Tumgik
#send us you favorite quotes
britneyshakespeare · 7 months
Text
i am so fucking mad about jag
6 notes · View notes
m0e-ru · 1 year
Text
we should have more celebrations and fun events here like you okyakusan can make me draw anybody but mim for a month and i die
1 note · View note
churipu · 1 month
Text
WHAT REMINDS THEM OF YOU 𓆝 ⋆。𖦹°‧
ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, megumi fushiguro, itadori yuuji
ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. just pure fluff :D
note. i was going to write some hurt comfort — but then i figured that i wanted to keep myself sane for today :>
Tumblr media
𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔
anything strawberry. scent, taste — anything strawberry.
gojo remembered when the first time he brought you home some honeoye strawberries after a mission since it was in season. the way your eyes just lit up at the sight of strawberries made him happy, and from then on — gojo looks at a picture of a strawberry or even smelled strawberry from god knows where.
he just thinks of you.
one time gojo saw a rabbit eating a strawberry while scrolling through his social media, and he wasted no time sending the video to you with a small message: "you <33"
or the other time gojo sees a bucket cap with strawberry motives and he just had to get it for you. the male waited in line for half an hour for that hat (and he had to "fight" a kid for it, he won in the end because the kid moved on to a duck motive hat instead).
"baby, look what i got you — strawberry scented bath bomb. it was the last one on stock, and i had to argue with a lady over it," he happily bursts through the door, boasting while raising what seemed to be a bath bomb.
gojo just knows when you change your usual brand of strawberry lip balm. it took him a peck and he asks you, "did you change your brand? this one tastes weird," he wipes his lips.
"they were out of stock, 'toru."
"why didn't you say so?" he cooed, kissing the bridge of your nose, "i'd go to the other side of the earth to get you one, y'know?"
you chuckled, "or, i could just wait for it to stock back . . ."
"nonsense!"
𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎
the smiths.
he finds it amusing when you start quoting that one scene from 500 days of summer, "i love the smiths . . ." and he just unexpectedly replied with, "sorry?"
but that time — he didn't know that he was "unknowingly" going along with it. confused, he had to question you about it, and when you told him it was from a movie. megumi finally understood and thought that maybe you really liked the movie.
he was wrong. it wasn't the movie, it was the smiths. so now, every time he sees anything or hears anything about the band, he finds himself thinking about you — but he'd never actually say that. megumi often listens to their songs just so he could understand when you talked to him about it.
also, quoting the movie was now a habit for you two. you just go, "i love the smiths," out of the blue and megumi will continue it (even if he says that it's pretty corny).
megumi loves it when you listen to the smiths out loud, singing softly to the tune. the male tries really hard to get you unofficial merchandise, official merchandise for the smiths are actually so hard to find today — so he just had to go and make it custom for you.
"and when the double decker bus, crashes into us . . ." he heard you sing, both of your ears jammed with earbuds from the earphones, "to die by your side."
that, was your favorite song. and megumi made it into a custom painting of you and him as if the two of you were in that one scene in 500 days of summer. i'm not kidding.
𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈
mochi skin. the texture, the flesh. it just reminded him of your cheeks — it's so squishy and soft. every single time he buys a mochi, he makes sure to do something that he calls a squish test.
where he squishes the mochi, and then squishes your cheeks. if they don't feel the same, yuuji gets rid of the mochi and gets another one (he eats them).
"it doesn't feel the same y/n, i don't like it," he whines out softly, tossing the mochi into his mouth — he angrily takes out another bill of cash to buy another mochi.
"yuuji, why does it have to be the same again?" you asked him, hands inside your pockets.
"because . . ." good point. why?
the male prompts to ignore you and buy another one (three others) to make sure they are the same texture as your cheeks. it's something he does — if a mochi he buys doesn't feel the same way like your cheeks does.
he eats them or lets you have them.
if it does.
he also eats them or lets you have them.
it's just something he does for fun, so he could always remember you. and when you're not there with him — yuuji makes sure to buy at least five before coming over to visit you so he could do the test.
when he's not feeling like it but he misses you, he takes a video and sends it to you with a caption: "i miss you."
Tumblr media
© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE
1K notes · View notes
coldresolve · 1 year
Text
Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.
What memory would your OC rather just forget?
What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?
What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?
When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?
How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?
How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?
What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?
Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?
Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?
What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?
What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?
Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?
If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?
How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?
Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?
What is your OC's pain tolerance like?
What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?
Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?
How does your OC behave when enraged?
Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?
Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?
What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?
What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?
What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?
What is your favorite thing about your OC?
6K notes · View notes
Text
A quick PSA:
YOU ARE NOT A WANNAREXIC IF YOU EAT OVER YOUR CALORIE LIMIT. A wannarexic is someone who pretends to be anorexic for attention and then go back to eating normally no problem. A wannarexic is someone who only doesn't eat around others for attention and doesn't care about calories or fat. A wannarexic is someone who only pretends to be anorexic to get sympathy.
If you aren't any of those things then you aren't a wannarexic. Anorexia is a mental illness, and it's okay if you binge because that's how your body works. Please, babies, you aren't wannarexic because chances are everyone reading this post is actually anorexic. Send love to others who think they are wannarexic for binging.
My favorite quote is "If you're doing it in private with no one watching then you aren't faking." All of us count calories when no one is watching, you aren't faking. I love you, and if I can love you then you can love yourself.
<3
522 notes · View notes
luminalunii97 · 11 months
Text
saying F U to the regime again and again: a quick update on women vs IR regime
Famous Iranian actresses have been appearing in public without a mandatory hijab. This has been happening since the beginning of the protests. Last month, Kiumars Pourahmad, a well known Iranian screenwriter and director, committed suicide. He had a history of criticizing the regime's political decisions. At his funeral, some of the famous actresses attended without mandatory hijab.
Tumblr media
You can see Fateme Motamedarya, Katayoun Riyahi, and Golab Adineh in these pictures from the funeral. Ms. Riyahi was one of the first celebrities who took her hijab off at the start of the Jina (Mahsa) Amini protest and for that she's been the target of IRGC harassment and has been to court.
Last week, in the ceremony of screening of the final episode of Lion's Skin (a persian crime show), actress Pantea Bahram participated without hijab. The manager of Tehran’s Lotus Cinema, where the ceremony was held, was fired for letting her attend without hijab.
Tumblr media
Other than prosecution, the regime has blocked these celebrities' bank accounts. Basij and IRGC members have also attacked and harassed these women online and in real life.
Students on university campuses take off their hijabs. There's an installed version of morality police in universities that monitor students' styles. Female students must wear "appropriate" hijab and male students must wear "manly" clothes (one of my guy friends once was asked to go back home and change his shoes because they were red casual loafers. Apparently that's gay!). When you enroll in Iranian universities, the first thing you do is to go to the security office and sign an agreement that says you promise to follow the Islamic dress code. There are posters all over the campus that says things like "hijab is security" "respect the islamic hijab" and "not wearing appropriate hijab (tight short clothes, too much hair, makeup, etc) would result in legal action". So not wearing hijab on campus, where a lot of security cameras are installed and it's easy to identify you, is a big deal.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The regime's response to students taking off their hijabs is sending threatening messages to students' phones and increasing the security people. At the entrance of Universities, these security forces check people's clothes and if it's not proper they won't let you in. Some of the students wear the hijab at the entrance and take it off after they're in. They have warned our professors to not let non hijabi students sit in classes too.
