him there, and you don't want answers to that.

"You're.." you played with your fingers. "You're not busy, right?" you avoided his eyes, or to look in his direction at all. This was all his doing, wearing that one fragrance that made your head spin, and the shirt that he knew was your favorite. "Want to come inside?" you're doing this on your own accord. Because he wouldn't push you over your limits like this, especially when you just met again after a long time.

You came to him, you talked to him, and you dragged him into your home on your own. He didn't do anything, this was all your doing.

You were brave enough to make the first move, so he might as well reward you for it, no?

You didn't looked surprised when you started kissing the moment the front door closed behind you, you also looked unfazed when he started taking off your clothes, now going towards your bedroom, looking for a bed so he could place you on it.

How could you forget this feeling? Or the way he used to take care of you. Always stopping you from lifting a single finger, not letting you do anything until you start begging him, or worse, do things without even warning him first.

"Tell me if it hurts." he placed a kiss on your cheek before going down, biting softly on your skin and leaving kisses all over the places he touched. He was going to mark all of your body, so people would see a part of him on you even if you're not together.

He stopped when he got to your pussy, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, before placing his lips over your heat. He was going to scream, he missed this so much that he just couldn't help but let out a lustful moan deep from the bottom of his heart.

How could you left him? Take this away from him, leave him all alone to suffer. If he didn't craved so much for you he would have punished you for it.

"You're so tight." he said as he got two of his fingers inside.

"It's been a while since I did it." he looked up at you from between your legs, placing a kiss on your clit.

"Have you done it with someone else?" he was asking as if he didn't knew everything you did while he was gone. And yet, hes jealous.

"No." you shook your head. "What about you?" are you questioning his loyalty?

"Did you touched yourself?" if this was his way of changing the subject, then it wasn't working. Because it only made you want to ask the same thing, embarras him just the way he did to you.

"Did you?" he should feel embarrassed, ashamed or anything between those two, but no, it was just you who feeling that way.

"Every time I missed you." seriously, can he calm down for a moment. You can't take it. "You didn't do a good job." he said, licking on your clit as his fingers curled up. "But I guess you can't do much with those fingers of yours." you couldn't face him when he was saying such dirty words. "Did you had a hard time stuffing yourself? Don't worry, I'll do it for you from now on." you placed a hand over his face, to cover his eyes so he would stop looking at you.

"Don't look at me." you whimper. "It's embarrassing." you were always so easy to tease.

"Alright." he moved your hand away. "I'm sorry." he was in fact not, but if that's what you want to hear then he'll lie again and again, as long as you're happy.

Your pleasure was more important to him. So he focused on that, paying attention to the places that made you melt, on your soft voice and your touch. You're still so hesitant, like you don't really trust him, like you're still testing the waters.

What more do you want from him? What can he possible give that he haven't gave you already? You have his heart, you have his mind and soul, his well being is all yours, his body and everything he owns. So give him attention, touch him more and tell him that he's doing good because he's about to burst.

For a moment he looked up at you, just to see how you're doing, to check on you and make sure you're alright.

How did he lived for so long without looking at you was a mystery. Why he accepted you leaving him and trying to move on. Who else is going to make you feel like this? You need him, you needed his cock and his touch.

But he's not going to fuck up, since it's been a while since you last did it, he shouldn't push you. So, he placed a last kiss on your clit before taking his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and waiting for more. He didn't even let you cum, how mean of him.

Still, how dumb of him, to come here with nothing on him, not even a single condom. I mean, it wasn't really his fault because he never knew he'll end up like this.

"Take it off, your clothes." you were all naked while he was still fully dressed. He also looked like he wasn't planning on getting undressed any time soon and it was annoying you.

"I don't have any condoms." that was the problem?

"It don't matter." you took him by surprise. "Come here." you knew how rail him up. And you better not regret your decision later.

You looked at him taking off his shirt, his defined muscles jumping right into your face. You were right when you said he looked bigger, he must be working out a lot more lately. He took his pants off after, your eyes on his hard cock as he came back next to you.

"Relax." he said when he got between your legs. "Look at me." it would only be harder for you if you keep overthinking. Yeah, he was big, so what. He's going to give you all the time in the world until you adjust yourself to take him. It's gonna be hard at first, but it's going to be so much easier once he models your insides into the shape of his cock. And that's a promise, believe him.

He slowly pushed the head of his dick inside your wet core, making you move a little from how it was feeling, trying to find a better position. He lowered himself, now his chest pressed against yours, placing kisses all over your face as he kept pushing more of him inside your warm pussy. It's alright, take your time. He's not going anywhere, he'll wait until you're ready for him to move.

"You're doing good." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I'm all the way inside, see? It doesn't hurt." it hurts a little, maybe more than just a little. But wasn't it normal when he was stretching you like that? But just as much as it hurts, it also felt good, in a way that left your mouth watering. He was going to be the end of you, really.

"Move." you ordered him, wanting to feel more. Just being stuffed to the brim wasn't enough, you needed much more than that.

He followed your orders, moving his hips slowly, paying attention to your next move.

You were so cute when you're sticking to him like that, holding onto his shoulders and trembling every time he touched that spot deep inside that he wasn't trying to touch to begin with, to not overwhelm yourself.

