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gffa · 7 months

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It is still absolutely a marvel to me how much BATFAMILY fic I have been reading and enjoying, it's been awhile since I've gone at such a sustained fever pitch so consistently, which is because this fandom keeps putting out fic that makes me fall in love all over again, along with all the comics I've been reading and enjoying. I am so delighted by how I can bounce around various eras or characters (well, let's be fair, I still have a Dick Grayson Problem That I Am Making Your Problem Too) and there's so much to read that I'm having trouble keeping up!

Join me in having the best problem: Too much good fic to read, because I swear that even when I'm crying because fic has punched me in the feelings, I'm still having a great time and it's definitely not a trap to lure you all into crying with me. Well, unless you're into that. And, in that case, READ AND CRY AND/OR MELT INTO GOO WITH ME, BECAUSE FANDOM IS PROVIDING.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ Step One: Learning to Catch by TheBlueMoo, dick & bruce, 2k “Okay, now extend your arms.” It was jarring, Bruce reflected, to be taking instructions from his nine-year-old ward. He was trying to think of it as receiving lessons from an expert gymnast instead, but it wasn’t really helping. or Dick freaks out during training one night, and Bruce isn't entirely sure why ✦ the quiet noise by orphan_account, dick & clark & jim (& bruce), 3.4k When Batman is in surgery after a stab wound to the lung, Commissioner Gordon sits with Robin at the hospital as they wait for someone from the league to arrive. ✦ The art of falling in the rain by Bob_the_bastard, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.4k Ordinarily it wouldn’t have been an issue, ordinarily Bruce would have taken a few steps back, caught his breath and continued on. But that night wasn’t normal. ✦ Our roots will not whither away by KrazySuperGirl, dick & bruce & alfred & cast, 6.4k Bruce and Dick return to Gotham. There are plenty of problems and plenty of good days. ✦ Will Protect You From All Around You by zombiesbecrazy, dick & bruce, 3k Bruce has always expected that one day he'll wake up and feel like a Real Adult, but it hasn't happened yet. Why had he thought that this parenting thing would be easy? ✦ Fly South by SonoSvegliato, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.9k Birds fly south in winter. Robin leaves in the summer. ✦ Vertigo by tinycrown, dick & bruce & ollie & cast, 1.8k After being ambushed by Count Vertigo's men, Batman's partner isn't doing so well. Green Arrow observes. ✦ Friends by mx_chrx99, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k The manor loomed large, surrounded by acres of manicured grass and trees bursting with autumnal colors that made Dick feel like he was gazing at a forest on fire. He was distantly aware that the scene in front of him was incredible, something out of a storybook. He should have been amazed and even grateful, but all he could think was, 'Mom would have loved this.' ✦ There For You by Val_Creative, dick & bruce & cast, 2.4k Snapshots of how Robin came to be Batman's trusted partner and how Dick became Bruce's beloved son. /Standalone. No pairings. ✦ tummy troubles by brandywine421, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.5k Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed and warily pulled back the covers. Dick blinked at him with wide, sad blue eyes. "What's wrong?" "Don't feel good," he murmured, scowling when Bruce curled his hand against his cheek. "My stomach hurts." ✦ Stay a Child by ijustwanttodestroy, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.2k “Redo it,” Bruce orders. “Aw, come on!” Dick dares to pout — a thing that he uses often, and would work on anyone but Bruce and Alfred. Sometimes. Bruce gives him a look. “I’m not going to do it for you.” “I’m going to misdo it until you do,” Dick threatens. ✦ Whole, but not hale by Fae_Winter, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 1.5k Bruce was never listening to Clark again, damnit ✦ Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes by catboysam, dick & bruce, 1k Bruce wishes, as he has wished every minute of every day for nearly 20 years, that things were different for himself. But now he also wishes that for Dick. No child should have to experience what they have. But he really is selfish, it seems, because at the same time, how could he possibly want to give up a single second with this little miracle in his arms? ✦ yet to be friends by rxsecret, dick & bruce & clark & cast, 2.3k It's the annual Wayne Gala, and one of the few reporters allowed at the event just so happened to be from Metropolis. ✦ And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick, 1.6k Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year. He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ medicine by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, ~1k “We have to get out of here,” Dick says, trying and failing to sit up. “Before, before they get back.” “Dick, listen to me. You’re sick,” Bruce says, running a hand through Dick’s hair. “You’re in an isolation unit at the Watchtower’s medical bay.” Dick shakes his head. That can’t be right. “They’re trying to, to poison me.” ✦ Someday All Of This Will Go Away by WanderIntoFics, dick & bruce, alternate version character death, 2.3k Bruce never stopped telling Dick he loved him. It takes a heart-wrenching and terrifying experience with an alternate future Bruce for Dick to realize that maybe he stopped being able to hear it. ✦ vacation town by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, 1.6k Normally, Dick wouldn't enjoy recovering from a stab wound from a poisoned knife, but he has to admit, it's nice to be home. ✦ all i can by emavee, dick & bruce, 1.7k Whatever they injected Dick with is taking away his senses. Bruce tries to hold on for both of them. ✦ my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm by emavee, dick & bruce, 5.6k wip Five times Dick held Bruce's hand, and one time Bruce held his. ✦ Moving on by Fleur_de_Violette, dick & bruce & cast, 2.7k When he’d been called to Gotham, Dick had expected to do the job and then get moving to the next thing, and then the next, and then the next. An abrupt meeting with the side of a building interrupts his plans.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ Chatterbox by Ptelea, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & donna & roy & cast, 24.7k "Yeah, I'm fine," Dick said. Then he frowned, because he had not just meant to say that. Or: Eight times that spells or serums affected Dick's ability to speak and / or their aftermath. ✦ Misremembered and Misnumbered by miss_aphelion, bruce & dick & jason & clark & diana, 1.9k Dick may not actually be quite as old as he told everyone he was. In his defense, it wasn't so much lying as that he sort of just forgot. ✦ WE'LL LIVE IN SPACES BETWEEN WALLS. by orpheusaki, bruce & dick & jason, time travel, 4.6k (Something is different about Dick. Bruce notices.) ✦ Tonight Will Be a Memory Too by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & cass & bruce, 1.2k They don’t happen often—once a month or so, with varying degrees of spottiness. Sometimes Dick will walk into a room and forget what he’s there for. He’ll forget the locations of things, like where he left his keys or where the refrigerator is. Once he forgot his own name. Even if the episodes don’t occur often, that doesn’t make them any less terrifying. ✦ Can I Sleep With You? by Lady_of_Lorule, dick & bruce & damian & titans & cast, 2k “Dick? What is it? Are you okay?” he asked. “‘Had a nightmare,” the boy murmured, wiping at his nose quickly, then sending a darting look at Bruce. “Can I...can I sleep with you?” ✦ Broken Silence by Geeves, bruce & dick & cast, 1.3k Bruce reflects on how quiet the manor used to be. It could be painful at times, but it's not like that anymore. ✦ the care and keeping of your baby talon by quandaries_and_contradictions, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & duke & alfred, reverse robins, talon!dick, 6k In which everyone is more than a little cautious about the talon Duke brought home. Featuring chandelier swinging, Secret Garden reading, ill-advised sleuthing, and more. ✦ One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by Anonymous, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & alfred & cast, 11.3k wip Dick was twenty-eight. The boy in the mirror most certainly was not. ✦ Iron Bound by coyote_nebula, bruce & dick & jason, 3.1k Batman never ran out of solutions. He just ran out of ideal solutions. Nightwing finds himself in a tight spot involving a compact car-sized paper roll. ✦ The Mantle by ValleyOfKings, dick & clark & diana & justice league (& bruce) & cast, 2.9k Batman ‘dies’ and Dick must takes his place. He doesn't want the job but he knows that it is what he must do. He must accept the mantle and protect Gotham. The Justice League must also accept their new Batman. It might have helped if they knew that Batman didn't work as alone as they had once thought. ✦ Bravery, and everything that looks like it by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick & steph, 3.4k Bruce had promised Dick a fun and chill weekend. Instead, they find themselves in the middle of a burning chemical facility. When he thinks everyone should have been evacuated, Nightwing finds a scientist trying to secure some sort of container. She’s either very brave, or she has a death wish.

BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I'M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ Superhero: Dick Grayson by batmoniker, dick & jason & cast, 5.3k In which Dick shows up at the school to pick Jason up after he gets into a fight. ✦ Homecoming by sElkieNight60, dick & jason & bruce, 1.2k Jason's doped up on pain-meds. Dick's holding his hand while he's bedside monitor. Bruce probably wishes he had a camera. ✦ I do not have wings love (I never will) by dizarys, dick & jason & bruce, 2.5k Jason Todd was alive. He was also bleeding out on Dick Grayson’s apartment floor. How 'Under the Red Hood' might have ended if Dick was at Bruce and Jason's final warehouse confrontation.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ cashmere-soft and irresistible by victoria_p (musesfool), cass/steph, ~1k Cass and Steph and dumplings and lipstick. ✦ Picking Up Pieces by Cephalogod, bruce & steph & dick, 4k “Bruce!” Steph called as she approached, weaving between people. His head snapped towards her, and the stark relief in his expression almost stopped her in her tracks. That was just...wrong. Bruce wasn’t supposed to be relieved to see her. He was supposed to be annoyed or resignedly amused, not looking at her like a life raft in the ocean. ✦ Make an Ass of U and Me by Huntress79, Sevidri, bruce/clark & dick, 11.2k Bruce neglects to explain exactly who the attractive young man that seems to know him so well is, and what their relationship entails. Naturally, there are some misunderstandings. ✦ Presque Vu by PechoraFlow, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred & cast, 17.4k wip Bruce gets amnesia and the Batfamily conspires to keep their vigilante side secret from him. They were just trying to keep him home, safe until he recovered. They expected that Bruce would pick up on clues and put together The Batman secret on his own. They didn't expect him to form a different picture entirely. They didn't expect Bruce Wayne would come to hate the Batman.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ spread your wings by wingedgrace, dick & tim, 2.1k “Why did you give Robin to Damian?” Dick pinched his nose. He’d started to pick up some of Batman’s habits, whether he realized it or not. “Tim, we’re not talking about this again. We’re talking about how you’re off on this… quest, to prove that Bruce is still alive. And I just want to talk. Come home.” ✦ Time Loop vs Ethiopia by AJElementus, dick & tim (& bruce & jason), 9.1k In one universe, Jason died while Dick was on a space mission with the Titans. In another? There’s a time loop. In which Jason doesn’t die, Tim joins the family early, and Dick... well... Dick's just trying to figure out what's going on! ✦ so won't you stay, won't you stay (with me?) by dizarys, dick & tim, 1.3k Tim's having a hard night. So where else does he go but to his big brother's apartment? ✦ under the wing by acrobats, dick & tim & cast, 1.4k “Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero.” – Marc Brown