One of my favorite trends in Iran now is when guys wear our hijab. These pictures are from universities. Guys wearing hijab make the security mad. This is a great act of solidarity with women against the obligatory hijab.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Some men have been doing either this or wearing shorts in public. The former is to ridicule the obligatory dress code and the latter is because wearing shorts in public is forbidden for guys too.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And women not wearing hijab in general. Though hijab is not our only issue, we want a whole new political system, one that is not theocratic or terroristic, hijab is something the regime won't back down from because it's one of their strongest oppressing tools. If they let us win the fight against obligatory hijab, I quote from a regime head, "people keep demanding more changes"!
So to put people against people to enforce the hijab law again, the regime has closed down many businesses (hotels, cafes, malls, bookstores, etc) for welcoming non hijabi female costumers. They have also warned taxi and bus drivers to not let non hijabi women in their vehicles.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Although not everyone is disobeying the hijab law (some believe in hijab, some don't want to pay the price), the number of women who take the risk and don't wear hijab in Tehran and many other cities is high enough that you feel encouraged to keep doing it.
2K notes · View notes
cryptidghostgirl · 1 month
Text
Humanity’s Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader)
Paring: Alastor x Reader
Description: It wasn't love. Alastor didn't feel love, not anymore. He'd lost that part of himself the day he died so it couldn't be love, could it?
Warnings: Look, I'm writing and it's not for a request. Angst. It's always angst. I just love Alastor's inhumanity, what can I say? This bitch is in denial. Also, bodies, blood, death, no gore but like, eh. Also Adam is in this one and he's his own warning. Loose Mistki quoting at one part. Also a loose Sappho quote “pale as grass” and self harm.
Word Count: 2,420
Master Lists:
Master Lists 
Hazbin Hotel Master List
Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask.
A/N My classics major side came out a little bit in this one lol. Also I have a big classics major side fic in the wings so if you guys like this, just wait. Also Sir Pentious is from the 1800s so he for sure had a classical education. Also the title came from an article I was reading about the history of witchcraft for one of my classes.
Tumblr media
The most complex and yet the most simple of the human emotions. Feared by some, wielded by others, out of reach for many, perennial for more still, and taken as easily as a breath of air by a solemn few. What a strange thing, love.
It was this last category that bewitched Alastor. Even when he had been alive, he had never understood the people like that, the ones who took heartbreak in stride, the ones who shared any love they had the minute they felt it with everyone and everything. The ones who weren't paralyzed by potential loss or violent embarrassment.
The people who feared love made sense. It had a vast capacity for harm, it was able to destroy without a second thought. Even when it was good, love could be devastating. Those who wielded it as their weapon of choice nearly fell into a subcategory of this group. They used other people's fear of the matter against them or they lured people in to get what they wanted and threw them to the curb without a second glance.
Everyone on earth, living or dead, had felt at least once that love was out of their reach, Alastor reasoned. Hopelessness is one of the most vital parts of the human condition, after all.
Perennial was the category in which most people fell. Love came and went. It lived and died, but always returned like the plants he had named this grouping for.
Then there were people like Y/n. Not a day went by where she wasn't explaining how much she adored something random or telling people she loved them, throwing the word around as if it had no weight, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to love, to share love. When Angel had made some snide remark about everything being her alleged 'favorite thing,' Y/n had quickly replied, saying:
"Aren't I lucky for that? Isn't that just wonderful?"
Alastor couldn't tell in which category he fell or what his opinion was about that answer of hers. One thing he did know was that Y/n was to be avoided at all costs.
She was the typical sinner. Never too bad of a person when alive, but never too good either. She wore her hedonism like a badge of honor, living her afterlife in much the same way Alastor assumed she had lived her living life: in a constant state of indulgence.
It wasn't the typical form of being that takes a person's mind when they think of the word. No, Y/n didn't indulge in a reckless, Dionysian way. Instead, she devoured everything. Books, good food, music, friends, you name it. Y/n had a million stories about each and a million examples of the best they all had to offer on hand. She relished in all that every word had to offer.
Alastor had overheard her talking to Charlie one night about that. He hadn't meant to, he had just been wandering the hotel, unable to sleep and in need of some air, when he'd heard a slight commotion in the lobby. Hidden by his shadows, he had entered the familiar space to find an exhausted Charlie standing tensely before a bulletin board.
"God is in the details." Y/n was saying as she adjusted the plans pinned on the structure so they were easier to read, more cohesive, "Anything can be a work of art, don't forget that. It's what makes everything so undeniably worth it."
She was so utterly out of his reach. Not that Alastor wanted Y/n in his reach, no. How ridiculous would that be: the Radio Demon, the most feared overlord in all of Hell, getting butterflies because he heard a girl tell someone else she loved them and imagined it was him. No, that would be utterly foolish which was why it wasn't the case, couldn't be the case. He must be getting sick, that was why his stomach had felt weird.
"What are you reading?" he heard Sir Pentious ask as the snake demon took a seat on the couch beside Y/n.
Alastor was at the bar, sharing a drink with Husk. His ear twitched in their direction.
"It's a book discussing the changes in interpretations of Sappho's poetry over time." Y/n replied, her tone soft and even.
It felt like a salve against Alastor's ears. Husk raised an eyebrow towards his master but made no remark.
"Really? I didn't know you were interested in that sort of thing."
"I was actually a professor in the human world... living world? Whatever. I didn't work on Sappho, I worked on ancient medicine, but I always found her intriguing and lovely. I mean, phainetai moi is creating a diagnosed love, using all the language of medicine. How could it not capture my attention?"
"You know, if you look at Homer, the same language Sappho uses is also used to describe love. She is actually working off a preexisting cannon of love as something painful and destroying."
"Really?"
"Yes, and curse tablets tend to draw off medical writings quite a bit as well, especially those involved in love magic."
"Huh, that’s a neat little intersection I have yet to explore: medicine, magic, and love. I never knew you knew so much about this. You died in the 1890s, right?"
"Sometime around then."
"I should have guessed then, my mistake. Tell me, what was it like growing up with all this wonder at your finger tips? It was hard for me to even find a university with a classics department, let alone a good one. You’re lucky to have had it all right there."
Now that was an interesting idea to Alastor. A diagnosable love, a painful and deadly thing. Love as a curse, love as being shot through by an enemy spear, love as a god. It made more sense to him than anything else about the matter had. Unavoidable, not something self imposed. A cursed love, a medical love, something that controlled a person rather than vice versa.
He lay awake at night, unable to speak, pale as grass, thinking unwillingly of the way her lips curved to form words, of the way one could see the gears of her mind turning behind her eyes. He lay awake, unable to do anything else. He stared at the ceiling.
"Ah! Angel! Thank you!" Y/n exclaimed as he handed her the sweater he'd spotted her eyeing a few days before when they'd been for a walk around town, "This was so kind of you!"
Alastor watched as Y/n pulled the lanky demon into a hug which he reluctantly returned, looking down at her with a platonic version of the sort of fondness that was so forbidden to him.
"Great work Angel!" Charlie clapped excitedly, "That's a step in the right direction."
No, it wasn't love. Alastor Hartifelt didn't love, he had lost that ability the day he had died and he'd barely had it before that. It didn't matter that his heart skipped a beat, there was no truth to his upset stomach when he had to speak to her except something bad he must have eaten. The sleeplessness wasn't new, sleep had never been his friend so to speak, the two had never really gotten along. The reason it got so stuck in his head, the way she threw her affection around, was the carelessness of it all, the foolishness. Only, what he had overheard her saying to Charlie that night, that anything can be a work of art, were the words of someone who acted purely on intention, who did nothing without considered thought.