He's going to give you everything you want, there's no need to rush. If this was how much you can handle then that's how much he's going to give you. So why were you grabbing him like that, and asking for more? "Deeper." but you couldn't take it? You're going to say that he bullied you later, and he doesn't want to take the blame for something you made him do.

"You're sure?" you nodded, looking at him through your eyelashes with a pout on your face. Alright then, if that's what you want. How could he refuse you?

So he got deeper, hitting that spongy spot with long slow strokes that seems to work wanders on you.

He kissed you, again and again, to mark everything that missed his touch. To make sure you feel him, more than just inside.

"Is it good?" he asked as if he doesn't know your body like the back of his hand.

"Mm." you nodded, leaning in to feel more of his warmth.

"Then say my name. Let me know how good I make you feel." how could you forget he was like this. He always had to mark his territory as if you're not already his. But unfortunately for him, you're not in the mood to fulfill his desires. Screaming his name seemed nice, but at the moment all you wanted was to feel him, have him to yourself and let nobody know about your business.

Maybe his greedy side rubbed on you, or maybe it's the other way around. Or not, because at the end of the day you both knew that your unsolved issues can't be fixed that easy, and it can't be passed into the other when both of you are insane.

That's why you're trying to consume each other in other ways.

Kisses that seemed way too loving for someone who just got reunited after a long time. Touches that linger on the other's body even after moving away. Whispers and words that really makes it seems like you two were just a day apart, talking about moving with him, how you don't need anyone else but him. And at the moment you're too drunk on him to even realize that you're nodding, agreeing to every little degrading thing he's saying.

You want him, don't you? You missed him, you were such a mess without him. Right? Why did you permited him to leave when he's made for you. "I love you." that's the most normal thing he said tonight. "I love you, you heard me?" you heard him, but if you're giving him an answer that satisfies him, you'll never make him pay for the pain he caused you.

"You do?" you didn't sounded loving at all, even if your arms were wrapped around his neck, looking at him in the eyes with something only he saw before, your lust and obsession.

"I love you." he'll say it until you finally give up. Placing a kiss right next to your eye, he caged you in his arms, a hand under your ass and lifting up so he could go even deeper than before. Move in even more, since you said you wanted deeper. He'll show you places you didn't even know existed if you're asking for it.

He can't say that he's a brat tamer, because he's not. He likes everything about you, your sweet side, your mean and angry side. He likes it when you punish him, it shows him that you care. And if you believe that he's not doing enough to deserve your love just yet, then he'll do more.

He liked trying after all. And he'd be damed if he said that he doesn't want to show you just how far he can go. Because trust him, you can't handle it.

He's going to eat you, or even better, sacrifice him as you see fit. He wants to be inside you forever, be part of you. Because he feels like he's finally at home only when he's with you, in your arms. And when he's balls deep inside you? He's in heaven.

"Does it hurts?" he licked your tears away, wanting to taste them and claim them as his.

You nodded, feeling his cock twitching before moving in a way that got you throwing your head back. This fucker. He thinks that he can just do this to you and not pay a price? And perhaps sometimes he forgets how you can be so cruel, mean, and play with his feelings in a way only you could.

All he needs is a look from you, fluttering those eyelashes in a pretty way, and a sad expression that he can't resist.

You win, if you wanted him to fumble, then you win. He's all yours, do whatever you want with him because he doesn't have the ability to think anymore. "Cum with me?" what gives you the right to ask such a dumb question when you knew that's the only thing he wants. If you're not, the he's not doing it either. He knows he's asking for too much, but let the man dream.

"I'll fill you up nice and pretty, alright?" he made it sounded like a question, but you both knew he was just letting you know.

"Mm." you nodded, your lips smashing together the next moment. Eating each other out as you were both so so close. Touches becoming more and more desperate, his grip on so tight you won't be surprised if it leaves a bruise. But it's alright, because you feel like that's not quite enough.

More, you both needed more. And some heated sex after fucks knows how long won't be enough to satisfy the empty holes in you. You needed so much more.

Will you even be able to get out the bed tomorrow? Both of you. Because from the way you drag each other back, refusing to give up just yet was more than enough proof to show you won't step back any time soon.

But who knows, maybe you'll finally be happy by the time you both dry your energy out.

#lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb #love and deepspace #lads smut #lads x reader

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jimpagne · 2 days ago

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Why is it that some of the biggest fujoshis are homophobes?

Sigh. Let me rant for a bit...

I know this is not exactly my "normal" type of content, but if we're being honest, what even is my type of content?

I cannot believe that we are less than six months away from all of the BTS members discharge dates, and we still have solos and delusional toxic shippers denying the fact that Jimin and Jungkook enlisted together. This is no longer an argument of "what ship is real" but now simply a concerning display of absolute insanity at this point.

Jimin and Jungkook could say the sky is blue and these people would scream at them that it's purple. Just because they can.

Is it really that crazy to admit that they went together? That they made the conscious decision to go through the program together? A program of which they have confirmed that they (yes they, as in BOTH Jimin and Jungkook, let me remind you--) used to enlist in both verbal and written forms? If not multiple times?