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ buy back the secrets by sundiscus, tim/kon & bruce & clark & jason & cast, 71k wip He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy. ✦ Can't Shake the Feeling by Hayleythewriter, tim/kon & tim/bernard & cassie & bart & dick & damian & cast, 17k Tim introduces his boyfriend to his friends. Almost everyone likes him. ✦ The Electric Pull of Spring by Merelymine, tim/kon, nsfw, 4.3k "I feel fine," Kon says, breathing deeply. He leans towards Tim and takes an even deeper, longer breath. "I feel really, really good, actually. And you smell—you smell really good." ✦ A No Good Very Bad Day by mademoisellePlume, tim/kon & jason & lois, read the tags, 3.7k You’d think drugging a half-Kryptonian into sleep would be half as easy as taking a full Kryptonian out of commission. But no, life couldn’t be that simple for Jason, could it? He watched Superboy stumble down the hallway in his pyjama pants, eyes half-lidded and sweating like Two-Face when a flipped coin balanced on its edge. ✦ Pandora's Other Box by FridaysChild, tim/kon & dick & bart & kate & ma kent, 2.5k Prompt: "Kon and Tim identify as straight. After realising their mutual attraction, they both freak out in different ways."

BATFAM FIC RECS - I SAY THIS IS A BATFAM REC LIST BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA SHOVE THOSE ASSHOLES OUT OF THE WAY AND READ SOME SUPERFIC: ✦ Adoptions by Kannika, clark & conner & cast, 2.7k Clark prepared for a lot of things, getting closer to Conner. This is not one of them. ✦ Aftershock by sElkieNight60, clark/lois & conner & jon, 13k wip He knows this is awkward for Clark. It’s awkward for them both. They were gonna start slow. Warm up to each other. Maybe go apple-picking in the summer. A movie, a restaurant, bowling, or something. But a sleepover, really? That wasn’t going slow. ✦ IS IT JUST YOU AND ME IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD? by orpheusaki, clark & conner & bruce & diana & jason & cast, 2.2k "You look happy, Kal." She's right, Clark is overjoyed. In between shopping for children's clothes with Lois (after she'd gotten over the shock of it all, which was surprisingly quick. Clark thinks Lois might prefer Conner to him now, not that he blames her for it) and wandering around the Fortress of Solitude with a small palm tucked into his own, Clark hasn't stopped grinning, "Superman is no longer the only Kryptonian alive." (Clark saves Conner from CADMUS as a child AU.)

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ oh but if I could choose, I would choose not to feel by dizarys, bruce & dick & donna & cast, 1.4k His eyes flicked over the long room, evaluating and searching. When he finally spotted him, Bruce’s heart plummeted. Dick Grayson was slouched at the crumb flecked bar counter, staring blankly into a barely touched pint with a hand twisted in his hair. Misery personified. ✦ batman by hellsreluctantheir, dick & jason & tim & bruce, 57.3k Dick came back from a trip to space to a dead father figure, a grieving, guilty little brother, and a legacy waiting for him. Suddenly he's moving back to Gotham, playing Bat, trying to keep Jason from spiraling, trying to keep himself from spiraling, with the added bonus of a kid stalking him at the grocery store. It takes two years before things start to feel like they're getting better. Which is right about when the Red Hood comes to town. ✦ Day 3 - Nightmares (2.2) by fanfictiongreenirises, bruce & dick & tim, 3.3k Bruce is resigned to the nightmares after their most recent kidnapping. But that doesn't mean they don't have an impact on him. ✦ My Brother's Keeper by Chemical_Processes, dick & damian & tim & cast, 6.2k Tim gets hit with Fear while on a league mission, and it's Damian's job to get him home in one piece. ✦ Pale Reflections by BearlyWriting, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cast, 2.6k ‘Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick. And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.’ ✦ love brought weight to this heart by dizarys, bruce & dick & john & mary & damian & duke, 1.9k Of course Dick came by every time Haly’s was in town. But he loved when his family was able to join him. And now, with lights illuminating the big top, performers streaming into the ring with flashy costumes, and his family enthralled, Dick felt at peace. Both sides of his life were together. It should’ve been perfect. And looking back, he still wasn’t sure what pushed it off course. But it might have been the fire. ✦ what's in a name by envysparkler, bruce & dick & jason, 4.5k Kidnappers strike at a gala and abduct two of Bruce Wayne’s sons. Or at least that’s what they think. ✦ I’m gambling with the sun (on which one of us dies young) by dizarys, dick & jason & donna & roy & tim & damian & cassandra & cast, 6.9k The Justice League have been wiped from existence by Pariah, leaving Nightwing to once again navigate the death of Batman. But this time, even with his siblings and friends rallying around him, the cracks start to show ✦ (someone told me) love would all save us by YouAreTheBrightest234 (TransLucas), bruce & dick & tim, 1k Dick is floating in an abyss of black. It is not peaceful, yet not malicious. It simply is. ✦ Slipping 998° by CKBookish, bruce & dick & tim & cast, 2.5k When a house fire turns deadly Bruce wonders if he will be too late... again.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #clark kent #conner kent #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post

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bakubunny · 8 months

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denki is the first to admit he gets so pussy drunk on you that sometimes it’s hard to focus on your pleasure. if he’s honest, he feels a little embarrassed about that even though you’ve told him time and again that you love how much he needs your pussy. in fact, you’ve done the courtesy of reminding him more than once that you feel more pleasure and satisfaction when he lets go and fucks you, even if it means he ends up fingering his cum into you until you’re shaking for the first time that night.

still, sometimes he’s self conscious that he’s not like kirishima or bakugo; he’s heard stories once or twice about how kiri’s stamina is unmatched, and bakugo can easily go multiple rounds without blinking. but denki? while he might have size working in his favor, he’s always been a “one and done” kind of guy, and his stamina doesn’t rival the gods. he figured out a while ago that he wanted a solution for that, and he’s certainly found one or two.

denki’s big, soft, manicured hands have made you cum harder than you ever have with anyone else, the way he curls them just right as he rubs against the sweet spot of your soft walls. his long, thick fingers massage and tease tender places inside of you in ways that make your limbs go weak as your head spins. and gosh, seeing his eyes twinkle with pride the first time he successfully made you squirt all over his hand was almost as euphoric as the orgasm itself.

he also has surprising amount of skill and patience with his head between your thighs. he’d stay there all night if you let him. and the way he whimpers and groans when your fingers are tightly wound in his hair, your hips grinding into his face is sometimes all it takes to push you over the edge. you’ll never forget the first time you really sat on his face and pushed your hips into him; he came so hard that a little bit of his cum hit your ass and you hadn’t even touched his dick yet, which soon left you shaking in return….

denki may not be like his two best friends, but he will make damn sure he worships your body, that he still leaves you moaning his name as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re completely spent.

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

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arkhammaid · 1 year

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— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THEIR FAVORITE BODYPART OF YOURS…

fandom. honkai star rail

pairing. blade, dan heng, gepard, jing yuan, sampo, welt x fem!reader

content warnings. nsfw, MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, heavy focus on bodypart for each character, mentions of oral, vaginal and unprotected sex, not edited/proofread

word count. 0.5k

notes. have this until i'm done with my other stuff ;-;

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your eyes. [gepard]

he noticed them the moment he saw you. eyes wide in wonder, sparkling the moment you notice something of your interest— your eyes are truly the windows to your soul, leaving you bare before him. they shine with innocence and curiosity, something twisted in him wishes to corrupt. he wishes you would always look at him like this, eyes wide, with wonder, with love, with lust.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your hands. [welt]

he always seems to be staring at them, your hands so much smaller than his, fingers dainty and skin untouched by hard labor or any injuries. you take care of them, your fingernails are always manicured, clean and shortly cut— something he approves of. he loves to trace mindless shapes on the back of your hands, kiss your fingertips, but he especially loves it when you wrap your soft hands around his cock, making him pant and moan with simple strokes.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your mouth. [blade]

blade loves your mouth, running filthy with spitting insults and sassy remarks. he loves your mouth, those pouty lips when you don’t get what you want. he especially loves it when your mouth is full with his dick, lips stretched and shining with your spit. but what he loves the most are the sounds you make, gasps and moans when he fucks you stupid and choked whimpers when you try to take more than you actually can.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your titts. [jing yuan]

he’s your typical boobs man. eyes dark when his hands always search for your breasts, fingers tweaking your sensitive nipples. jing yuan is mean about it, whispering filthy things, while you try not to show a reaction to his needy hands. but you fail every time, he just knows you too well. knows what he has to do, so you end up shaking beneath him— so he can admire your beautiful titts.

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your ass. [sampo]

he’s your typical ass man, absolutely obsessed with how the fat feels beneath his hand, no matter if he’s a bit rougher and slaps you, or simply lets his hands rest there. he praises you, running his mouth filthy, all while taking you from behind, eyes fixed on your ass— completely and utterly obsessed, and so proud that he can call you his (and of course your magnificent ass-)

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ your pussy. [dan heng]

there is something primal about dan heng the moment he sees your pussy bare. maybe it’s his instincts, screaming at him how he has to stuff you full, with his tongue, fingers, cock and cum. but maybe it’s just because your pussy is so pretty, glistening and glimmering under his attention, fluttering when you come with a choked moan.

taglist. @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @verxsyon , @auraxins , @lupicalbestwolf

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

ARKHAM MAID 2023

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beerok23 · 6 months

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Mandatory things you find in a proper Good Omens AU Fan Fic

Crowley being mesmerized by Aziraphale at first sight.

Absence or lack of communication that leads to crisis before a sappy resolution.

They are in love with each other and they both think the other can't be in love with them.

Shifting POVs to remind us that they both are idiots.

Aziraphale having problems with his appearance (for lack of self-confidence or induced by others) and Crowley managing to reassure Aziraphale for said insecurities.

Crowley inner thoughts being the funniest thing you'll ever read in your life.

The origin of the "Angel" nickname.

Wine, lots of wine.

Ngk. Ngk is always there - Neil and Terry's fault, because it's from the book, obviously.