Y/n couldn't be a wielder of love. Alastor never once saw her manipulate someone or even really ask anyone for anything at all. There was no way she was scared and the way she freely gave took her out of the other two categories as well. It didn't make sense. The intention, the earnestness, the true meaning behind her actions and words that always seemed to shine through no matter what she did, was what had him stuck. She barley even fit into her own category because of it. Most people that threw love around the way she did had the words and actions lose their meaning over time but, somehow, that seemed never to be the case for her.
He pictured a life on earth. He pictured walking with her beneath the stars, the way the light of the moon would play gently across her skin. He pictured her in the recording studio, the one he'd worked at while alive, waiting by the door for him to finish his work and taking him by the hand, dragging him off into the unknown. He pictured waking up beside her in the morning, all messy hair and smiles. He pictured, he dreamed, he dissolved. The doctors diagnosed him and he went to see other people because he didn't like the answer they gave him.
Y/n pulled Vaggie from her seat at the bar, spinning the demon into an ungraceful waltz to the music Alastor was playing on the piano for the group. He nearly fumbled, nearly missed a note. She missed so many steps and it didn't matter because she was laughing, and so was Vaggie. She didn't have to be perfect, but he did.
They each smiled ear to ear while Charlie clapped along to the beat. He imagined himself in Vaggie's place, he could practically feel his hands on the gentle curve of her hips. The world was half real.
It wasn't love because he didn't know her, he never spoke to her. It wasn't love because that was impossible, he couldn't love. It wasn't love because that was an ability he'd left in the world of the living. It wasn't love because she was too kind, too good, and he was nothing if not brutal and bloodstained to his core. It wasn't love because it couldn't be. It wasn't love because if it was...
It's not love. It's not love. It's not love.
He repeated the mantra to himself. Alone walking the halls, in meetings with the other overlords, making tea in the kitchen. He whispered the words to himself like a prayer.
It's not love. It's not love. It's not love.
Y/n was out of reach, untouchable, destined to join the ranks of Heaven while he remained rotting in Hell. It couldn't be anything else, no other future was possible which was why it wasn't love. She was made of all the things a human is and he was made of those a monster is. She was bright, she shined, and Alastor fed off the light of others, burning it out into darkness. He refused to do such a thing to her, he couldn't. Not when she was practically the sun. Not when he wasn't even a star but the black hole of the earth revolving around her.
He saw her holding Husk's hands over the bar top as he told her something, a look of deep concern etched into her features. He watched her pick Nifty up by the waist so the little demon could dust the tops of the bookshelves. He watched her, he waited, he would always be waiting because nothing could ever happen. Nothing would ever happen, he wouldn't allow it and goddamnit it wasn’t love.
It was also impossible, Alastor reminded himself. He had left that part of himself when he had died, it hadn't made the journey with him. The most favored fantasy of his own humanity, or what was left of it. The little spark of the person he had been that glowed softly from the center of his chest. Alastor had tried to douse it, tried to kill it, tried to rip it from himself but all he'd ever ended up with was bloody hands and torn flesh and the light pulsed on in its eternal hunger, its eternal hope, its eternal harm.
And then it was too late. Then, she really was gone, double dead or however anyone wanted to call it. Adam dropped her lifeless corpse to the ground and Alastor's world crashed in around him because no matter how many times he had said it wasn't, no matter how he had avoided her, no matter what he had done it had been love, or the beginnings of it at least. The closest thing to it he'd ever really felt. His hand tightened around the staff of his microphone. Alastor bared his teeth, he saw red.
"What have you done?"
Adam turned to him, grinning. Y/n deserved a viking funeral, to be surrounded by flowers and sent off in a burning boat. She deserved a Greek burial, reduced to ashes and buried with all the proper rites that made sure she would make it to the afterlife. She deserved, she was owed, he was angry.
"What." Adam laughed, "Was she your little bitch?"
Alastor didn't think he had any room left inside him for the fury, but found his rage redoubled at Adam's words.
"What did you just call her?"
"Your little bitch." Adam smirked, "She was a cute one, shame you all are gonna have to burn. Woulda kept her for myself."
Adam looked down, nudging Y/n's lifeless corpse with the toe of his shoe. Alastor attacked. There was no thought, no order, no grace, there was only the anger. Only now that it was too late, was he at last able to let loose, be less than perfect, exist in an unintentional manner. Or was it that this was the true meaning of intention -- reckless abandon? Y/n probably would have thought that. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what she would have thought, what any of them did think. It was too late. There was no more time and Alastor had come to terms with his own frailty a second past the buzzer. He would never forgive himself.
"You will pay for what you have done. You will die for what you have done."
Because it had been love, all along and Alastor, who had thought himself above it all, had been in that first group. He had been scared, not of what love could do but of what Y/n would, of what she had already done to him. Now it was too late and he would never get another chance.
"You will fucking die!"
----
Part Two --> → Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2
411 notes · View notes
writingstoraes · 9 months
Note
Hi lovely i absolutely adore your work! Could i please request a charles x actress!reader fic where charles hard launches their relationship after someone flirts with reader? (i hope this makes sense 😭😭) thank you!!🩷🩷
all mine 🪩
pairing: charles leclerc/fem!actress!reader
type: instagram imagine, social media au
notes: tysm for requesting this, anon! i hope you like this hehe fc is hailee steinfeld! and yes ur request makes sense <3 lmk what u guys think!
about: during your first paddock appearance, charles gets wind of someone else being a little too friendly with you.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by zendaya, florence_pugh, brielarson, and 2,998,221 others
yourusername Finally watching my favorite sport live! Props to the F1 paddock club for the banging champagne 🥂
f1thusiast crazy publicity for the team she's going to be supporting
forzacharles didn't she say shes a merc and ferrari fan? ynoscars Yeah but she's apparently visiting different teams and not just those two
ynlover ATE EVERYONE UP! HAVE FUN QUEEN
spiderverses the main attraction everyone's talking about her
ferrariyn Y/N twt in flames there's too many content so much people are trying to interview her 😭
mercedesamgf1 Thank you for the visit, Y/N! We loved showing you around 🤍
scuderiaferrari Looking forward to your garage tour here at Ferrari ❤️
leclercsyn give me a y/n and charles interaction and then ill forgive you guys for all your slip ups
yourusername added to her instagram story!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
charles_leclerc
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by landonorris, pierregasly, ynfanbase, and 1,452,009 others
charles_leclerc My love's first grand prix and paddock appearance today and I couldn't be happier. To my biggest fan, best believe I'd never miss a chance to brag about you — and I'm over the moon that I get to start today.
Almost two years together and I'd honestly say that seeing you in the paddock has been something I've been looking forward to ever since. Je t'aime, à l'écran et dans la vraie vie, que tu sois à côté de moi ou loin. I love you, on-screen and in real life, whether you're beside me or far away.
carlossainz55 I knew you'd skip the soft launch and do it your way 🤣
pierregasly I will send you that clip every day lol
mercrbr THIS IS SO FUNNY
yourusername What a shame you weren't at the garage when I toured it 😣
charles_leclerc We'll visit it again later :)
scuderiaferrari Love is in the air indeed! ❤️
landonorris Bro don't be mad but she visited us earlier... afraid you'll quote me on Twitter too 🤣
forzasainzz they will never live this down lmao
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by arthurleclerc, scuderiaferrari, zendaya, and 3,001,221 others
yourusername P1 today! Was on the edge of my seat the whole time, but my faith on you never wavered. Truly the happiest when I watch you in your element 🏎️ Couldn't resist not taking the first picture when you showed up on screen.