It doesn't matter if you think they're dating or friends or enemies or whatever. The REALITY is they enlisted together. They're currently together right now. On the same base. In the same unit.

What is so fucking hard to admit about that?

Even among the crowd of people who (bitterly) accept that they went together is a type of discussion I find to be insane as someone who is personally part of the LGBTQIA+ community.

What they talk about is blatant fetishization and internalized homophobia.

The thing is, I don't really care if you think Jikook is dating or not, I'm not saying that they are, and in fact, it's actually not even entirely relevant at this point. But you have certain shippers crashing out in inboxes and on twitter -- NON KOREAN PEOPLE, MIND YOU -- going on and on about how it's impossible that Jimin and Jungkook could be dating AND choose to enlist together.

"The South Korean military criminalizes homosexuality! They can't be gay if they go together! I mean, how can they even have sex! They can't be in a relationship if they can't have sex!"

In my opinion, as a queer person, I think it's incredibly disgusting when certain people chop up queer relationships to nothing but sex.

Like, what the fuck does that even mean?

This type of rhetoric tells me that these people do not view gay relationships as being on par with straight ones. Do you think gay people need a daily sexual encounter to enjoy spending time with their partners? That's really fucking weird. Really, really fucking weird.

This type of mindset is why homophobia is so rampant; homophobes seem to view gay people as being inherently more sexual than them because they can't possibly imagine a scenario where gay people aren't constantly horny or sex starved creatures looking for their next meal.

Surprise, you don't need sex for a relationship to thrive, especially if you're in a environment where it could put you in danger.

Whether you ship the members or not, this type of thinking is harmful to the queer community and also insulting to the many queer soldiers who are forced, and let me repeat that, FORCED to enlist in South Korea with partners waiting for them on the side.

Like god forbid gay men enlist with their partners.

Respectfully and not respectfully -- FUCK. YOU.

#jikook #kookmin #a bit of a rant #guess i'm the one crashing out #will go back to scheduled content soon but holy FUCK #THESE PPL PISS ME OFF #the anti vaxxers of the bts community on god

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magerightsmagefights · 2 days ago

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This reminds me of the sentiment I had when I first played the game, when I got to know both Davrin and Lucanis that I thought, "Hmm. These seem like two petri dishes of Fandom Romance, labelled "Blackwall Concept" and "Blackwall Appearance" respectively.

Let me explain.

I am not saying that either Davrin or Lucanis are based on Blackwall, nor that they are Blackwall cut in half. But in terms of story, and particularly the way the first few scenes treat Davrin/Rook vs. Blackwall/Inquisitor, there are a few striking similarities.

Their first scene introduces us to an (assumed) Grey Warden, who is gruff, action-oriented, and will take control of a dangerous situation without hesitation. Through external storytelling (Assan/Blackwall's recruits) we are also told that this man has a gentler, nurturing side to him, and a goal to protect those weaker than him. This man is not awestruck by the protagonist; indeed, he's comfortable issuing orders to them if the situation calls for it. He isn't recruited by any initial attraction to the protagonist; he agrees to join the team because he has a deep-rooted urge to help, to save, and to protect.

As we get more acquainted with this Grey Warden, we learn more about him: he's comfortable and competent in a command structure, no matter whether he is subordinate, superior, or comrade. He likes animals, is generally laid-back, and carves wood in his spare time. He protects the innocent, and admires those who do the same. He's self-sacrificing to a fault, perhaps to a worrying degree, but that's par for the course with Grey Wardens.

Here, of course, the two paths diverge. Davrin is a woodsman in the Dalish sense, with a love for nature and a soft, mischievious side he thought he'd left behind in childhood. Blackwall is, well, Blackwall, and who he appears to be is different than who he is. But that's what I'm talking about. Appearances. Because the first few scenes are how most people get their first impression of Blackwall, they don't know the truth about him.

All to say, everything Blackwall appears to be at the start, Davrin actually is. Everything you thought you were getting from Blackwall, Davrin actually delivers. Gruff, masculine with a soft side, Grey Warden warrior who self-sacrifices. Love for animals, love for those weaker than himself, and willing to cut his own throat to feed the flower of hope.

And then we have Lucanis. He is nothing at all like Blackwall, except that they are middle-aged men with long(ish) black hair and excellent black beards. There's not much else to say.

It's so clean-cut, it feels like a science experiment. If not for DAV's hellish development cycle, I'd wonder if it was deliberate. Here sit our two petri dishes, and between them sits a question: Is it the character concept, or the appearance?

Given the preceding posts, and the general nature of the DA fandom, I think the answer is self-evident. But this is about more than popularity. Blackwall wasn't the most popular Inquisition romance. This is about who the fandom is markedly aggressive to. On its own, the sentiment "Davrin is irrelevant" is, frankly, bizarre. Others have already mention how crucial he is to the main plot, so no need to retread old ground. This isn't even about relevance, because plenty of DA companions are irrelevant to their main games. That's why you can kill, send away, or simply refuse to recruit so many of them in the first place. Davrin is certainly more 'relevant' than Blackwall, and yet there is far more discourse around him. Davrin is far more crucial to the main plot, and yet there is still that constant string of questions about whether he's "really necessary? Do we really have to pay attention to him? So what? He's the least interesting companion, not because he's Black, it's just because he's badly written."