Azi's manicured hands. Again, if you haven't read the book, I think you should.

Crowley's limbs or hips not being attached to his body when he walks.

Whatever their AU job is, you always have Crowley in love with plants and Aziraphale living for his books. The bookshop is a constant. The plants are always yelled at.

Stars ⭐️ 🌟 Crowley always loves Stars.

Aziraphale moaning while eating. That is a must have. Also, Crowley is never a great eater, but he loves coffee.

Crowley being or acting like a slut (that's not mandatory, sometimes he's just gorgeous).

A supportive friend on both side (Anathema, Muriel, Maggie, Nina, Tracy...).

Anathema and Newt always being a couple - which is great, because it shows how NOT tossic this fandom is, we all want the canon couples to be happy canon couples.

Gabriel being a dick (former lover, actual lover, older brother, villain...).

Very talkative sex :)

A happy ending - because we can't imagine a world where these two idiots don't end up together.

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lycheedr3ams · 1 year

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Konig makes a lot of $$$$$

so i've been doing some research and! it's likely Konig makes at least 100k a year

allow me to explain:

Contrary to a lot of the stuff I've seen on fics and in the fandom, KorTac is NOT mercenaries! They're actually a military contractor group (source COD wiki). Whether or not you support the military or whatever, there is a dictionary difference between military contractors and mercenaries. Military contractors have stricter standards since they're working for a corporation and are often employed by countries.

And to be selected for a private military company (PMC), you can't just be an average solider. You need to be the best of the best. And as we know, Konig is that.

And we know that SpecGru (the PMC Ghost and others is apart of) is in direct opposition with KorTac, which I assume is for clients. Both PMC's are elite and highly sought after. So, both factions are going to make a lot of money given how they each have high-profile clients and skilled soldiers.

According to (https://www.operationmilitarykids.org/private-military-contractor-jobs/), military contractors can make anywhere from 80k to 250k a year. I also found an anecdotal source that said PMC's can make anywhere from 200k to 500k a year.

Given how skilled Konig is, with his experience and the high-level PMC he's a part of, he likely makes 150k+ a year, before bonuses. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes 175k a year, or even 200k, maybe more!

So yeah, Konig could treat you right. Shopping trips, manicures, all that.

You're welcome ~

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queers-gambit · 7 months

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If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

a Turkish proverb

prompt: ( requested ) you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x hard of hearing female!reader

fandom masterlist: Peaky Blinders

word count: 4.4k+

note: you hit me in the chest with this request. as someone who is hard of hearing (HoH) and progressively losing what they have left, this got personal.

warnings: author projects, mild angst, hurt and comfort, specified frustration, working with customers SUCK, mild violence, Tommy's a little OC 'cause he doesn't know what to do with emotion!

"Excuse me! God, the service here is terrible! Aren't you listening to me, barmaid!?" The woman with polished finger nails slammed her manicured hand to the bartop aggressively, glaring at you as if you had backhanded her mother.

The sudden slap made you jump slightly, turning your head to acknowledge her before deflecting, "In a moment, ma'am, I'm trying to listen to this man's order."

"I've been trying to get your attention for 10 minutes now!" She argued, the noise of the bar dialed up as the night droned on and the patrons drank more.

"And I'm busy assisting other customers, I'll get to you when it's your turn," you reminded her, blinking at the man in front of you. "I'm so sorry, sir, I, uh, what were you saying?"

He sighed, "You don't remember? Or didn't hear me?"

"I couldn't hear you over the woman yelling at me," you snipped, perking your brows. "Would you like to order or should I move onto another customer?"

He scoffed, "Just get me a fucking bourbon."

"One fucking bourbon comin' at'cha," you rolled your eyes as you turned from the people to grab the bottles of liquor lined up behind you. You poured the man his drink, set it in front of him, and pocketed the bill he slapped in front of you - not offering change as you instantly looked to another customer. He grumbled with displeasure, but you were asking the next person, "What can I get you?"

"Uh, no, I'm next, I've been waiting long enough," the woman with polished fingernails insisted, literally pushing the customer out of her way.

You sighed, "Know what? All right, fine, what can I get you, ma'am?"

At that moment, the doors swung open and a new wave of drunkards stumbled in; the bar roaring to greet the newcomers as the woman ordered her posh drink that had no business being ordered in The Garrison.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You asked, staring at her mouth in the hopes of reading her lips. She repeated her order, but her tacky lipstick made her lips stick - making it hard to read. "What? I'm sorry, ma'am, it's loud, you're gonna have to speak up."

"Are you fucking with me right now!?" She screeched, making your eyes widen. "You're the fucking deaf - you can't hear a simple order!?"

"I only asked you to repeat yourself," You defended.

"You asked me three times!" She raged.

"So tell me a fourth and shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry stepped in, hand to your shoulder when the woman looked ready to launch over the bar, "I got this. I'll man the bar, you go on - there's some tables that need bussing."

You sighed and stepped back, nodding, "Sure, Harry."

You hated when he did this. Instead of defending you and your inability to hear - something you have no control over - he would always just push you aside and send you to do other chores. It wouldn't cost anything to tell the customers to calm down, it was loud in the pub and you had a hard time hearing as is - but nope! The customer was always right, or whatever bullshit he would remind you.

You were constantly accosted at work for your difficulty hearing clearly. It wasn't that you couldn't hear at all, it was just difficult! Sometimes, you could hear bits of their sentence and just inference whatever words you missed, but that wasn't an exact science. You mostly depended on reading people's lips, always hating asking anyone to repeat themselves; but at work, it wasn't always possible. The people you interacted with seemingly took personal offense that you had a hard time hearing, and each of them made their displeasure known. Again, a great time for Harry to defend you, but the older man didn't like rocking the boat.

You didn't necessarily blame him, knowing the Peaky Blinders kept a close eye on the pub and would probably reprimand (cut) Harry for discipling customers instead of firing you. So, you kept quiet about your displeasure over your treatment because you needed this job - you never wanted to give reason or thought that you were difficult. Maybe that was why Harry would send you off to do other chores, he didn't want you to lose your cool and this job. Though, some of these people deserved a good tongue lashing.

Picking up a spare pail, you went around to a few tables and cleared them of empty glasses before using a rag from your bucket to wipe them down for the next set of people.

Apparently, in that moment, someone decided to move past you, and to their credit, they did say, "Excuse me, luv, behind yah," but you didn't hear him. So, when you straightened up from cleaning the table, you took a natural step back and bumped into a body; gasping when something wet splashed over your neck, shoulders, and down your back and chest. "Oh, fuckin' hell, lass! Watch where yer fuckin' goin'!" The man raged, his empty glass shattered on the floor.

You blinked in shock.

"What? Didn't fuckin' hear me when I told yah I was there!?" The man continued to reprimand you. "Gotta fuckin' listen in a pub like this, lass, you'll cause worse fuckin' accidents!"

"I'm so sorry," you offered meekly, shaking the ale off your arms and glancing at your front to see it trickled in alcohol. You needed to take a deep, long breath before turning to head for the bar.

"What happened?" Harry asked when you arrived, looking mild concerned.

"Another spill," you spoke through a clenched jaw.

"Oi!" The man who dropped his drink all over you approached the bar, barking at Harry. "It's not our fault you hired some deaf bitch! That can't fuckin' hear 'round her! She didn't move from my way, I lost me pint 'cause of her stupidity!"

Stupid...? Did this drunk asshole just call you stupid because HE bumped into YOU and spilled HIS OWN drink? Maybe the money you made at the bar wasn't worth this...

Harry had no issue giving the drunkard another pint of ale as you tried in vain to dry off, but your dress, hair, and skin was completely plastered in sticky alcohol. You felt your eyes burn with stress, wanting to burst into tears and sob your frustrations out, but you didn't have the strength to break down right now. That's how tired and upset you were - you didn't even have the energy to cry.

You went about your evening, bussing tables and avoiding whatever customers you could; keeping your head on a swivel to avoid any other accidents. You felt a little better, but the stress still lingered around the bar; feeling as if the customers were glaring at you no matter what you did. When a natural lull came, Harry let you back behind the bar with the promise of staying near in case you needed him, but you were ready to drop.

Your final straw was about an hour after the usual Peaky Blinders and Shelby brothers had come in for the nightly round(s) of whiskey. You smiled at Arthur when he approached the bar, all too happy to greet you loudly - the lad never having an issue with speaking up when you couldn't hear. Arthur was always happy to accommodate you, having a soft spot for you since his brother, Tommy, had made his interest in you known that past year.

Speaking of, Tommy Shelby, notorious gangster of Small Heath and the head huncho of the Peaky Blinders, entered after his brothers and made an instant approach. "Harry," he greeted when he stepped around the bar.

"Mr. Shelby," Harry nodded.

"Love," he acknowledged you, pecking your cheek sweetly. "All right?"

"Hmm?"

"Doin' all right?" He asked clearly, being similar to his brother and not minding speaking louder, slower, clearer, whatever you needed to hear him better. In fact, Tommy wasn't know for being patient, but with you, he'd repeat himself as many times as it took - but only for you.

"Oh, yeah," you sniffled, trying to hide your frustrations.

"Why's your dress wet?" He worried, petting a sticky lock of your hair back, his concern mounting.

You shrugged, "Bit of an accident, 's not a big deal."

"Someone run into you, again?"

You nodded, "It's fine, though. He got a new pint and calmed down."

Tommy shook his head, gritting, "Who?"

"Tommy."

"Tell me who, love."

"No, Tommy, it's fine," you insisted, petting your hand down his chest in a show of affection; seeing another customer approach the bar. "I'm sorry, I'm working, love, can we talk later?"

He nodded, pecked your temple, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and moved for the snug - where his brothers and Aunt Polly waited for him. You got back to work, and barely noticed the time ticking by... Until a new customer approached you with a sneer already marring his face.

"What can I get for you, sir?" You asked kindly, needing to raise your voice over the usual drunken yelling. So, you preemptively warned him, "Sorry, 's bit noisy tonight, you'll have to speak up."

The man ordered his drink clearly, but another few men in loosened slacks and disheveled button-ups stalked up to the bar; crowding around the other two men who stumbled over in obnoxious laughter. You felt your panic spike, already overwhelmed by them all trying to talk over one another.

You were bombarded with drink orders from them all, eyes flickering between them because you didn't know who to listen to first. You tried to get the drinks together at the same time, but in truth, it was overwhelming because the men changed their orders, but got mad at YOU when you didn't quite hear them clearly.