Love you to bits, my world champ :) Cat's outta the bag now I guess, no more hiding how crazy I am for this man in red (lol)
zendaya Finally!
leclercsyn this is like a dream come true for me
charlieferrari QUEEN SUPPORTING THE KING THATS RIGHT
landonorris Charles just can't stop smiling
charles_leclerc ... Get out
taystan power couple! we love to see it ❤️
---------
tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy
notes: lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my taglist! as usual this took surprisingly long for me to make lolol requests for charles are open <3 lmk what u guys think!
2K notes · View notes
thewulf · 2 months
Text
My Treasure || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw
Summary: Request - I need a Bradley x reader or Jake x reader based on the quote, “I can’t keep being your second choice, not when you’re my first.” Some angst to fluff goodness maybe
A/N: Ahh thank you for the request! You guys always have the best. Hope you enjoy some good old angst/fluff! Hope you guys enjoy :)
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Y/N
Word Count: 1.7k +
Tumblr media
Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you watched the small tea candle burn out without a trace of Bradley. It was the sixth time in as many nights that he had let you down. He’d promised you he would be home tonight in time for dinner. You’d gotten ready, decided to look cute for him and cooked his favorite meal. You were excited at the thought of reconnecting with your long-time boyfriend. It had gotten hard before, sure, but this distance was like nothing you’d felt before in the years you had been together. It felt like your worst fears were coming true, he was pulling away from you. Planning to leave you.
With a huff you left the uneaten food on the table for him to see when he got home. You weren’t planning to be there. You called your mom with tears flowing letting her know you were planning to stay with her for the next few nights. She didn’t question a thing and told you your room would be ready. She’d have time to pester later, you needed her not to right now.
In a rush you through your clothes haphazardly into an overnight bag. You’d have to figure out your living situation later. In your haste you hadn’t heard the front door open and close. Or his curse downstairs. Nor his heavy footsteps on the stairs as he walked up to your shared bedroom. You’d only noticed him when he placed a hand on your shoulder sending you into a slight panic as he startled you.
His head cocked to the side in confusion seeing you bag, “Hon, what’re you doing?” He squatted so he was eye level with you.
“To my mom’s.” You turned back to your packing doing your best to ignore the confused man who really shouldn’t be giving you the look he was, or you were going to snap. How could he not have a clue?
He knew he had messed up when you shrugged off his touch, “Why would you do that? We have to eat the dinner you made.”
You shook your head, “It’s cold Bradley.”
He scrunched his nose looking over at you, “I can warm it up hon.” He tried to offer a simple solution to the scowl you were giving off to him.
“That’s not the point.” You were biting your tongue and even he knew that. He wasn’t that clueless, and you knew that.
“I’m sorry I was late… time just got away from us…” He paused seeing you weren’t listening to him. You were going to snap, and you knew it. Why was he out if he knew he was supposed to be home tonight? Why didn’t he seem to care about you?
You looked at him with a sadness he had missed so many times before, “I asked you for one thing Bradley. I’ve asked you for one thing for weeks. I just wanted a night with you.”
He frowned immediately, “I’m so sorry honey. This mission has just been hell. I didn’t want to take it out on you…”
“Then why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” You turned to him, standing now. You were irritated. Tired of second guessing yourself, “I’ve been seemingly by myself for the last four weeks Bradley! Do you know how fucking lonely that is? Do you know how I’ve been rattling my damn brain to try and figure out what the hell was going on with you? Did I do something? I’m tired. I’m going to my mom’s. Now move.” He had stood as you ranted at his inaction. He’d never seen you so agitated and heated. You were his calm and collected girl. He really must’ve done a number on you without even realizing it.
“Baby I’m…” You were in no state to hear him out. You’d made up your mind and that was that.
“I followed you across the country.” You let a tear roll down your cheek, “I thought we’d be happy here. My mom lives here. It’s been nothing short of miserable.” You tried moving around him, but he kept stepping in front of you.
“Move Bradley.” You felt that similar irritation bubble up once more.
He shook his head, “Afraid I can’t honey.”
Letting out a breath of frustration you felt the tears welling up once more, “Move!” You yelled at him when he blocked you once more.
“I’m not letting you drive like this Y/N.” He spoke calm and steady now trying his best to reach you in your distressed state.
“Then leave me alone.” You huffed pushing on his chest trying your best to push him out of the room.
“No, let’s talk about this.”
You let out the sob you’d been holding back before exploding on him. You’d really tried your hardest, but you were tired, and it was hurting you to look at him, “I can’t keep being your second choice, not when you’re my first!” You knew it’d hurt him and that’s exactly what you were aiming for, as much pain as you could inflict. Sure, it was childish. But you finally got your point across.
“Baby no.” He shook his head, “That’s not true. Please don’t say that. Please.” He took a step towards you. But you took a step back. He got the hint and let you be.
“You keep saying things but it’s like you can’t stand me anymore Bradley! I don’t know what I’ve done.” You backed up and sat down on your shared mattress. Leaning down you let your head fall into your hands as you finally let yourself cry it out. You finally let all the emotions you’d been holding back come out fully. You’d been making yourself feel crazy and he hadn’t even had a clue anything was wrong.
You felt his hand on your back as he sat down next to you. The felt the dip of the mattress as he did so. This time you didn’t shrug him off or run away. He wasn’t going to let you. He knew your automatic reaction was to run and hide and deal with it on your own. He promised you he wouldn’t let that happen anymore. He was going to be there for you. In whatever capacity you needed. And now you needed to talk for you’d been keeping it in. Bradley wasn’t clueless but he also wasn’t a mind reader. He never ever dreamed of hurting you. His favorite girl. His favorite human. His very best friend. His heart ached as your body wracked and sobbed. He never wanted to see you cry let alone be the reason for the salty tears.
“I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry I haven’t been around to even notice this. Work has been… tough. I’m not supposed to tell you this but we’re being tasked with a pretty dangerous mission. One that somebody may not come back from. I don’t want to tell you this to freak you out but I’ve been worried. I have to come home to you. I am making sure of that. And I’ve done that by neglecting you. Please, you have to believe me. We’re not out drinking. We’re prepping, strategizing. Trying to figure how in the hell we’re all coming home.” His voice trailed off as your red eyes and cheeks turned up to him in disbelief.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Your voice was horse from the crying you’d allowed of yourself.
“It’s classified.” He answered quickly, “I can’t risk getting you in trouble honey. But I should’ve warned you. I’m so sorry.”
You nodded contemplating his words. You knew he was being nothing but sincere and it was you who was overreacting. A flush of embarrassment rose from your chest as you realized it was a big miscommunication between the two of you. It was odd because you were usually so in sync, but you brushed it off.
“I am too. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
He took your chin in his hands, “You didn’t. You’re just reacting because you care. I’m sorry I pushed you away. You have to know you’re never my second choice. Everything I do is for you. Sometimes I lose sight of it thought.” He smiled sheepishly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. You shuddered over his gentle touch.
“I don’t deserve you.” You mumbled letting your eyes close under his gentle gaze.
He hummed brushing his hands along your lips, “I disagree.”
Your eyes opened to look right into his once more. Even after all this time your heart still hammered in your chest when he looked at you like that, “I love you.”
That smile was one you always adored seeing on him, “And I love you my favorite girl.” He kissed your other cheek this time, “I’m sorry I ignored your asks. It won’t happen again.” He smirked right on over at you. Gosh, he really couldn’t believe he was about to let you slip away without even realizing it. He really needed to pull back at work every now and then. He should’ve known you were too kind to complain about him always being gone. He’d ignored your requests for time alone taking you for granted. You’d used your words like he’d asked, and he still managed to mess it up.