Is he, though?

Is he?

i'm sorry but the "da fandom is a little racist BUT veilguard holds most of the blame for making davrin so irrelevent in the game" excuse is the weakest shit i've ever heard. no actually i genuinely think this is almost exclusively a fandom issue. like i won't argue that the "davrin vs harding choice is reliant on assan" shit john epler pushed was unbelievably racist and i won't argue that there's merit to the fact that it was tone deaf at Best to have the black man's character arc so reliant on his animal companion but i'm sorry you cannot fucking convince me that the "knight in shining armor with a gentle heart and a cute animal companion that takes you out on picnic dates and carves you little wooden trinkets" character is not almost Perfectly Engineered to be the most popular romance option in any game ever and yes i fully believe the only reason he isn't is entirely hinged on the fact that he's black and no amount of whataboutism towards the devs can convince me otherwise

#trailed off because I wasn't quite sure how to finish this #i have a lot of Thoughts but the words are all vague #it really does feel like a perfect science experiment #admittedly I'm not keen on super masculine types and I have not yet romanced neither Blackwall nor Davrin #so I'm most curious to see data from blackwallmancers and who they went for in veilguard #which isn't to say anyone should be ashamed of their attraction or who they chose to romance #but I am very very curious about the overlap of attraction to core character vs attraction to outside appearances #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age davrin #davrin romance #davrin x rook

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dailyfigures · 3 days ago

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Unpopular opinion: I hate hate HATE loli figures. idc if people collect them because they’re ‘cute’ it’s still weird asf imo, there are so many other and much cuter figures. It disgusts me how popular and normalized they are among the anime community.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

oh god anon allow me to specifically rant about one of my worst pet peeves. i used to see this mostly on tiktok when i still had the app, but i've seen it happen on most social media.

it really grinds my gears when people own a suggestive/nsfw figure of a minor, and then accuse anyone who dares to say something about it of sexualising children. if you want to own figures of a child/teenager in lingerie, i'm really not a fan of that but at least own up to it. don't act like everyone else is weird when you own a figure made with a certain intention and refuse to admit it.

maybe it helps to give an example; i saw someone on tiktok own a figure of ram from re:zero in lingerie, on hands and knees with an arched back. i think ram is 17 and later in the series an adult, arguebly not the worst figure ever but i can imagine people finding it a little weird. op started accusing everyone who made a comment about the figure by pulling an uno reverse and going "wow....how deeply SICK of YOU to see a child and make it sexual....i would NEVER see her like that.....". ok good for you but i can assure you that was the intention the figure was made with, the target audience is adult men and it's strange to deny this. they even claimed that it was fine because "everyone who collects ram is sapphic anyway" i can assure you that is not true 😭😭 this is very much a case of being in your little online gay bubble and thinking the whole world is the same as you. the target audience of all (female) suggestive/nsfw figures is simply straight men. i'm not saying it's the only people who can own them, but it is who the companies have in mind when producing the figures and it is the largest part of the market. it reminds me a bit of when kpop stans think only gay 17 year olds stan their favourite girl group and then you watch a perfomance where the crowd cheering isn't filtered out and it's all 40 year old men. i'm not stoked about it either, but it is simply the truth.

ofcourse i've seen people reaching, it does happen on tiktok that people get overly sensitive/woke/whatever and blindly hate anyone who collects normal nsfw figures or anyone else who didn't do anything wrong. not every tiktok comment section is filled with the brightest minds of our generation (shocker, i know). i do however think it's a common thing, even with real life children, where people try to question something inappropriate and somehow get the blame. i saw this happen when mothers thought it was strange that target sells swimsuits for babies/toddlers with hip cut outs, and then people accusing said moms of being the weird ones for "thinking a children's swim suit is sexual". guys am i losing my mind. am i going crazy. the concerned mothers are not the problem here for pointing out a weird thing. why in god's name were the swim suits designed like that. can we get an ounce of critical thinking in the chat.

AND ANOTHER THING! sorry guys this is like 5 years of built up irritation you have to let me go for a moment. anyway LOOK at this same shit i saw yesterday. i will not share the video but it was a video of very young middle school girls wearing heavy (gyaru?) makeup, fashion, wigs and nails which was honestly already a bit baffling because it was so much on such young kids. they were all wearing that fashion trend where you wear low rise pants/skirt and then pull up your thong strings to the high heavens so they're on your hips and sticking out off your pants/skirt. not a trend i usually mind but these were very young girls and the whole look, the visible underwear especially, was very inappropriate for their age so people in the comments were uncomfortable. i took one single peak at the comments and had to leave for my own sanity. you guys cannot be serious.

and let me get this very clear: i have also seen people sexualise children doing normal things many times. both extremes are a problem. i think it's fucking weird to sexualise a child giving their parents a kiss or telling a child they shouldn't wear their bathing suit around their male family members, etc. however it is ALSO fucking weird for children to do/wear things that were specifically made for adults doing adult things (like wearing visible lacy thongs when you're in middle school) and no adult stepping in for the child's own safety. both things are weird and i hope everyone dies. anyway what were you saying anon? ah right, no i don't like loli figures either. not a fan.

send me your unpopular figure opinions

#sorry anon for the whole rant and going off topic it just gets under my skin so bad #ask game #anon #ask

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m4rv3l-girl · 3 days ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could maybe do a smut with Bucky where the reader has like a choking kink?😅😂 I got the idea based off the song "if you think I'm pretty" by Artemas. Thank you! Great writing btw!