Their drunken words added to the bar's noise level sprinkled with you being hard-of-hearing just resulted in a cluster fuck. "This isn't what I fucking ordered!" The original man complained, glaring at you with distain. "It's really not that hard, girl, my God. If you can't get our drinks right, how you gonna make any man a decent wife? Gonna fuck up his dinners, too?"

"Jesus - I'm sorry, there's just a lot going on. Why don't you remind me your drink and I'll get it now," you offered as kindly as you could.

"I doubt you'll be able to get it right," he sneered, but you missed half his sentence.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!? Just fuckin' listen - it's not hard!" He snarled, literally chucking his glass just past your ear so it shattered into the liquor bottles behind you. "You can't even get a fucking drink right! Fuck you doin' workin' here, then!?"

This caused a huge commotion, obviously.

The Shelby's don't play games, you see, and the moment the glass shattered, they were moving out of the snug to investigate. When they realized someone had offered you disrespect, it was a shit show as the drunkards clashed with the men with razors stitched in their caps. Still in shock from the show of violence, you felt something in your heart snap you into motion.

So, you silently untied your apron, grabbed your coat and home keys, then literally walked out the backdoor - while the men all scuffled. The moment you stepped outside, you let your emotional dam give out - sobbing into the stinging cold air as you moved up the street.

You weren't sure what emotion you felt - be it anger, disappointment, shame, fear... Crippling insecurity. Once at the Irish pub, The Black Lion, you settled at the nearly empty bar and ordered your own drink, something you rarely did anymore. Something about working with alcohol all day made you less inclined to drink, but tonight was different than previous nights.

"All right, lass?" The bartender asked, pouring the whiskey in front of you. "Look a bit put out, huh?"

"Just a long week," you answered. He hummed, nodding and asking something. You felt tears in your eyes when you asked, "C-Could you repeat that?"

Louder, he repeated, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, no, thank you," you waved off. "Just... Customers being unruly."

He laughed, "Oh, don't I know it. What happened?"

You shrugged, "Nothing important."

"C'mon, lass, if it's made you come inta a place like this, searching for a drink, it's probably important enough."

You sighed, "Honestly, I think I appreciate the silence."

He smirked, "I can respect that. Here," he poured you a new glass, "this one's on the house. I deal with unruly customers, too, so, I know you'll need this second one."

You chuckled and grinned broadly when he went to walk away, did a double take, then left the whiskey bottle to your side with a smirk. He moved off to sit at a different table with some other older men, leaving you alone for the first time in what felt like a long time. It felt ironic for a moment that you sought solitude and silence, but you just wanted time to digest all that happened tonight and move on.

Why couldn't people understand that despite you being a public servant, you were still a human being? A human with human emotions, human disability, who makes human mistakes. Yet according to those entitled pricks that think YOU work for THEM, you were a second class citizen who was underserving of empathy. How dare you ask them to repeat themselves! How dare you misunderstand their order - and quickly replace it! How dare you have a disability past your control that affects your day-to-day life!

There was a heavy, looming feeling of being inadequate.

Being alive was hard enough as it is, more so when a bodily function most others take for granted malfunctioned within you. It made life harder; you had to work harder than everyone else just to operate on their same level. However, if you dare show exhaustion, frustration, any degree of weakness, you were quick to be labeled as "lazy" or "entitled" or your favorite, "dramatic!"

Those people can hear pins drop, they couldn't ever fathom what this felt like. It wasn't that you couldn't hear, you could. It just wasn't on the level other's could heard at, and for whatever reason, it seemed to frustrate everyone else more than you. You were the one dealing with the predicament, and yet, everyone else was seemingly the most inconvenienced! They thought it mortally offensive to be served by someone "like you", thinking your disability was unacceptable in their proximity.

Fucking assholes.

If only they knew the way your stomach knotted itself every time you asked someone to repeat what they said. Every time you said, "Huh?" or "What was that? What did you say?"

You were embarrassed because it made you feel as if you couldn't even be a human "correctly", and it's not like you chose for this to happen! It's not like anyone chooses to make the obligation called life ten times harder by putting you at a functional disadvantage. You felt like "damaged goods" because you felt constantly out of the loop; missing a lot of what's said if you're not paying explicit attention.

However, years ago, you had perfected the ability to read lips. Yet this was difficult when most people you couldn't hear were your customers, majority of who are slurring their words. You worked in The Garrison, meaning that on any given night, there was loud discussions that added to your frustration - but the tips were too good to quit. So you endured. You felt pathetic and borderline like a failure if you quit any job; feeling as if your disability had won by emotionally crippling you. So, while it didn't make a lot of sense to work in a noisy place when you're already hard-of-hearing, you remained at your place of employment simply out of spite.

It was difficult reminding yourself it wasn't your fault, that you were still doing a great job - no matter how many customers catch attitudes, get snippy, or throw full-on adult tantrums. You despised needing to be the "bigger person", but figured nobody else would be willing to accommodate you, so, if you wanted a semblance of peace, you had to be the one to create it.

You reached for the bottle of whiskey after downing your second glass. With a harsh sniffle, you glanced around the pub and realized how many people had arrived to fill in the place. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, acutely aware that you were so deep in your emotional tarpit that you missed the noise rising.

So much for a quiet night.

You poured a new glass, praying to whatever God would listen that you're granted deliverance from this empty, helpless feeling that was pitting your stomach and chest.

After hearing the glass shatter, Tommy and his brothers were rocketing to their feet to investigate. They saw a man, red in the face, yelling hatefully at you behind the bar - liquor dripping off the shattered shelves from the man's bout of violence. There was no thinking for any of them. Tommy recognized you were in a predicament; striding forward first, and the chaos began.

It'd been a good bit since the lads had a good fist fight. No razors, no guns, no advantages - just bare fists and bar furniture.

It cleared the place out, and when the drunkard was hauled off by his companions, Tommy was wiping the blood from his knuckles. Harry frowned at the sight of blood splattered on the floor, shaking his head before calling your name - knowing you had some secret to getting blood out before it stained. However, there was no response. The Shelby boys all looked around expectantly, waiting for you to reappear, but it was evident by the way Harry searched for you that you weren't in the building.

Tommy placed a cigarette to his lips, just lighting it when Harry returned from the back room, informing, "Her belongin's are gone, she must've left early."

This made Tommy whip around sharply to use his own eyes and scan the room. "Nobody saw where she went? How was nobody watchin' her!?" Tommy asked demanded. There were several shakes of different heads, Tommy's anxiety flaring in his chest. He quickly rushed to grab his coat and flat cap, tugging them on in haste, hearing Arthur question where he was going. "Gotta find her," he explained through his panting-panic. "City's dangerous enough for people that can hear properly. God knows what can happen when she's alone at this time of night."

"We'll help," John offered, nudging Arthur, Finn, and their cousin, Michael Gray.

"I'll find her faster," Tommy answered, already out the door.

Michael shared a look around the room, wondering, "He acts like this all the time or just with that one pretty barmaid?"

Arthur smirked broadly, "That one pretty barmaid is Tommy's girl. Don't get caught lookin'."

"He's like this with just her," John chuckled, "always has been, always taking care of her the way she cares for him."

"What did Tommy mean? She can't hear?" Michael questioned innocently.

"Nah, girl's got some hearin', just not a whole lotta it," John explained as if common knowledge. "Never thought I'd see Tommy so patient, so fuckin' doting. He doesn't mind repeating himself if she asks, in fact, he does what he can to talk to her how she needs."

"What's that mean?"

"Like," John paused, sighing through his nose, "he'll face her directly, speak slower to let her read his lips. He speaks up, he's clearer, he wants her to feel like she's not a burden if she can't hear like us can so he does it all organically."

Michael smiled softly, vaguely impressed by Tommy's show of humanity. Speaking of, everyone's favorite gangster was prowling through Small Heath; stopping in each and every open business, searching for the familiar sight of you, and moving on when he was unsuccessful. You weren't at the Shelby home, nor your apartment, church, or anywhere along the Canal - places you frequent when overwhelmed.

Tommy was beginning to get cold, but he wouldn't say that. His determination would keep him warm, and even as the snow began to fall once more, Tommy hiked through the wind. Luck seemed to be on his side because when he entered the third pub, one he doesn't usually step foot in outside of evident emergencies, there you were; sat at the bar looking miserable.

"Thank God," Tommy breathed in relief, straightening his jacket and swiping his cap from his head. He approached your side and reached a hand out to the bartop in front of you, minimally startling you by announcing his presence without words. "Hey, love," he greeted you.

"What're you doing, Tommy? Blinders don't come 'round in here."

"We do when one of our own goes missing."

Your eyes rolled, "I'm not missing, I just needed a break."

"I know," he nodded, "but I'm here to make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need an escort."

"I don't think you do, but it's dangerous at night. You know I care about you and that includes your well-being."

"Oh, don't tell me, you're trying to play the gentleman card?" You scoffed, taking another swallow from your glass. "C'mon, sit down, I don't like drinking alone," you commented, "makes me sad, leaves me alone with my thoughts."

"We can drink at home, love."

"I don't want to go home yet."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll have to explain why I got fired."

"You didn't."

"Huh!?" You yelped.

"You didn't lose your job," he assured softly.

"No?"

"No, not fired."

"Oh," you mulled over your thoughts, "that's good, then."

Tommy sighed and pulled his coat off to take the empty barstool beside you. "All right," he decided, going through the motions to stick a cigarette between his lips and light it. Smoke wafted from his mouth as he asked, "What happened tonight?"

"You already know, I'm sure."

"I want your truth."

"Doesn't matter," you refused, downing the last of the whiskey in your glass. You went to leave a few bills for your tab, but Tommy stopped you and covered it himself. Your eyes rolled and hand snatched the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey before heading for the exit.

Tommy followed not far behind.

"Love, c'mon, wait up," he grit, catching up to you and tossing his coat over your form, "you're gonna catch ill."

"I'm fine," your eyes rolled. Truthfully, the consumed whiskey in your system acted as an internal heating mechanism; warming your blood, wrapping you in a fuzzy grip.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"I just - I'm frustrated, okay?"

"Sure, all right," he agreed, "but why?"

"You don't get it, Tommy," you felt emotional, rounding on him with tears in your eyes. "You don't know what it's like, you can hear just fine, you can still see, you don't know what it's like to progressively lose one of your senses! The way people get angry for something I cannot dictate - it's like they're the one being vastly inconvenienced!"