“It’s okay.” You nuzzled your head into his hand enjoying his comfort after being apart for so long. Sure he had been here, but he wasn’t really present.
He shook his head, “It’s really not. I’m lucky to have you honey.” He kissed your forehead slowly. Letting his lips linger as he pulled you into his lap, “I’m so sorry.”
“I forgive you.” You let your hands trace along his face smiling brightly as he looked down at you.
He let out a long sigh letting himself just hold you in his arms, “My treasure.” He whispered before finally meeting
You giggled more to yourself when your lips parted, “You’re so cheesy Bradley Bradshaw.”
He nodded giving your side a squeeze, “And you love it.”
You let yourself melt into him feeling all the tension release from your body, “That I do.”
Tumblr media
Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem
424 notes · View notes
beefboyandbabygirl · 10 months
Text
Goodbye, Fourth of July (18+)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: lee chan x fem!reader
genre: college au, best friends to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), hints of crack?
description: it's the fourth of july when you realize you're in love with your best friend. unfortunately though, it seems that he doesnt love you back, and this knowledge sends you spiraling. you push him away, but chan just wants to know why you're so upset
warnings: v v sad, pining, brief mention of s/a, chan is kinda dumb in this fr, reader is dramatic af tho, unprotected sex, desperation, praise kink, finger sucking, titty sucking, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl, sweet heart, good girl, cumslut once), mentions of alcohol and weed, irene is chans gf in this but shes not a villain shes mother fr
quotes from my proofreader: "my soul left my body", "no this is too personal", "i feel like im having a panic attack"
wordcount: 8.2k
Fireworks exploded across the sky the night your life was ruined. 
Down the gray, dim corridors of your campus where room after room was ablaze with idle lights, daring to imitate the stars above them. Every crevice of the left wing was filled with the noise and decorum of a college frat party, where people lived out their own lives simultaneously to yours - yours, that was shattering into millions of pieces onto Yoon Jeonghan’s kitchen floor. Every moment of teasing, of lingering touches, of adoring smiles, of secret memories and exchanged glances came hurdling onto you on the 4th of July, red solo cup long forgotten in your hand. You were in love with your best friend. 
“I’m in love with Chan,” you whispered, looking blankly across the room to see him leaned back against the couch, flashing a bright smile at Mingyu beside him. His blonde mullet - the one, that he had been so terrified to get, and only did so, when you told him he would look great - was tousled and spiky across his neck. He was wearing a red bomber jacket over a white tee, and he looked so good you thought you might cry. 
Soonyoung wouldn’t have heard your confession - was it a confession? Admittance? Defeat? - had he not been standing right beside you. He thanked God that your words were not lost to the music and to the ambiance, to lay and die in the sticky, hardwood floor. “What?!”
He was yelling over the music. You turned over to him, mouth cracked into a frown. “What?! You’re in love with Chan?! Seriously?!” He started bouncing and giggling, ignoring your hands coming to grab onto his forearms. He had predicted this exactly five months ago. 
“Shut up, Soonyoung, seriously!” You were yelling too, barely overcoming the booming voice of Kesha on the speakers. Bathed in pink light, letting your nails trail over the kitchen counter, you felt your heart becoming soft and trembling.
Your life was ruined. 
“What the fuck am I gonna do?” you cried, feeling Soonyoung spin you at your shoulders until he was right in front of you, alcohol dampening the air between you.
“What do you mean? You’re gonna confess to him. You guys are literally in love with each other” He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been best friends since freshman year; as if you didn’t know his favorite animal cracker shape and the exact model of his everyday sneakers. 
“I can’t do that.” 
“Yes, you can.” 
“I can?” 
“COMINGGG THROUGHHHHHHHH!” Frat-house dork Seokmin pushed between you and Soonyoung with a sky-high Vernon on his trail. Vernon shimmied apologetically, eyes sunken and red. “Getting cross-faded,” he supplied helpfully. 
“As you should,” Soonyoung mumbled, slightly peeved in his tone, but Seokmin and Vernon seemed too intensely high to notice his disdain. You were too floaty to be offended by their sudden intrusion. The party, the floor, the music, the stench of sweat had become distant and you felt very alone with your heart. And Kwon Soonyoung, of course.
“You can! Right now! I’ve been telling you for months!” He shook you by your shoulders, apparently sensing your distance. You looked up at him with furrowed brows, tugging at the strapless end of your short, glittery dress. “But he’s-” you inhaled sharply. “He’s not gonna love me back, Soon.” Soonyoung cut you off with a scoff. “He’s so in love with you! He looks at you like you’re the only girl in the…” 
Soonyoung trailed off, eyes peering past you into the crowd. “Oh shit,” His eyes widened, settled on you, then flicked back up. What the fuck was he looking at? “Uh, as I was-” you moved to look, struggling against his suddenly deadly grip on your shoulders “- no, don’t look!” He moved to stop you, but it was too late. You scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes, finding yourself confused as to what he’d been crying about. That is until you saw him. Red bomber now discarded, Chan had removed himself from the couch and was currently grinding on your biochem-classmate, Irene. 
Oh. Okay. 
You felt like cold hands grabbed onto your throat from within, as it contracted and tears stung your eyes. There it went, your heart and all its pieces on the floor, and weighing you down like an anchor, was the knowledge that you’d spend the rest of your life picking them up. 
”God fucking damnit. This is awful, I’m awful,” your head was spinning, and you could barely make out how your fishnetted legs started moving, let alone how the tips of Soonyoung’s fingers brushed against your bare back to pull you back to him. You needed to get out. Out, out, out. 
You squeezed through the tight crowd, avoiding the gaze of your classmate Seungcheol, who tried to smile at you from where he stood. This had to be some sort of mistake. Some sort of illusion brought upon you by the rhythmic movements and the loose slip of alcohol. Maybe you were hormonal? You didn’t know, but you couldn’t think while some bass-boosted playlist built dams of pressure on the sides of your head.
You finally squeezed through the door, closing it behind you and locking away that cursed, wretched memory. The further you got, the fainter the image of him. By the time you were slipping out of the hallway and into the yard, you could almost convince yourself that it was a mistake. A foolish moment, that you would tuck away and keep in a locked chest. 
God, you were cold, shivering in your scrappy fabrics, as you slid down the brick wall by a flower bed, staring into the sky. It was the fourth of July, and your chest had exploded in fireworks while looking at your best friend. Every line had simultaneously been crossed and uncrossed. 
You had realized it just a few minutes ago, just standing in the kitchen, when Wonwoo from history had asked you for a lighter. It had just been a graze, but you’d still felt it, in the faraway reaches of your purse. Amongst crumbs, concealer, a couple unraveled cigarettes and wired earphones with only one working side. What was that? You’d handed Wonwoo the lighter and then dug around for it again. A little slip of paper, edges soft and worn. You pulled it up. 
It was just a drawing. A little scribbled dinosaur. God, you couldn’t even remember when he’d given it to you. But there you were smiling at it. And then looking at him. And then you knew. 
You started crying. Hot, fat tears dripped down your cheeks, and your lips were trembling, and suddenly your body was stuttering and convulsing against the wall, and you were in love with your best friend and he was obviously not in love with you. 
“Y/n?” 
You snapped your head towards the door and the person you wanted to see the least in that moment (that thought made you cry even more, because when had you ever wanted anyone but him by your side when you were upset?) was peeking his blonde haired head through the door. Chan had such a heavy frown, looking down at you from the wide opened doorway. 