Say please

Warnings: Choking kink. Allusions to sex. Language.

The tension between them had always been a tangible thing, a charged current crackling in the air whenever they shared the same space.

Y/N had met Bucky Barnes under less-than-friendly circumstances—both thrown together on a mission that neither had wanted. She thought he was insufferable. He thought she was reckless. Every interaction since had been a verbal sparring match, each word laced with challenge, each glance a test of dominance.

It was a game they played. A slow, infuriating, addictive game.

And now? Now she was stuck with him in a safe house, the both of them nursing the wounds of a mission gone wrong, tension thick as the smoke still clinging to their clothes.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Bucky muttered, pressing a rag to the cut on his temple.

Y/N snorted, peeling off her tactical vest. "Says the guy who threw himself in front of a grenade instead of just letting me handle it."

"Yeah? And you'd be dead if I hadn't."

"Please." She rolled her eyes, shoving past him toward the kitchen, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist just enough to halt her steps.

That was the thing about Bucky—about them. He never let her get the last word.

"You got a death wish, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice dipping low, almost thoughtful. His fingers flexed around her wrist, not painful, just… firm. Daring.

Y/N felt a slow, simmering heat curl down her spine. "And if I do?" she countered, voice just as soft, just as dangerous.

Something flickered in his blue eyes, something dark and assessing. His gaze dropped to her throat for the briefest second before snapping back to her eyes.

He let her go.

Y/N ignored the way her pulse spiked.

The hours crawled by, the safe house suffocating with its too-small walls and the charged silence between them. Y/N spent most of it patching herself up, avoiding Bucky’s gaze when she caught him watching her.

She swore she could still feel his hand on her wrist. The ghost of his grip lingered, a brand against her skin, making her pulse jump every time she thought about it. She hated it. Hated that she was still thinking about it.

Y/N wasn’t the type to get rattled, especially not over something as stupid as Bucky Barnes and his unbearable, insufferable, way-too-steady presence. But tonight, there was something different. Something brewing under the surface, coiling tighter each time their eyes met.

And he kept watching her.

Every time she moved, every time she stretched an aching muscle or adjusted the hem of her torn tactical shirt, his gaze followed. Calculated, unreadable. He wasn’t being subtle, and it was starting to get under her skin.

"You got a problem?" she snapped, finally breaking the silence, not bothering to look up as she wiped the blood off her forearm.

"Yeah," Bucky drawled from the other side of the room. "You're bad at first aid."

Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for the expert medical advice, Sergeant."

"Seriously," he continued, pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward her, those damn heavy boots making his approach feel deliberate. "You're gonna get an infection."

She scoffed, but before she could brush him off, he crouched beside her, his flesh fingers taking her arm—not rough, not soft, just assertive. He pulled her hand away from the half-cleaned gash on her forearm, inspecting it with a furrowed brow.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to him touching her this much. Hell, they were usually too busy arguing to ever be this close.

His grip was warm, solid, and it sent an unwilling shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine," she muttered, trying to pull away, but his fingers tightened—not hard, just enough to remind her that he was stronger.

"Hold still," he ordered, reaching for the antiseptic. "Or don’t. Doesn’t bother me if it stings more."

Y/N glared at him, but it didn’t have the usual bite. It was hard to be properly pissed off when his hands were on her, when his scent was all leather and sweat and something unmistakably him, wrapping around her and making it harder to breathe.

He dabbed the antiseptic over the wound with frustrating gentleness, like he wasn’t the same man who had spent the last six months infuriating her at every turn.

She clenched her jaw. Why is this so fucking tense?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She and Bucky weren’t like this. They fought. They bickered. They threw punches on the sparring mat when words weren’t enough. But this? This slow, suffocating heat curling between them—this was new.

His vibranium fingers trailed up her arm absentmindedly, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

She was.

Y/N’s stomach clenched, her heart hammering against her ribs. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse, and she knew he could feel it. Knew he could tell exactly what he was doing to her.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just finished tending to her wound with that irritating smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally let go, her skin burned where his fingers had been.

"There," he murmured, voice lower now, almost teasing. "All better."

Y/N flexed her fingers, pretending like she wasn’t trying to shake off the feeling of his touch.

"Great," she deadpanned, standing too fast. "Now go be insufferable somewhere else."

Bucky chuckled, slow and knowing, but he didn’t argue. He just sat back against the wall, stretching his legs out, arms folded across his chest. Watching her again.

Y/N turned away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck.

She didn’t succeed.

By the time night fell, exhaustion weighed on her, but sleep wouldn't come—not with the heat still lingering beneath her skin, not with the ghost of his touch still burning on her wrist.

She shifted restlessly in the cot, the mattress squeaking.

A sigh sounded from the other side of the room. "You keep moving like that, you're gonna drive me insane."