Tommy nodded, just listening.

"And they crucify me for it!" You sniffled, feeling defeated. "Like I'm some pariah that will infect them with my loss of hearing. They treat me as if - as if I've asked for this, as if I'm doing it on purpose!"

"What would help?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore, Tommy, but this town is seriously lacking in their ability to empathize. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do - I get so angry now. It happens more and more, people getting angry or frustrated at me 'cause I need them to repeat themselves. What am I supposed to do, huh?"

He smirked slightly, but the sight angered you.

"Oh, fuck off, Tommy!" You turned from him, moving back up the street. "I don't need to laugh at me like the rest of them - "

"I'm not!" Tommy insisted, reaching for your wrist to halt you, whip you around, face him again. Both his hands extended to hold the area above your elbow, speaking clearly, "Listen to me. I was going t'wait, but I think now's a good time."

"Good time for what, Tommy?" You growled, now just wanting to go to bed and hide from your emotions; hide from people; hide from reality.

"I have a new job for you, in the company," he smirked. "We're still getting things structured, but why don't you step away from the bar and come work for me now? Help us build what's left, and then transition into your company job?"

You paused, just staring at him in mild shock.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Why would I joke?"

"You're... Offering me, what? Some job as your receptionist?"

"No, I was thinkin' something a little more paramount."

"Like what?"

"Like Chief of Operations?"

"COO?" You laughed, "For what company, Tommy?"

"Come home with me, we'll talk all about it," he bargained, "but if you accept, you've gotta quit The Garrison, love. We'll need your head in the game, no other distractions."

You felt something in your heart crack, asking, "What if you lot can't stand working with me, too?"

"Because of your hearing?"

"Or, you know, lack there of."

"Love," he smirked, "there's nothing you can do - intentionally or unintentionally - that would make any of us distance ourselves. If we get frustrated, it's not because you can't hear - it's never your disability, love."

"So, if you get frustrated, it's just, what? My personality?"

"More than likely," He grinned, arm snug around your waist again to walk down the snowy lane together. He laughed when your hand rose to pinch his side; squeezing his rib tightly, causing him to flinch and grunt lightly. "Hey, hey, easy with that," he chuckled, seeing your happy smile. "You all right, love? I know tonight was a lot, but... You feelin' any better?"

"I think so," you sighed. "The whiskey helps," you joked, raising the bottle to your lips.

"Mhm," he mused, taking the bottle after you.

"But present company helps more," you complimented softly. "You know, I'm sorry for today..."

"You're sorry that you couldn't hear a bunch of drunks in a packed-out pub?"

"Maybe?"

Tommy smirked, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. It's not your fault; like you say, it's not something you can control. I'm the one who's sorry you had to endure all of that... The lads got that guy pretty good."

"Good."

"And now you've a new job, yes?"

"After I hear about it," your eyes rolled in humor, taking the bottle back. "What's this big idea for a company anyway? What's it even called?"

"The Shelby Company Limited, and we're gonna change the whole of England, love."

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Text

Why Don't You Flirt with Me?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: 5 times you're jealous of someone flirting with Tim Bradford, and the 1 time you tell him why.

Warnings: so much jealousy and flirting, angst, fluff at the end! number 3 has spoilers for The Rookie 2x03

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

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

1. You get jealous because of another police officer flirting with Tim.

The best part of roll call is getting to sit beside Tim. You’ve had feelings for him for almost as long as you’ve known him, but Tim has never seemed open to a relationship like that. So, you are happy to be his friend and remain by his side until the time is right. Your other friends at Mid-Wilshire describe you and Tim as “inseparable” or “joined at the hip,” yet he seems oblivious to your attention and feelings toward him.

When you cross the threshold, you see someone in your seat. A beautiful woman is sitting next to Tim, in your seat, and leaning toward him as she speaks. She’s too pretty to be a cop, you think. Sergeant Grey enters before you can say or do anything, so you take a seat in the row before Tim. He looks up toward you but doesn’t say anything. When Wade reaches the podium and looks out at everyone, he stops and glances between you and Tim several times. His brows raise, but he remains professional and begins giving assignments to each officer.

“And I’d also like to welcome Mid-Wilshire’s newest officer,” Wade says before introducing the woman beside Tim as a transfer from another division.

Even her name is pretty. You fight the urge to turn and look at her, to get a better view. The jealousy you feel is, so far, unfounded. She didn’t know that it was your seat – technically, it’s not. When she starts whispering, however, your jealousy has the perfect opportunity to worsen.

“If you’d been my TO, I would have been a rookie forever,” she whispers to Tim. “How could anyone be okay moving on and away from you?”

“Easier than it looks, I guess,” Tim replies.

“Tell me something, how often do you get flirted with during traffic stops? Because if you pulled me over, I would happily provide my identification… and my number.”

You lean back and glance over your shoulder before immediately regretting it. She’s leaned over further, practically draping herself across the table to be closer to Tim, and her well-manicured hand is resting against his bicep. Looking away as quickly as you can, you set your jaw. People look at Tim, gawk, even, but this blatant flirtation is new, and you hate it.

When you stand after being dismissed, Tim says your name. You plaster on a fake smile and give him your attention, though you ignore the woman beside him.

“Meet us for lunch?” he asks.

“Ooh, will you?” Lucy adds as she walks toward Tim.

“Where are you going?” the new transfer asks.

Tim tells her the name of the restaurant, and your smile turns to a grimace.

“Room for one more?”

She sounds like she purrs when she speaks to Tim, and you hate it.

“Sure,” Tim answers. “It’s a popular spot among patrol cops.”

“Here,” she adds. She lifts his hand and scribbles something on his palm.

Without seeing it, you know that her number now has a new home on Tim’s skin. Your smile is long gone, and you can feel Lucy’s eyes on your face.

“You’re in, too?” Tim asks you.

“Not today,” you grumble before leaving. Enjoy lunch with your new friend.

2. You get jealous because of a witness flirting with Tim.

You’re just starting to accept that other women can flirt with Tim when you get a radio call from Lucy.

“We’re responding to the Redondo call and need backup. Are you close?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m two minutes out,” you say.

“We’re code 2.”

You flip the sirens on and park behind Tim’s shop exactly two minutes later. Lucy is standing at the curb and watching Tim talk to a witness. She looks over at you as you approach and shakes her head.

“What?” you inquire.

“He’s trying to get information because the guy in the shop had a partner, but he took cover when we pulled up.”

“How’s that going?”

“It would be better if she’d stop flirting and start answering the questions.”

At the word ‘flirting,’ you tune Lucy out to listen to Tim’s conversation instead. He’s smiling and nodding along, but the woman isn’t saying anything of importance.

“And I just don’t know how to thank you. Big, strong… beautiful men like you are the reason that women like me can feel safe here,” she says.

“She looks like she’s twitching,” Lucy says when the woman bats her eyelashes.

“Thank you,” Tim answers with a smile.

He smiles at you often, but this smile is different. Your chest burns with new jealousy as the woman lays her hand on Tim’s chest and steps closer.

“I’m happy to keep women like you safe,” Tim says.

You cross your arms over your chest as if it will hide your growing jealousy. Whoever said jealousy makes you green was lying, because you look perfectly normal. To everyone but Tim, maybe, and he’s not paying attention to you.

“So, could you help me out with this?” Tim asks. His voice is soft and slow, and you wish he would talk to you like that, just once. “I really need to know where that other guy went, or I’ll feel like I failed you and every other beautiful woman in this city.”

You scoff before you can stop it, and Lucy looks between you and Tim.

“He doesn’t mean it,” she offers quietly.

“Have you ever heard him talk like that?” you argue. She doesn’t answer, and you say, “Me neither.”

“Look, Tim is bad at expressing his feelings, but he clearly has them. For you.”

You shake your head, but Lucy doesn’t want to give up yet. She watches you and Tim interact every day, so she knows how close you are. And how close you want to be.

“Chen, this is not the time,” you snap as Tim steps away from the suspect.

Tim’s brows raise when he sees you. He asks what you’re doing there, and you happily let Lucy answer that she called for backup to assist in the search for the second criminal.

“I think we’ve got it. The witness gave me good intel,” Tim says. “Thanks for coming so quickly, though.”

“No problem.”

You turn to return to your shop without another word, oblivious to Lucy and Tim watching you go.

3. You get jealous because of Lucy’s friend flirting with Tim.

Working at the front desk is your least favorite assignment, but you agreed to cover for another officer while he visits his son out of state. When Lucy and Tim enter with two new arrests, evidence of a prostitution problem spot, your day brightens. You sat in your usual seat beside Tim this morning and he promised to bring you lunch later, so things are looking up. They lead the women into the holding area, and you hope to see them again before the day ends.

“Hey,” Lucy says from behind Tim. “I know you’re gonna say no, but… I think I can help.”

“With what?” Tim asks.

“Well, you know, I know how hard it is to meet people in L.A. It’s what keeps them in business.”

“Wait. You wanna set me up?” Tim asks. “Forget it. Even if this wasn’t your dumbest idea yet, there is no way you’d be able to pick someone right for me.”

Lucy scoffs and argues, “I bet I can. I’m serious. If I can fix you up on one good date, just one, I get to, uh- I get to wear short sleeves.”

Tim considers the bet for a moment. “Okay. But you’re paying.”

“Whatever.”

“And if you lose, you’re gonna do 50 push-ups after every call we take.”

Several hours later, you’re still sitting at the front desk when Lucy comes in again. She’s alone this time, and you miss Tim more than you thought possible.

“Rachel?” Lucy asks.

“Look at you! All official,” Rachel replies as she hugs Lucy. “You were the talk of the reunion, you know.”

“I was bummed I couldn’t go. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just trying to cut through some red tape. But so far, my scissors haven’t been sharp enough.”

“Problems with child services?”

“Yeah, civil standbys. LAPD needs a faster response time. I’ve had four go sideways in the last month. Hey! Maybe you can help me.”

“I- I wish I could, but I am below the bottom of the food chain here.”

“Boot, get a move on,” Tim calls from the doorway.

“Who’s that?” Rachel asks.

You give the conversation more attention once Tim enters the conversation. The last few days have not been kind to your emotions, and you hope that this isn’t going to add to the list.

“That is my training officer. Hey, uh, you’re single, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Would you want to go out with him?”

You drop the clipboard in your hand and hope Lucy catches your look of betrayal. She widens her eyes briefly, but you don’t understand what she’s trying to communicate.