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He was immediately crouching down, hand burning hot on your back, stroking the muscles. Another hand on your knee and it was all too much, so you pushed him away. He backed off immediately, and you wished you missed the flash of hurt on his face. He looked at you with so much worry. “What happened?” 
He was sitting across from you on the pavement and you couldn’t bear to see him, lit geometrically by the moonlight and the explosions in the sky, brows creased. Averting your eyes, you fiddled with the edge of your dress and sniffled. What were you supposed to say? It was hard to say anything. You fought down the tears pressing at your eyes again, swallowing your emotions before you looked at him again, almost robotically.
“I’m fine,” you said, nodding, and only adding more when his face twisted in confusion. You were always honest with each other, he thought, why were you lying? “It’s stupid, I’m.. I’m on my period and my hormones are just.. Bleugh.” You found it in yourself to giggle.
Silence, only decorated with the constant stream of fireworks and distant laughter of drunk college kids. Chan studied you for a moment, legs crossed and arms slung over his knees. “Cheol said you looked upset.” 
“Yeah, I, uh, I was thinking of that sad dog movie.” 
Another pause. “Old Yeller.” 
The distance between you had never felt wider and you were certain Chan could feel it too. 
“You know you can tell me anything right?” You wished your laughter hadn’t been so heart-achingly bitter. He looked so confused. All he wanted to do was make you feel alright, why wouldn’t you let him?
A nod. “Yeah,” you breathed in deeply, tear-streaked makeup drying from the gentle wind. “I know.” 
The air had become so thick, you had to gulp down breaths. Chan cocked his head to the side and looked at you soulfully. You were staring at your knees, nervously playing with your fingers, and a flush had crept up your neck to the very tops of your shiny cheeks. He sighed. “I can get, uh,” he hesitated for a moment, “I can get Soonyoung down here. If you want.” You nodded before he was even done talking. Anything was better than sitting across from him - not now. This time you knew better than to look at his face, because you knew your entire facade would break down the moment you’d catch the frown on his face at those words. 
The moment Chan left, you sighed so deeply, relief and despair coming in a pair to crash over you like a wave. Soonyoung came not two minutes later and, ever the great comforter, immediately tried to make you laugh, sitting in the grass right in front of you.
“Oh my god,” he put on his best Jennifer Coolidge voice, “you look like the fourth of July!” _____________________________
Your first instinct was to hide - to turn over a stone and lay under it without breathing. Maybe then, if you separated yourself from him the feelings would simply dissipate, like perfume throughout the day. But you and Chan had a ridiculous amount of classes together, - something you used to enjoy and cherish - and every interaction had become half-awkward. 
What also didn’t help is that him and Irene did not seem to just be a party fling. You were walking the halls with him, backpack slung across your shoulder, and listening to him drone on and on about a date.
“I think it’s the blonde,” he explained, “I think she likes the blond.” He peeked his eyes over to you, as you walked and you nodded. “It looks good,” you smiled, heart crushing when his face lit up, that sharky smile playing on his lips. “Right? But I don’t know what to wear. I don’t think she liked my jacket. You know, at the party.” At the mention of the party, his giddy expression faded a little, eyes flicking back to look at you again.
You’d been different since then. A little quiet and every word a little strained, every breath a huff, every smile somewhat unable to reach your eyes. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. For the life of him, Chan couldn’t. You’d told him when you got a tampon stuck a couple months ago, you’d told him about your awful dates, about your most embarrassing moments in your life. Something had to be serious, he thought, watching the way your eyes had become darker and sunken, for you to shut him out completely.
“Y/n,” he said and his voice was abruptly so, so soft. His hand came to cradle your own, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyebrows cinched together when you looked at the way his thumb caressed your knuckles. “You are okay, right?” and all of a sudden he was so close to you, head bopping downwards to catch your eyes, a little breath becoming humid on your cheek. For just a split second, he saw how scared you were, an emotion that took up all the space in your head, widened eyes darting up to his. Then it was gone. You smiled a tight line, ripping your hand from his. “I’m good. I’d be better if we actually made it to class on time.” 
You were bouncing away and for a few moments he stood still, watching you. 
“Alright,” he whispered to himself.
_____________________________
 You and Chan met through Seungcheol. It was your first year and you were fresh-faced, young and a totally different person. It was your first biochem project and the teacher had paired you with Seungcheol - Seungcheol, who you just so happened to know was amongst the most popular guys at school. He was sweet though, if not a little slow, but he was excited to get into the project and had invited you to his place to study. You had graciously accepted, seeing as your roommate-situation at the time was less than ideal. 
You had just hunkered down with stacks of books and laptops open on his desk, when Seungcheol got a call; to this day you’re not sure about the specifics of it, and all the information you’d later been able to pry from Seungcheol was that “Jeonghan was in trouble”. Whatever the case, the man had taken the phone and immediately taken on a crease in his forehead and a small frown on his lips, before apologizing profusely and promising that he’d be back in 20 minutes or so. 
And there you were, wearing a dress and hairclips and sitting idly at his desk, while his roommate sat, just a few feet from you, on his bed with a controller and a headset on. That was the first time you saw Lee Chan. He had sharp eyes that you found intimidating at the time - especially with the focused grimace he wore, something you later found endearing. And, of course, you knew he was popular as well. How couldn’t he be, when his muscles were showing through his t-shirt, and he looked beautiful even in the domestic state you found him in. Maybe especially in that situation. 
“D’you wanna see me play?” he’d asked, eyes not even leaving the screen. “Um,” your voice was meek, “sure.” 
Seungcheol didn’t come home for another three hours. The sky turned from a bright blue into an orange hue outside the campus-curtains, and you sat cross-legged beside Chan on his bed, watching him play Overwatch. Had it been anyone else, you were sure this would’ve been the longest, most awkward three hours of your life. But for whatever reason, you and Chan just clicked. It was all laughter and smiles, and it felt like you had known each other forever. Fate had whisked the two of you together with a gentle push. That was two years ago. 
Chan defied all your expectations. Surely, a young man who was attractive and popular would be an asshole, you’d thought, but he was so sweet, something that was most apparent when he smiled and laughed, eyes becoming crescents and toothy grin becoming sharp at the upturned edges. 
Maybe you’d always liked him. You’d started reflecting on your relationship after that party, and came to realize that there’d always been a faint mist in your chest. A soft hum that drummed within your ribcage, when you saw him. It was warm, pleasant and constant when you felt his warmth at your side. 
And sure, your relationship had had its moments. You distinctly remembered sitting between his legs while watching a movie once, and how you’d been so uncertain if he was okay with the skinship. His face behind your ear, you heard the smile in his voice, as his hands ran along your arms: “It’s okay, N/n. I’m cool with this if you are.”
You found yourself thinking about that often, but now there was a distinct pain to the memory. It was especially painful, when the gap between you and Chan was widening with every day. He tried to reach out, tried to catch you in the halls, but you were always “busy”. 
Chan caught on to the fact that you were avoiding him when you started showing up late to classes, just so you wouldn’t have to walk with him; hear him talk about Irene, while that once soft drum had become a marching band in your chest. So you scrambled inside 5 minutes late, much to the dismay of your professors, and found a spot with some random classmate - far away from Chan. You’d have your eyes turned to the board, but you couldn’t focus, not really. Like a constant thorn in your side, you felt Chan’s sharp eyes across the room, boring into with such an intensity you thought you might catch on fire. Scribbling useless notes and focusing your energy - what little energy you had - on the class, you determinedly avoid his eyes. Had you seen them, never once darting astray from your form, you’d see the tenderness they held. “Why are you avoiding me?” His eyes said. 