Y/N turned her head, finding Bucky sitting in the shadows, arms crossed, his vibranium fingers tapping against his bicep. His stare was steady, unreadable.

"You already are insane," she shot back, but it came out breathier than she intended.

Bucky's lips quirked.

Then he stood, moving with slow, deliberate steps until he loomed over her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

"You like pushing me, don't you?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, something razor-sharp and knowing.

Y/N swallowed, pulse hammering. "You make it easy."

Bucky hummed. He reached out—not fast, not hesitant, just inevitable—and brushed his knuckles along her throat. A whisper of a touch. Testing.

Y/N's breath caught.

His smirk deepened.

"Thought so," he murmured.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She said, nothing more than a mere squeak.

He just hummed, looking at her deeply as if contemplating.

“You’re into choking. I guessed.”

And then his hand wrapped around her throat.

Not squeezing, not yet. Just holding. A tease, a promise, a warning.

Y/N's fingers curled into the sheets, heat flooding through her veins, something low and needy twisting in her stomach.

Bucky leaned down, his breath warm against her lips, his thumb tracing a slow, taunting line along her pulse.

"Say please."

But she didn’t.

Instead, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him, her back a silent wall that she hoped would keep him at bay. Her heart was battering at her sternum.

Bucky's hand hovered for a moment, as if surprised by her lack of response. Then it dropped away. "Sorry." he murmured quietly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the quiet room.

Y/N tensed, the word echoing through her like a gunshot. It was the last thing she expected from him.

He took a step back, his boots scraping against the floor, and she felt the space between them grow wider than the room could ever be. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," she interrupted, her voice tight. "Just don't—do that again."

He nodded, his silhouette stark against the moonlit window. "Won't."

The quiet stretched between them, thick as tar. Y/N could almost feel the thunder rolling in, could almost taste the electricity in the way his eyes never left her, even as he turned away.

The silence was a living thing, wrapping around them, tightening until she couldn't breathe.

And then she did it.

Y/N rolled onto her back, meeting his gaze with a challenge she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

"Please," she whispered, the word barely a breath, but it seemed to fill the room, to echo in the shadows.

Bucky's eyes widened, the shock in them almost comical if she wasn’t so deadly serious. He searched her face for some sign that she was joking, that this was just another round in their never-ending bout of one-upmanship. But she didn't flinch, didn't back down.

Slowly, with a gravity that made the air in the room thicken, he leaned in again, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed over her cheekbone, sending a shiver through her that she didn’t bother to hide.

Y/N’s breath stuttered as his thumb continued to trace the line of her jaw, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Her heart was racing, and she could feel the blood pulsing beneath his touch.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a silent question hanging in the air.

Then, with a soft growl, he leaned in, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. The touch was firm but gentle, a promise of what was to come.

Bucky's thumb pressed against her jaw, guiding her to tilt her head back, exposing her throat. His eyes never left hers, the blue depths filled with something that looked a lot like hunger.

Y/N's breathing grew shallow, her pulse racing as she waited for it, the moment when he'd finally close the distance, when he'd finally give in to whatever this was that had been building between them for so long.

And then it happened. His hand tightened, not painfully, but enough to make her aware of his strength. He bent closer, his breath warm against her skin, and she felt the pressure of his palm against her throat, the tips of his fingers just grazing her pulse.

He didn't squeeze. Not really. It was more of a gentle hold, a silent declaration that he could if he wanted to, but he didn't. It was a heady feeling, a mix of fear and desire that made her knees weak.

For a heartbeat, they remained that way, locked in a silent dance of power and submission.

And then, just as suddenly, he let go, his hand falling away like a lead weight.

Y/N gasped, her heart hammering, the sudden release leaving her dizzy. She reached up, her own hand trembling as she touched the spot where he'd held her, as if to reassure herself she was still in control.

Bucky stepped back, his eyes on her like he was waiting for a reaction, for her to push him away or to demand more. But she just lay there, watching him, breathless, the air around them charged.

The silence was a living, pulsing entity, wrapping them in anticipation.

Then, she sat up, her eyes never leaving his, and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. The fabric whispered against her skin, and the room grew hotter. She tossed it aside, leaving her in a bra that barely contained the fullness of her breasts.

Bucky's eyes flickered to the expanse of her exposed skin, his breath hitching slightly. The hand that had been at her throat curled into a fist at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out again.

"What are you doing?" he rasped, the question laced with a warning, with the thirst of a man who'd seen too much war and hadn't tasted peace in a very long time.

Y/N met his gaze, her own eyes dark with a challenge that mirrored his. "What does it look like?"

He took a step back, his boots echoing in the stillness of the safe house. "We can't," he said, the words coming out forced, as if he didn’t quite believe them himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. "Why not?"

Bucky's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck standing out like cables. "Because—" He paused, his voice gruff. "Because you're my teammate, and this—" He gestured between them, at the air that seemed to crackle and pop. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why?"

The word hung between them, a simple question that seemed to hold the weight of the world. Y/N could feel the tension coil tighter around her chest, a strange mix of desire and frustration.

"Because it complicates things," Bucky said finally, his voice tight. "Because we're in the middle of a war, and we can't afford distractions."