“Uh, he’s hot… but I-I made a vow. No more jerks.”

He’s not a jerk, you think. You just have to know how to see who Tim is inside.

“Okay, so, you don’t date jerks,” Lucy says. “But how would you like to help me win a bet against one?”

“Boot!” Tim calls again as he walks out. “What’s the holdup?”

“I’m sorry, Officer Bradford,” Rachel interjects. “That was my fault. I was asking Lucy for some help with a social service problem I’m having. If I’d known I was keeping her from such a handsome man, I would have waited.”

Tim nods before turning to Lucy. “Grey needs the paperwork finished.”

“I’ll do that now. Bye, Rachel,” Lucy says before leaving.

“So, you’re Lucy’s TO?” Rachel asks. “I always pictured training officers as chubby, grey-haired ride-along partners who refuse to retire.”

You can’t see her face, but you’re sure she’s giving him a beautiful smile. Your eyes drop to a paper on the desk before you, and you get angry with jealousy. Tim is supposed to be your friend, and more someday. Why didn’t he ever care enough to see me?

“Is that not what I look like?” Tim asks with a smile.

“Not at all. Would you maybe wanna get dinner with me?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you free tonight? A woman like you has to be turning down offers left and right.”

“You’d know something about that,” Rachel replies. “Tonight sounds great.”

“I’ll see you then.”

You raise your eyes to watch Rachel leave. You don’t know that both she and Tim know that the date is for a bet, one Tim intends to win because he is uninterested in Rachel.

“How’s desk duty?” he asks.

“Fine,” you answer shortly without looking toward him.

“I’m going to get lunch; you still want something?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he looks at you, and he taps the desk before leaving. Maybe you should turn green, at least Tim would notice that he is affecting you more than any of the women flirting with him. And being flirted with by him.

4. You get jealous because of a suspect flirting with Tim.

“You’re under arrest,” you say, out of breath as you handcuff a kidnapping suspect after chasing him through a suburban neighborhood.

“Nice,” Tim praises as he exits the shop behind you.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” the woman yells. “Everything I know, I’ll tell you. I’m not the kidnapper; I’m a woman for goodness’ sake!”

“Why did you run?” Tim asks.

She sits up with an awkward tug of the handcuffs. When she sees Tim standing at the curb, she takes a deep breath and looks up at him through her lashes.

“Officer, I was terrified,” she begins. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman – a single woman – here. When he told me to do it-“

“Who?” you interject.

The woman doesn’t look away from Tim as she answers, “My neighbor, Ben Charles. He asked me to let him, and his little girl, spend the night in my basement. How was I supposed to know that it wasn’t his kid?”

“You said you’d tell us everything you knew,” Tim says. “What else?”

“If I had a neighbor like you, I’d always feel safe. Although, I don’t think I would be home, much.”

Tim looks down at his boots before returning her intense gaze; he tilts his chin slightly and says, “I’m sure you’re a great neighbor. But I think you can be a greater help to that little girl. Her parents want her home.”

“I can imagine. I mean, I don’t have kids.” She licks her lips before adding, “Yet. But I want to help that little girl get home.”

Tim squats before her and lays a hand on her knee. “I’ve gotta take you in for evading arrest, but if you help us get that little girl home safe, maybe we can drop the charges.”

Easy for you to say, since you didn’t chase her through the streets, you think. Tim’s hand on her leg holds your attention, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or heartbroken. All the time you spent “waiting for Tim to be ready” has been wasted, because he’s ready now and not sparing a glance in your direction.

“I’ll be in the shop. I’ll fill in Grey,” you mumble before climbing into the passenger seat.

Tim takes most of her weight as he lifts her from the sidewalk, and you nearly rip the radio from the dash when you grab it.

5. You get jealous because of a neighbor flirting with Tim.

Tim’s house is the house to be at for game night. He has a huge, HD television, good snacks, and is always excellent company. Sitting on his couch and watching the pre-game opinions, you’re surprised to hear the doorbell ring.

“You made it!” Tim cheers as he opens the door. “Come on in. There’s pizza, drinks, help yourself to anything.”

You watch the doorway as Tim’s neighbor walks in. She’s never been to a game night before today, but that’s not what bothers you. Her hands on Tim’s shoulders threaten to make you uninterested in the game. Tim looks over and introduces you, and you shake her hand before offering your seat beside Tim. Once you’re in a chair by yourself, you can breathe a little easier. That ends when Tim sits beside his neighbor, and she leans against his side.

No game is worth this.

“So, I have a confession,” she whispers. You’re not sure why she’s whispering, because you can still hear her, yet she continues, “I’ve never watched a game before, and I have no idea what the rules are.”

“Seriously?” Tim asks. He leans forward to set his drink down and turn the volume up slightly. “I’ll explain what I can if you want.”

“I’d love that!” she gushes.

You keep your eyes on the screen, but you’re aware of her leg pressed to Tim’s, and her hand moving toward his abdomen as she presses her weight against him.

“How many sports did you play in school?” she asks.

“What makes you think I did?” he responds.

She giggles before running a finger along Tim’s bicep and over to the line between his pecs. “All these muscles. While I can appreciate them, I know they serve a purpose.”

“I am a cop.”

“So?”

“Yeah, I played some sports.”

Your phone buzzes, and since you can’t focus on the game anyway, you use it as an excuse to leave early.

“We’re almost to the playoffs!” Tim says as you stand.

“Sorry,” you reply. “I’ll watch the highlights. Enjoy the game.”

In the privacy of your car, you hit the top of the steering wheel. Why doesn’t he ever flirt with me?

1. You stop Tim from flirting with someone at a restaurant to admit your feelings.

The staff of the Mid-Wilshire division has had an incredibly busy week. When Wade suggests you, Tim, Lucy, Nolan, and Angela join him at a nearby restaurant to celebrate the wins of the week, you happily agree. Spending time with your friends out of work sounds like the perfect way to wind down after long days and sleepless nights.

“Oh my gosh, I need, like, six more of these,” Lucy says as she takes the last sip of the waiter’s recommended drink.

“Looks like everyone could use a refill,” Tim says. “This one’s on me.”

The restaurant is as busy as the police station, and your waiter encouraged you to get up and find him at the bar if you needed anything. When Tim stands, you offer to go with him and help him carry drinks. He nods and smiles before offering a hand to help you out of your seat. You don’t hear Angela and Lucy ask each other when you and Tim will make a move on one another.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Tim asks.

“A fifteen-hour nap,” you answer.

Tim shakes his head and taps his elbow against your back. He then moves his hand to the same spot to lead you through the crowd surrounding the bar.

“Hey!” your waiter greets over the noise. “Refills for your whole table?”

Tim nods and thanks him before leaning his forearm against the bar. His body is turned toward you, and you smile as you move closer, acting like the crowd is forcing the proximity. Someone bumps into Tim and says something that you can’t hear. He straightens and turns toward her, and you close your eyes against your building jealousy.

“I was going to apologize again,” the woman – who looks like she just left a Victoria’s Secret fashion show – says, “but now I’m glad I bumped into you, handsome.”

“Not that I would have complained before,” Tim begins.

“Tim!” you yell. He looks toward you quickly, and you press your lips together before asking, “Can we talk?”

A crease appears between Tim’s brows, and he nods before leaning over the bar. He asks the waiter to take the drinks to the table when he has time and thanks him again when the waiter says he will. Tim’s arm presses against your back as he leads you toward a side door. The noise and stress of the restaurant fade as the door closes behind you. You don’t give Tim a chance to ask what’s wrong before you turn to face him.

“What is so wrong with me?” you demand. “Why am I not good enough?”

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks. His voice is raised to match yours, but the genuine confusion on his face hurts worse because he doesn’t know.

“Why don’t you ever flirt with me?”

You are still jealous of every woman that you’ve seen Tim flirt with or accept flirtation from over the last few weeks. After all the time you’ve spent with him and the love you’ve shown him, you deserve to know why he ignores you.

“I-“

“No, Tim, just tell me! Because I love you and you don’t seem to care enough to even notice when I’m around!”

Realization about what you admitted hits you, and you drop your eyes to Tim’s chest. Pushing your feelings on him was never your intention.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

You move to return to the table with your friends, but Tim reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around your wrist.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he says.

As you slowly raise your eyes and your skin burns beneath Tim’s touch, you see that his eyes are steady on yours. You have no reason to doubt him, nor do you want to.

“What didn’t?” you whisper.

“All of the flirting! None of it meant a thing to me.”

“Then-“

“The way that I talk to you, though? The time that we spend together? That means something.”

“But-“

“Let me finish,” Tim demands gently. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles and steps closer. “When I talk to other women, like Rachel and the witness last week, and accept their attention, that’s not flirting for me. That is not how I show my feelings or desires, whatever you want to call it, and it never will be. Talk is cheap, but time? That’s how I prefer showing people I care about them.”

You nod but don’t say anything yet.

“You’re jealous,” Tim accuses. “And while I can understand why, there’s no reason to be.”

“I’m not jealous,” you argue. He raises his brows, and you add, “Currently.”

“You never have to be.”

“Why? Because you’re telling me you prefer quality time to verbal flirtations? Because the last time I was at your house you seemed to be having plenty of that with your neighbor!”

“Is that why you left?”

“I thought you were explaining something.”

Tim rolls his eyes before raising his hands to hold either side of your face.

“Listen to me very closely, just for a minute. It meant nothing.”

You look down, and Tim huffs before pulling you against him. He brings your lips to his and does something that you’ve never seen before. You wanted him to flirt with you, but now you want to be kissed by him every day for the rest of your life. With his touch and the promise that the flirting didn’t mean anything, you know that your jealousy was unnecessary.

“Is that enough explanation?” Tim asks as he pulls back.

“Um, I may need just a little more,” you say softly. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

“Jealous,” Tim teases.

“I don’t know how I was supposed to know that you didn’t mean it.”

“You get special treatment and are still blind to how I feel.”

Tim releases you and opens the door for you to enter first.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Hungry. Get inside. And don’t get jealous of Malibu Barbie at the bar; I was just going to say that I was glad she didn’t spill her drink on me.”

You purse your lips in offense, and Tim reaches forward to pull you inside with him.

“I’ll give you more explanation later, but only if you promise to trust me from now on. And, in the future, just tell me that you love me instead of getting jealous.”

You’re almost back to the table when Tim leans in and says, “Oh, and, by the way, I only flirted with Rachel right in front of you because I knew Lucy was trying to win the bet.”