And then: “Why are you avoiding me?” his mouth said, out of breath from chasing after you in your hurried exit. You turned to him, almost bleeding into the blue of the accented-wallpaper. His eyes softened at your wounded expression. You were gently ripping apart at the wish to see him and be around him, with simultaneous urge to ignore him and become free from his scrutinizing gaze. He would never not know that something was wrong.
He scanned the crowded hallway, and gently, almost as if testing the waters (which he hadn’t felt the need to do in years) placed a hand on your upper arm. “Come on.” 
You gave in. God, it was so easy to give in. You missed him. You missed him like a fish might miss water, had it been taken away from it. You missed him like a priest misses God, when his presence ebbs away and the sky is suddenly so very empty. So it was so easy to be led on, to sit down in the passenger of his car and just close your eyes and enjoy how it felt to be beside him. Chan scanned you as he drove, laying there with closed eyes, willing yourself to not look at him again, and realize you had to throw this all away. 
He said nothing that entire car ride. Maybe he sensed the desperate need you felt to just have this silence. You clung to it as if it were tangible, as if someone would take it away. He would, once you entered his apartment. Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. You placed yourself on bed and played with the fraying edges of his IKEA duvet cover.
“I miss you.” he said. You sighed, pursing your lips and looking at your fingers. “I miss you too.” 
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, only a faceless presence in your peripheral. 
“I’m not avoiding y-...” you trailed off when he crouched down in front of you, your entire vision cursed (or blessed?) with his frustrated face. “You are,” he said, eyes boring into yours. You trembled. “I’m not, I’m just busy.” He backed away, sulking, and you tried not to make it obvious that you heaved in a shaky breath from the proximity.  “I can tell when you’re lying, you know?” 
You laid down on the bed, arms crossing over your chest as if you were a corpse. Was there a way out of this, you wondered. Every glance, every touch, and every word that dropped from his mouth poked and prodded at you sadistically. 
“I’m not lying.” 
You heard fumbling and raised your head to see Chan, having discarded his shirt, putting on a new one and you cringed at how your heart sped up, seeing his toned stomach, before it disappeared under a sweater. “What are you doing?” you asked. He sighed. He glanced at you before studying himself in the full-length mirror Seungcheol had stolen from Mingyu. 
“I’m going on a date with Irene in, like, twenty minutes.” 
A pause. You sat up.
“Oh.” 
He went on, throwing around scattered clothes and grappling for a cologne in his bag. “I’m sorry, I can’t cancel this, I don’t think she’ll really appreciate it,” he laughed a little. Throwing his head over his shoulder, his smile faded when he sensed your sorrow. His heart hurt then, so he moved, freshly spritzed with the cologne you bought him last Christmas, to stand in front of you on the bed. Your breath hitched when his hand found your cheek and he was suddenly dripping with sincerity and an emotion you really hoped wasn’t pity. “I just- I really wanted to talk to you, Y/n. I’m really worried about you.” You leaned into his hand pathetically, almost whimpering against it. You missed how his embrace felt. His thumb brushed over your cheek and he lingered there, eyes trained on you for just a moment - perhaps a moment too long - before he pulled away.
Suddenly he was putting on a jacket and ruffling his hair in the mirror again. “If you want you can stay here until I come back? It’ll only be, like, an hour and a half, two hours. Cheol will be home soon, he can keep you company.” 
“Yeah, maybe,” your eyes were huge, when you willed yourself to stare at the floor. Chan must’ve sensed the meekness in your voice, because he looked over at you through the mirror, a frown on his lips. “I promise we’ll talk, I just- I don’t wanna disappoint Irene.” 
It ached when you responded: “There’s nothing to talk about, Channie. I’m fine.” 
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours?” you only nodded half-heartedly. 
“Bye, N/n.” 
“Bye, Channie.” 
He left with a rustle of his keys, and when the door was closed, your body contracted, muscles pulling inwards until you were hugging your knees in his sheets. And you were crying because it smelled like him, and because he had held your cheek with such care, only to leave moments later for another woman. Everything you held dear, every moment you lingered on was just one-sided. Your tears were crystalline confinements for your most treasured memories with him and you were bleeding out on his bed, sliced in the heart.
It was Seungcheol who found you there like that, curling up in his roommate’s bed with painful sobs squeezing your whole body. You told him. Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did. “I love him,” you cried, and Seungcheol stroked your back, as he listened. “And he doesn’t love me back.” 
You apologized abashedly when you had calmed down, but Seungcheol only tutted and shook his head. “That’s what friends are for,” he’d said and patted your hair, and you giggled even though you felt all silly with your red face and your puffy eyes. The older man promised not to say anything, and you found yourself trusting him completely. You bid your goodbyes and felt a little lighter.
When Chan came home a heavy duvet of regret settled in his stomach. You were gone, only the faint mist of your perfume left behind in his room. When night fell, he slept on a bed stained with your tears. _____________________________
A week passed and you spent every moment alone in your dorm room, ignoring papers and deadlines in favor of lying completely still under the covers. Soonyoung came over with food every once in a while, and always left devastated at how completely disarranged you were. He felt powerless and if there was one thing Kwon Soonyoung didn’t like, it was feeling powerless.
That was how you found yourself in a very John Mulaney-like situation on a monday afternoon, sitting before Soonyoung and, surprisingly, Seungkwan, Soonyoung’s roommate, in a nearby café. 
“What is this?” you asked, arms crossed and leaned back in your seat, unimpressed. Soonyoung smiled sheepishly, sliding a paper across the table. It read “Intervention” in big, bubbly letters, colored with cheap highlighters. “An intervention?” you said incredulously. 
“Yes, we’re worried about you!”
“He’s worried about you. I’m skipping physics for this,” Seungkwan butted in.
“The community is worried about you,” Soonyoung gave a harsh glare to the younger boy, who was mirroring your distaste for the current situation. “So we’re hosting an intervention.” 
“This is bullshit,” you said. “Agreed,” came Seungkwan. 
“Alright, you two! Let Daddy explain,” Hoshi waved his arms in outrage and the two of you groaned at the word choice. “Y/n. I am sick and tired of watching you cry and cry and sit at home over a boy who is fricken’ in love with you!”
“Did you just say ‘fricken’?” 
“Unimportant. The point is get your act together and tell him or get over him!” Soonyoung was determined. While you felt his point of view was certainly unfair to you, your demeanor gave way a little. He was right, you knew. This was ruining you more than you’d care to admit. “You are worth so much more than this.” 
“As much as I hate to contribute to this, Soonyoung has been telling me all about.. Your situation, and I have to say I agree. I thought you and Chan were dating until Soonyoung told me this,” Seungkwan said, smiling sympathetically at you. You frowned. “It doesn’t matter what you guys think, you know. He doesn’t see me like that.. It just fucking hurts.” 
“If he doesn’t see you like that, then fuck him--”
“Don’t say that, Soonyoung--” 
“You need to put your energy into a man who will know your worth!” Soonyoung sassed and Seungkwan snapped his fingers once for emphasis, face totally blank.
“I know you’re right, okay?” you reasoned, sighing. “It’s not as simple as that. I know you want to help, Soonyoung, but.. I just need time.” 