"Isn't that a little…hypocritical?" she whispered, her voice low, a siren's call in the darkness. "Given that you're the one who started this?"

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes flickering over her, lingering on the swell of her chest above the lacy black bra. "Maybe," he conceded, his voice gruff. "But it's for the best."

Y/N stood, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body, until she could almost taste the denial on his lips.

"Is it?" she murmured, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "Or are you just afraid of what might happen if we do this?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, his expression tightening, but she could see the war playing out in the depths of his gaze—desire fighting duty, need battling restraint.

"What might happen?" he echoed, his voice hoarse.

Y/N's fingertips danced over the scar that bisected his lip, the one that she happened to know was from a knife fight in some forgotten corner of the world. "We might find out we're more than just good at fighting together," she whispered, her breath a soft caress against his skin.

Bucky's eyes flared, his pupils dilating until they swallowed the blue of his irises. His hand shot up to capture hers, his grip firm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent question.

Y/N leaned into him, her breath hitching as his hand slid down her arm, his touch setting her nerves alight. She didn’t pull away, didn’t break the spell. Instead, she stepped closer, her body brushing against his.

Bucky’s breath was warm against her neck, his sighs mixing with hers. His hand found the small of her back, his fingertips pressing gently into the taut muscles. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent declaration that he wanted more.

Y/N's pulse hammered, her body leaning into his touch. "Bucky," she whimpered, his name a plea and a warning all rolled into one.

"Fuck it," Bucky murmured, his voice gravelly. "We're gonna try."

——————————————————————————————————

So. What did we think? Part 2? 🤔

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky smut #bucky angst #enemies to lovers #choking k!nk

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kamisobsessed · 2 days ago

Text

I Don't Get Jealous

Summary: Takes place in S4E6 "Poetic Justice" when Tim takes Officer McGrady out on patrol, he meets McGrady's daughter Ashley who invites Tim over for dinner to thank him for taking her dad back out on the streets. Tim eventually agrees to go, but runs it by you first. Then after they find the treasure, the station celebrates Jerry's retirement. Tim does Jerry's end of watch and Ashley thanks Tim again. You are standing nearby talking with Harper and Chen, but you see Ashley flirting with Tim and you don't hesitate to stop it. (I am so bad at summaries)

Some other background info: You and Tim are engaged, you're a metro sergeant/metro liason at mid-wilshire, he's an LAPD sergeant at mid-wilshire. Ashley is obviously clueless to your relationship, you don't really show your relationship at work.

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Metro Sergeant!Reader, no use of y/n.

Warnings: jealousy, fluff, kind of implied possible smut at the end?, follows the plot of S4E6

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Also, I hate Ashley and hated her and Tim's relationship so I had to go with this prompt from @reignsboy19, "Y/n being a badass and shutting down Ashley who was trying to flirt with Tim (her boyfriend) and Tim just being proud of her and everyone else just laughing at her jealousy" though I changed it up a little. Hope you enjoy!

[This is not proofread or edited, I'm too busy for that, I just wanted to post this]

****************************************************

When Sergeant Grey told Sergeant Bradford to talk Officer Jerry McGrady into retirement, Tim thought it would be easy. Until he had to actually talk to McGrady about it. Instead of discussing retirement, Tim asked him to go on patrol with him.

You always made sure to see Tim before he goes out on patrol, so you were waiting by the doors to his shop when you saw McGrady coming over with war bags and gear.

"Officer McGrady, no kit room duty today?" you ask him.

"Nope, Sergeant Bradford asked me to ride with him today," he says.

You raised your eyebrows and held back a chuckle, "oh really?" you say.

"Yep! It's truly an honor! I'm glad to be able to hit the streets again," he says.

"Well, you be safe out there Jerry," you say with a smile.

"Will do!" He says, and he went into the garage to set up the shop.

Tim came over after talking to Grey.

"I thought Grey told you to talk him into retirement?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

"I told Grey I got this, he'll be thinking of nothing but retirement after today," he says.

"Right," you chuckle, knowing Tim just couldn't bring himself to rip the bandaid off.

He just grinned a little shaking his head, "Don't you have some metro op to do or something?" he asked.

"Nope," you smile. He just playfully rolls his eyes and opens the door to the garage.

"Be safe out there sarge," you say to him.

"You too, sarge," he says with a small smile looking back at you before the door closes.

You were in your office at the station when Tim knocks and walks in.

"Hey, how was riding with Jerry, he retire yet?" You ask him.

"Not yet, turns out he may be of some help on the treasure hunt case," Tim said, "But, once that is over, I'm sure he will retire," He says.

"Right, I'm sure," You respond sarcastically.

"Are you judging my ability to make someone leave the job?" Tim asked, "Should I remind you when I was your T.O., you almost washed out on day 2," he says.

"That's not the same, I was a rookie, I wasn't on the job for multiple decades like Jerry," you say.

"After this treasure hunt thing, I know Jerry will be ready to retire," he says.

"Okay, I believe you," you chuckled, "Now what has you in my office Sergeant Bradford?" You ask him, "Not that I don't like seeing my favorite person," you smile.

"Jerry and his daughter, Ashley, invited me over to have dinner, a thank you for me getting Jerry back on the streets. I said yes, just wanted to let you know," he says.