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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smusherina · 19 days

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bridges burnt - chapter 1 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

very necessary note: Okay, fuck, it was supposed to be a one shot. Then I got excited. So have another freakin' Regina George series. Set in the same universe as yard work! Reading that provides some essential context, but you do you! I don't think it's unreadable without it.

You adjusted your tie for perhaps the millionth time. It was a silky blue, befitting your navy suit. You fiddled with your cufflinks, silver like all your accessories, then pulled out the baby blue handkerchief to wipe down your glasses, then folded it pack into your pocket, then bent to redo your laces, then-

"For fuck's sake, the ceremony hasn't even started yet!" Amanda nudged you violently.

"Ow!" You hissed, elbowing her back. She slapped your knee, hard.

"Get yourself together." She glowered, pointing a manicured finger at your nose. "It's worse enough I have to be here at all. You're not gonna ruin this for me."

"You're here for the open bar and free food. I paid for the flights, the room, the car." You bit back. "I'm allowed to be nervous."

"There's nervous, then there's this." Amanda looked you up and down pointedly, noting your bouncing knee.

You squeezed at said knee, trying to calm down. Like you'd been trying to do since hours ago. No results so far.

"Look, buddy, it's just a wedding. You don't even really know her. I get you... Have a history with the bride, or whatever, but it's gonna be so fine."

"It's not Gretchen I'm worried about." You mumbled.

"Whoever. It's gonna be fine." Amanda said, flippant as ever. How she was so carefree all the time was mind-boggling to you.

"This place is filled with people from high school. God." You looked around. "That guy over there, don't look, with the receding hairline- I said don't look!"

"Be more specific, every man here has a receding hairline. The demographic is excruciatingly pallid."

"Shut up, girl," You shook your head but couldn't help but laugh. It was mostly white people here. "The one with the wife that looks exactly like him, unbelievably blonde, kinda mousy," You waited for her eyes to latch onto the man you were talking about. "He used to buy weed from me, like, every week, and then went around spreading rumours about me."

"Ungrateful." Amanda scoffed. "And look at him, a wife, child, and probably a 401k. That's how it goes for boys like them."

"Yeah." You sighed. "How's the salon doing, by the way?"

"Thriving. Thanks to you. But I worked my ass off." You lifted your arms in surrender. She had worked hard to keep the place afloat for as long as she had, so even if you hadn't invested she would've found a way.

Amanda cast you a meaningful look. "You're doing better than ever, aren't you? Financially speaking. How's everything else?"

"Well, y'know..." You shrugged. "It's complicated." You looked down. Amanda patted your knee, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"You got a nice suit, though." She pointed out.

"Oh, for sure. Look at these, custom cufflinks." You showed off the silver bits. "Do you think these rings are too much?"

"Don't you usually have an ungodly amount of them on?"

"I usually just have these three." On your right pinky was your Engineer's Ring. On your left thumb was an embroidered steel band and on the pointer of that same hand a ring with a big emerald embedded in a bed of crystals.

"It's not too much." Amanda took your hand and inspected the rings. "More like sexy." She grinned at you, all sorts of innuendo right on display.

You scoffed and turned towards the altar. The pews were getting fuller by the minute. You were sitting far enough from the front to show you weren't important but not too far as to hint you didn't want to be there. You were on the bride's side, though it didn't matter much. You didn't know Gretchen any better than her husband-to-be.

Amanda had come with you for moral support. You'd been roommates in college and you hadn't been able to shake her off since. She'd grown on you, though you often acted more begrudged than you felt. She'd helped you out a lot over the years.

She'd been there when you couldn't leave the dorms, trapped in the vicious clutches of paranoia. She'd been there helping you get back on your feet when dad's businesses started going, one by one, each more explosive than the last. She was there when you moved back to that little town in Illinois, where Northshore still stood.

You liked to think you'd been equally as integral to her, but that was perhaps a reach. She was fiercely independent, resourceful, and charming enough to make friends with anyone. When the first chance to help her came, you didn't hesitate to take it. She'd opened up her salon right after graduation, staying in New York while you moved back home, and had been doing well until now. Unexpected costs and a wicked plumbing bill had landed her in some hot water.

For the small price of one favour and eternal bragging rights, you'd shoved your newly acquired wealth at her. Dragging her to Vermont in October to attend Gretchen's wedding was you cashing in on that favour.

Eventually, the proceedings began. The groom and his men walked in with little fanfare, mild music playing as they went. Most faces you did not recognize, but there was one back of the head that seemed eerily familiar.

The groom, a classically handsome man, a boring prince type, went to stand at the altar. He had an expectant glimmer in his eye. At least Gretchen's taste in men had improved. Then again, anything beat the scrubs she'd used to keep around.

Behind the groom, his line of groomsmen settled, the best man fronting the crowd. The man of the hour was in a classic black tux while the others flanking him were dressed in different shades of brown. The whole shebang was sort of beige with a little bit of burnt orange thrown in. Amidst the shades of umber, russet, and sepia, stood a familiar face.

Aaron Samuels. You didn't have much time to agonize about him being here before the bridesmaids were stepping through the aisle. Similar dresses but in lighter shades, clearly made to match a certain groomsman. You didn't recognize any of them.

The maid of honour was a little odd. Her makeup seemed to be a lot thicker on one side, like there were several layers of foundation caked on. Her eye makeup on that side was a little heavy also, but she was past you by the time you could wonder why.

"The maid of honour totally has a black eye," Amanda whispered to you.

"No way," You hissed back, trying to get an angle where you could see her face. As she settled in place, facing the pews, even moderately far away you could see that, yeah, she totally was covering up a black eye. Wild bachelorette party, then.

Coos and aws resounded through the church as the flower girl and the ring bearer came toddling down. A little girl, cheeks all red, and looking like she wanted to be anywhere else, and a slightly older boy with an almost manic look in his eye. The girl was in no mood to be tossing petals, so the boy reached into her basket and threw a big fistful of them in the air. The rings rolled off of their pillow but found their way back.

"Oops," The boy said, smiling sheepishly right as the photographer came in to capture the moment. Chuckles echoed through the space.

By the time they reached the end of the aisle, the little girl was dutifully carrying the pillow on which the rings were and the boy was joyously tossing flower petals everywhere. As god intended.

Then came the bride. Escorted by her father, who was beaming with a mouth full of veneers, Gretchen Wieners made her appearance.

It wasn't disappointment that you felt. Not relief, either. It was hard to describe. You'd been expecting anger or some catharsis. This was the person who'd outed you to your whole school, who'd been the catalyst to the worst year of your life, why didn't you feel more?

High school had been over for almost ten years. You carried scars, deep ones that still ached on bad days but at the end of the day, they were just scars. You were doing better than ever. Gretchen had been a bully, had brought you to ruin once upon a time, but who was to say it couldn't all be built again?

You smiled. She looked beautiful. A white dress, a long veil, hair done big, bigger and more grandiose than you'd ever seen, and looking like, well, a bride.

You'd moved on. Considering how she'd invited you too, and knowing Gretchen she was acutely aware of every person in attendance, she had moved on too. You could recognize an olive branch when one was given to you.

That didn't explain the invitation, though. Maybe it was a mistake. Gretchen wasn't known for making those, but she was human too. Right?

"Look, they're totally enthralled by each other. You're gonna be fine." Amanda whispered, ignoring the elderly lady seated next to her shooting daggers through her eyes at you two.

"Yeah. It's gonna be fine."

Notes: Got really ill at the beginning of this week, which delayed this chapter quite a bit. You don't realize quite how awesome breathing is until you can't do it properly. Getting better slowly, it's nothing serious, but the cough is lingering. It is what it is.

This chapter was mostly setting up the narrative, no Reggie and Jorts interactions as of yet. I'm not making any promises because I'm so shit at keeping them, but hoping that this series will be shorter than the original one.

Taglist posted seperately!

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #fic: yard work #fic: bridges burnt

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demonicbaby666 · 21 days

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Remember Me

One Shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, brief smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, cheating, fingering, oral sex, brief mention of blood, loss

Summary: JJ has lived her whole life pleasing everyone, even if it was at the cost of her own happiness. But one day, she stumbles upon an unexpected opportunity to stray away from her norm, have a conversation, a relationship away from everything and everyone she knows. Why wouldn't she take it?

A/n: I'm sorry in advance. That's all I can say, really.

JJ fits the mould. She always has and always will.

When she was younger, she played well with other children, smiled as she let girls braid her hair, and wept when the boys tugged at them. She listened when her parents told her it was just how young boys showed interest and that she should be flattered. Though she didn’t quite understand, the little girl managed to take it on the chin and try her hardest to focus on the compliment of having her scalp ache. That was until one boy, who showed ‘interest’ in her regularly, had yanked her poorly done braid for the third time in ten minutes. The whole ordeal ended with JJ towering over him as he fell back onto his butt and cried ugly, bulging tears.

She cried in the car the whole way back home when her mom came to pick her up from daycare, shouting at her for acting so brutish. ‘You think any of the boys will like you now?’ That’s what her mom had said, but JJ didn’t care; she had her friends who took care of her, made her laugh and would only ever get feisty when it was time to share a toy.

“Even the girls will be scared to play with you.”

She never did anything like that again.

When she was in high school, she was the ‘it’ girl. Her grades were stellar, alongside her love life, as she took on the duty of dating the soon-to-be prom king. She was the perfect girlfriend, never mind that there was always an excuse not to let him get her naked when they were alone. Usually, it was that she wasn’t ready; she didn’t tell him that behind closed doors, she got in enough practice with her best friend, but that’s all it was. Practice. It wasn’t that she got butterflies when soft lips kissed along her neck rather than the gruff of unbalmed lips or when manicured nails showed her how it felt to have her collarbones traced rather than calloused fingers fumbling with her bra strap. Practice.

She married a bland man with a thick accent and a proclivity to make sarcastic comments, and together, they had two kids, forming the perfect nuclear family. How perfect, and entirely not macabrely mundane. She should have been happy and content. What she had was the dream, the societal one at least, that her younger self would have gushed at. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she could hear her little voice say, see the innocent smile on that unknowing face that was forced to gush at having her pigtails yanked and feel pride in her youthful stance. It made her stomach lurch.

Then, one day, she’s sat on a park bench, crying. She can’t remember why, only feels the anguish crack in her chest and force another stream of tears down her swollen cheeks. Vaguely, she registers she’s not alone, hears the dull creek of aged wood and tries to simmer her sobs to sniffles. When that doesn’t work, the blonde is forced to turn her stiff neck and face the embarrassment of being caught crying in public head-on. Maybe tell this stranger to pick another bench, to mind their business, anything that would get them away. Seriously, there were at least two free benches, and she couldn’t fathom why anyone would approach her in this state when there were very clearly other options.

As the dismissing words touch her lips, they fade away, eyes batting to try and halt the swarm of tears in their tracks. Soft. JJ notices that you’re soft. All she’s known her life is rough, sharp, brittle edges, from the itchy feel of a beard scratching at her chin to the unpleasurable rutting of a man inside her, finishing in twenty seconds. But your hands are not callused when they lay upon the skin of her upper arm, and your smile is not unsure as you gaze into her azure eyes. JJ doesn’t understand why her stomach is flipping, but she suddenly feels okay. She doesn’t hate herself for it. Not like how she hates herself for everything she feels.

“Are you okay?” you ask, light and open, and she hears your voice's unmistakable melody of genuine care.

The confessions are spilling out like water from a faucet, and before JJ is even aware, she’s run through her whole life and has mapped out every wrong decision that’s led her to a life of service. She realises things about herself she’d have never seen had it not been for your impartial presence and attentive nods.

You do your best to weigh in, encourage personal discoveries and meet them with reassurances and words of affirmation. You watch as this gorgeous, kind and intelligent woman unravels right before your very eyes and see the moment everything clicks. You click. You’re an outsider to the normalcy she has to display daily, and you’re not witness to the constant acts she performs to appease her husband, colleagues, and even her children. You’re a taste of what it's like to be able to simply exist away from expectations and scrutiny.

She places her hand over the one you have on her arm, brings it down to rest in her lap and traces lines over the creases of your palm. There’s something about how you look at her; it makes her feel young again. She doesn’t care about anything anymore, wants to follow her heart rather than her brain, and for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel guilty about it.

That’s how it starts. Every week, JJ finds herself drawn to that bench, drawn to you. You talk, and she forgets; she forgets about everything except what it is to be herself without bounds. It truly is a beautiful sight. She’s utterly, undeniably and inextricably beautiful.

You smile so brightly, from cheek to cheek, as you watch her laugh, watch life come back to her with each little confession she gives away. Like when she was younger, she vaguely remembers making her Barbies kiss, or in high school, her boyfriend's only redeeming quality was his long hair that he'd let her maintain or that only a few weeks ago she had to clear her search history after deep diving into, well that one she never finishes, but from the crimson hue that appears over JJ’s cheeks you’re able to put two and two together. The story of a new colleague joining the team rattles you the most.

JJ speaks of how she often found herself transfixed, admiring her mannerisms, her wardrobe, and how her brown eyes shone in a particular light. She tells you how sometimes, even now, when she catches the brunette's eye, her heart still leaps a little, but it’s emptier and accompanied by the bitter taste of regret. There’s a sadness when the blonde lets that confession slip, like a piece of her breaks every time she talks of it, reliving the same moments over and over, and you manage to push aside your jealousy in favour of offering her a reassuring smile and comforting embrace.

Weeks turned to months, and soon, JJ found herself staring at you in much the same way she had her junior high best friend. She knows the feeling but resents the accompanying guilt that only worsens with joining your lips together and later looking her husband in the eye. Her whole life, she’s done the right thing, followed the rules, did as she was told, and ever since meeting you, she’s realised all it had amounted to was endless longing. In a fucked way, she thinks of you as her saviour, a chance to see that her deeper desires should have always been fuel enough to turn a blind eye to so-called duty.

Of course, you’ve come years too late when she’s forged bonds that, in her eyes, will always be unbreakable. It helps to think that way; it hurts less when she takes your hand and leads you into a hotel suite booked under a pseudonym. You smile nonetheless the whole walk through the corridor, ignoring how there’s an odd smell in the air, how the carpet is sticky and stained, and how, between clasped hands, you feel the presence and prick of JJ’s wedding ring.

She needs this, and you want to be everything she needs, everything she feels, and everything she wants you to be.

And you are. And you are more.

You show her what it is to be devoured, to kiss slowly and languidly, to have sex without it feeling like a race, to be filled roughly and want it, crave it. She makes sweet sounds as you trail your lips down her body, seal them over her clit and lap at the tender bundle of nerves, never once looking away from who’s granting her this immense pleasure. By the time she’s cumming for the second time, she’s no longer chanting your name but words of gratitude, two single tears rolling down each cheek as she allows herself to feel the aftershocks of her orgasm before the euphoria dwindles.

It doesn't take long for the blonde to recover, and when she does, she’s leaning over you, an eager look in her eyes shadowed by a hint of uncertainty. She’d never done this before, never been with a woman. Sure, she’d thought about it, seen it, but it had always felt impossible. Yet here you lie beneath her, smiling, waiting, and looking so fucking perfect she knows if she doesn’t get to touch you, she’ll never forgive herself. That thought alone has her hand working its way between your legs, delving between folds to coat her fingers in your arousal before she pushes two inside you.

Again, she doesn’t look away. She can’t.

She watches the veins in your neck strain as you throw your head back, watches your stomach roll with every thrust of her fingers, watches as your lips part and your jaw shakes and can’t stop herself from kissing you when she hears you moan. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but she knows, she just knows. Knows that when she curls her fingers, you’ll whimper; when her thumb brushes over your clit you’ll gasp; and when she sucks a mark to your breast, you’ll cum.

She whispers more confessions into the night after, and you feel a little like an intruder until she nestles against your side and presses soft kisses to your shoulder before she lays her head down on it and runs her fingers through your hair. She can’t stay; you both know it, but don’t say it. Instead, you dress each other between tender touches.

It’s the same hotel the next time and the time after that, every time. You’re used to the stale smell in the corridor and have even contributed to the array of stains. It was after you and JJ had indulged a little too much at a local bar and discovered, in the right company, that the blonde was rather handsy with wine sloshing around in her brain. That night, you both sobered up rather quickly; rushed touches turned slow, harsh kisses turned light and for the first time in both your lives, you made love.

She insists on paying for dinner when you go out, and you temporarily forget that she has a family waiting for her at home; take in the new way she’s curled her hair and done her makeup. Her smile stretches so wide it’s a painful reminder that no one’s paid enough attention to her to mention these things, and you vow that for however long you get with her, you’ll be the one to notice these things, make her realise she deserved to have the little things pointed out and praised.

Once the bill’s paid, JJ suggests a stroll, and you agree because it’s not outside the norm to walk to the hotel, paper trail and all. But as the blonde takes the lead, gently guiding you forward, you realise you’re walking to another familiar staple in your and JJ’s story. She’s first to sit down on the park bench, and you don’t hesitate to join, tucking your body into her side to ward away the slight chill of the evening breeze.

“Cold?” JJ asks, a little confused, what with it being July. Still, she wraps an arm around you and pulls you perfectly closer, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“A little.” you smile. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

It’s quiet for a while, and both of you are content to exist beneath the glowing stars together. That’s until you hear a text alert from JJ’s phone that could only be from one person. You’re not angry as you pull away from JJ’s warmth, allowing her to reply to her husband in peace, though you can’t deny that a sudden hollowness fills your chest.

“Do you forget about me too?” JJ whips her head up and shoots you a look of confusion. “When you’re with him, do you forget about me?”

She places her phone down, and there’s a small victory in discovering you come first, at this moment at least. Soft hands land over your cheeks, and JJ pulls you into a slow kiss filled with so much devotion it leaves you dizzy. You pour just as much into the kiss as you’re being given until you’re both too desperate for breath that you’re forced to pull away. You don’t stray far, meeting JJ in the middle as you lean your foreheads together and feel each other's breaths steady.

“How could I forget you when you're all I think about?” JJ whispers, pecking your lips before she continues, “I miss you. When you’re not beside me, I miss you.”

It’s what you needed to hear - reassuring enough to put your thoughts aside and allow JJ to kiss you again, to guide you to the place you ended most nights together, and to undress you. This time, JJ asks for no pleasure on her own and demands only yours. She doesn’t let you touch her, not until she’s had you cum over her fingers thrice already, has her head between your legs and her tongue inside you. Only then does she guide your hand to her hair, feeling bad for the crumpled bedsheets she’s sure you’ll rip anytime soon, allowing you to push her further into your sex. She laps hungrily like she’s starving for air, and you’re the promise of full lungs until you’re blissfully fucked out and spent, pushing her away and begging for breath.

When JJ crawls back up the bed, the pride clear as your slick on her face, she pulls you half on top of her and holds you tighter than she ever has before.

“Please, don’t forget about me,” you mutter over her heart, squeezing your eyes shut.

On the walk home, you grind your SIM card into the tarmac pavement till it’s unrecognisable. You walk past the park, past yours and JJ’s bench and let yourself cry ugly tears before smashing your phone against the ground and allowing the glass to cut your hands.

It’s easier to do knowing you won’t face the consequences for long. You know she’ll find someone who’ll love her just as much as you do, and the thought fucking stings more than the physical pain you’re in.

You think to yourself that JJ was probably too caught up in what she wanted you to be for her that she never really and truly saw you. She never saw the paling of your skin, noticed how it became easier to mark you or looked away from your kind eyes to the bags beneath them. But in a weird way, you’re okay with it, because you got to be what JJ needed you to be. And maybe that was your purpose. Perhaps that’s why you didn't go straight home months ago after you’d received the test results from the hospital; instead, you walked to a nearby park. Maybe all along, your last months weren’t meant to be yours to live; instead, they belonged to someone else, and lord knows, JJ got more use out of them than you ever could.

It’s a nice thought to drift off to, even if the monitor next to you beeps a little too loud, a little too slow, you tell yourself you were something to someone. You were, you are someone she won’t ever forget.

—

She’s crying again, in the same park, on the same bench, except you’re not there this time. Her hands are bare of jewellery, and she wants to be happy about it, but you’re not here. Her eyes search the barren benches, and she's repeatedly calling out your name till her throat is raw and blistered. JJ doesn’t know whether she’s cursing you or calling to you; she only knows that this is freeing, that each time your name leaves her lips, it feels like reopening a flesh wound. She keeps going till her lips are chapped, till she cold starts to raise goosebumps over her arms, until the setting sun glints off something in the corner of her eye. She looks to her side, catches a metal plaque on the head of the bench she’s never seen before and traces her fingers over the familiar letters until everything starts to make more and less sense.

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