"I'm sure Jerry will like that," you say, "I'm gonna be late getting home anyways, have so many reports to catch up on, this treasure hunt has the city going mad," you sigh.

"Well, I'll see you at home later then," he says coming over to you and leaning down to give you a kiss.

"okay," you say giving him another quick peck on the lips.

"I love you," he says before he goes to leave your office.

"I love you, too," you say back before he heads out.

Tim was at dinner with Jerry and his daughter. Jerry was sound asleep on his recliner and Tim was helping Ashley clean up.

"You know, riding with you today was the highlight of dad's year," Ashley says, "Hell, his last 5 years."

"Yeah, I don't get it. Most cops who stay on the job this long, they don't have anything else waiting for them, but I'm sure you'd love to be able to spend more time with him," Tim says.

"Mm, because I've got nothing going on in my own life?" Ashley snaps back, jokingly.

"No, no. That's- that's not what I meant," Tim says defensively with a chuckle.

Ashley laughs, "Relax. It's a joke," she says. She lets out a sigh "No one ever gets my jokes," she says.

"I guess I'm just used to jokes being funny," Tim jokes back, "I guess that's why I got confused," He says and they both laugh as she throws a towel at him playfully.

Ashley sighs, "Honestly, I think my dad regrets not retiring 15 years ago when he was still on the street," she says looking over at her dad, "Like all his buddies did."

Tim understood and he looked over at Jerry who was softly snoring in the chair.

The treasure hunt case was finally closed. Jerry McGrady was officially retiring.

Tim had called Ashley to come to the station for when he and Jerry got back. Then he had Harper gather everyone at the station.

"Alright folks, attention please," Harper announced, "Turn your hand packs to the district channel," she says.

Lucy goes over to Ashley and Jerry, "I need to borrow your dad for a second," she tells Ashley and Ashley nods.

You stand next to Nyla as the station gathered around looking at Tim who was standing on the platform of the staircase.

"Control, 7-Adam-100," Tim spoke into his radio, his voice echoing out of everyone's radio pack in the station, "I am privileged to announce the retirement of Officer Jerry McGrady, badge number 9944. After 43 years and 9 months of service, this concludes his final shift," he continues, "Officer McGrady, you, sir, are End of Watch," Tim says, "Congratulations!"

Everyone cheers and applauds for him. Jerry just looks around, letting out an emotional sigh.

"It's been an honor serving this great city all these years," Jerry says, "so, take care if her now that I'm gone."

Everyone cheers and applauds for him once more.

People go up to Jerry to give him hugs and congratulations.

You went over to him and gave him a hug, "Congratulations, Jerry, we'll miss you around here," you say.

"Thank you, sergeant, I'll miss you all, too," he says.

You stand there with Nyla and Lucy as they talk, but you don't listen as you watch Ashley go up to where Tim is on the platform of the stairs.

"That was really beautiful," She says to him, "Dad won't forget it, and...neither will I," she smiles at him.

"It was my honor, your dad is a hell of a guy," Tim says.

"Maybe you could...stop by the house sometime, see how he's handling retirement," Ashley says.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Tim says.

Nyla and Lucy both see you looking at Tim and Ashley.

"Oh, someone's getting jealous," Nyla says.

"I don't get jealous," you said, "I'll just...be right back," you say and you walk away toward the stairs.

"She's definitely jealous," Nyla says.

"I think it's cute, she and Tim never show any affection at the station, they're both so professional," Lucy says.

"Maybe, you and I could grab dinner sometime?" Ashley asks Tim.

"Oh, I- um..." Tim says flustered, but you come up behind him.

"Ready to head home babe?" You ask Tim, you look at Ashley, "oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," you say.

"Uh Ashley, this is my girlfriend," Tim says introducing you "She's the metro liason sergeant."

"Oh, hi, it's nice to meet you," Ashley says, "I better go find dad, thank you again for everything, Tim," she says.

Tim nods, "it was my pleasure," he says.

She just nods and awkwardly smiles at me as she goes down the stairs.

Tim turns to you with a smile on his face.

"What?" You ask him with a chuckle.

"You're pretty cute when you're jealous," he says.

"I- no, I wasn't jealous, I just- she- she tried asking you out," You say, fumbling over your words.

"I was going to turn her down, you know," he says.

"I know you were, I was just-" you say but he cuts you off,

"Jealous?" He asks, smirking at you.

"Shut up," you say nudging him playfully and you both laughed.

"Let's clock out and head home and relax, yeah?" he says taking your hand.

"Yes, sir," you say with a grin as you walk with him down the stairs

"Watch it, or we'll do more than just relax," He says lowly so only you hear as he smirks at you.

"Is that a promise?" You say back.

"Hmm, maybe," he says with a wink.

****************************************************

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Idk, I'm kinda proud of this. I took a LOT from the show obviously, but I saw that prompt and had to write it. So glad he and Ashley broke up...otherwise we wouldn't get Chenford. And I swear if Chenford doesn't get back together in season 7...Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading :)

Tags: @justwhisperingfantasies

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #the rookie #tim bradford fic #timothy bradford #the rookie x reader #tim bradford the rookie #the rookie fic #eric winter #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x you #tim the rookie

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