Soonyoung deflated, but he understood. I guess he was a little powerless in this situation. Even Seungkwan, who definitely was not thrilled about missing physics, smiled sorely. You watched them and hated yourself for bringing worry to everyone around. Like an oil spill in the ocean, your black mass infected everything around you. They’d done nothing and here you were, parading your sadness like My Chemical Romance in 2006. 
“Thank you anyway.”  _____________________________
Chan was theorizing. There were only so many things that could happen so suddenly, that could make you push him away like this. He hadn’t seen you in a week and he’d begun biting his nails again. Every waking moment had become consumed with this question: why? Why were you acting like this? Irene would pointedly comment on how quiet he was being, and his lies came like flowing water. 
Chan was certain that he’d never experienced anything harder than watching you unravel everyday. Every morning more disheveled than the last, every smile more dull. Let me help you, he’d think, watching you slump in your seat on the other side of the room, running an unsteady hand over your face. You’d even found a way to avoid him after class. Day after day he’d run after you when you sped out of class, and when he reached the hallway where students were pouring out, you’d be gone like a faint ghost. 
Irene ended things with him over a text. “I just don’t see us working out anymore,” it’d read and lying in his room he’d sighed quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The text diverted his attention for only a minute, before he was staring at the ceiling again, thinking of you. It had to have something to do with him somehow. But no matter how much he scrutinized every interaction you’d had, he came up blank. 
“Are you okay?” It was Seungcheol, standing in the doorway and hanging his jacket on their clothing rack while eyeing him. He’d hardly heard him come in. Chan heaved a sigh, long lines of worry oozing out of him. 
“Y/n’s been acting really weird with me. I can’t figure out if it’s something I did,” Chan squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want her to be okay.” 
Seungcheol frowned sympathetically. “Maybe you should just leave her alone.” Chan’s eyes sprung open and he grimaced, before ruffling the sheets where he sat up on the bed. Seungcheol was settling himself onto his bed, phone in hand and head against the headboard. “Why are you saying that?” 
For a moment, Seungcheol flashed his brown eyes with a hint of ‘oh shit’ in them, before they relaxed and he regained composure. “I don’t know, maybe she just needs some time away from you.” 
A pause swallowed the room. Chan studied his friend with furrowed brows. “Did she talk to you?” 
“Uh-” 
“You know why she’s acting like this!” Chan raised his voice, weeks of frustration crackling in the pit of his stomach. He stood up, so he could tower over Seungcheol’s bed. “Relax, man, I don’t know anything-” 
“You do! Tell me what’s going on, Seungcheol-” Only a few words had been shared, but they’d tugged at the right strings, and suddenly Chan’s muscles were tightened as they buried into Seungcheol’s collar. The older man scowled and wrapped his hands around his roommate’s wrists in warning. Chan’s hold untightened and unscrewed and he slumped in on himself like a piece of paper, “please, Seungcheol, please. I’m going crazy.” 
Seungcheol’s gaze softened. He pushed the boy’s hands away and sat up on the bed, voice a low, solemn grumble. “I can’t tell you.” 
“Fucking please, Seungcheol. What if something happened to her? At that party. I keep thinking about it, how I wasn’t with her, and what if some asshole harassed her or something. I googled it and Google said women can feel lost, lonely and embarrassed over stuff like that,” Chan started pacing. “And then I was thinking what if it was a friend of ours? And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to tell me, but, of course, I’d support her in anything she told me.” 
Chan stilled in his wandering across the narrow floorspace. “Can you at least tell me she’s okay?” 
All sharp eyes and blonde hair and panted breaths Chan stood in the middle of the room and waited for Seungcheol to tell him that you were okay. Chan would’ve even been at peace with Seungcheol telling him that you never wanted to see him again, fuck, as long as you were fine and you still laughed and smiled, even if it was with Soonyoung and not him.
But the answer didn’t come. Seungcheol frowned and fiddled with his watch. “I don’t think so, man.” 
Whatever ties had held Chan back before snapped. He stood still for maybe three seconds in the unlit room, before his body burst into action and he was scrambling for his jacket and keys.
“Fuck this.” 
Sprinting down monotonous corridors, a hard-headed Chan let wisps of blonde hair flow behind as the air kissed his cheeks. He wore the crease in his brow that had become permanently etched onto his features. Chan had a one track mind; maybe that’s why things didn’t - wouldn’t - work out with Irene. Currently, the record spinning was you and he’d gone damn near insane, so this time he’d made up his mind. He was not leaving until you talked to him. Whisking past door after door in the quiet nighttime, catching Wonwoo exiting some random dorm and smiling sheepishly, he ignored him and braved forward. 
It was not until he was standing right in front of your door that he hesitated. The door framed his figure entirely, trapping him within its confines. What if Seungcheol was right? What if he was making things worse? 
But for Chan, he wasn’t sure that he could go any lower. Every day had become a new rock bottom, every day that you avoided him, every moment wondering what he could have possibly done. He missed your smile. So then he was knocking at your door.
“Fuck off, Soonyoung, I’m not going to anymore interventions!” you yelled, voice hoarse from beyond the door. Intervention? Had you developed a drug problem? He knocked again and heard you groan, before heavy footsteps thumped towards him. 
“What do you want, Soonyo-” you paused, door half-creaked open. Your eyes were two moons, and your nose and cheeks were red. “Chan,” you breathed, voice nasally from a stuffy nose. Chan said nothing, only pushed past you to get inside. You sniffled.
Your heart was a bomb, or maybe a firework. Chan had lit the fuse and standing before him, where he was half lit in the middle of your room, you knew it was only a matter of time before it exploded, chest blazing with a parade of colors for the fourth of July. Because it was him, a greek fucking god in your toy-decorated room, in his sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and it was you, wimpish and thoroughly out of order, in pyjama shorts and a pink sweater. 
“Come. Here.” He wasn’t asking. You nodded and took two steps, and the moment you were within arms reach he enveloped you in his chest. His arms were so strong and warm, one wrapping around your waist and the other bunching up your hair to keep you pressed into him. Your cheek bunched up against his heart, you closed your eyes and heard how fast it was beating. He was scared. 
“Talk to me,” you could hear it, too, the fear. His voice was trembling and even though you couldn’t see his face you could imagine his brown eyes glazed over and lips in a pout. The thought squeezed at your heart. 
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut at the raspiness in your voice. “Don’t be, just talk to me. Please,” his voice was a wavering breath. He pulled away, head ducking down to peer into your eyes. Your cheeks burned and you looked away, becoming completely enamored with the white of his shirt, just for the sake of not seeing his eyes. Then both his hands were on your cheeks, a little harsh at first, but then softening. “Look at me.” 
He leaned closer, one hand straying from your cheek to hold you by the back of the head. “Look. At. Me.” he gritted his teeth and you felt the warmth of his face hitting yours. You did. You looked at him, saw him again, really, the guy you’d been avoiding and simultaneously praying closer to you standing before you like a kicked puppy. Suddenly you were crying. It felt like he’d turned you inside out. 
“No, no, no, don’t cry, pretty, talk to me, talk to Channie, okay?” he frowned before he was pushing your face closer, nosing your cheek and hair, just a big baby in front of you, with hot and humid breaths on your freshly wetted skin when his lips brushed over it. His hand on the back of your head was only urging you closer, and his back was hunched in a long arch just so he could be with you, as close to you as possible. 
And while his touch was bliss for a moment, the reality of it came crashing down, and your hands waved him off, taking a step back, which Chan followed with a step forward. He looked so hurt, hands held out for you to take but you shook your head.
“Don’t- Don’t do this to me, Chan. Not when-” you were shaking when you reached up to rub over your eyes. “Not when- Not when you have Irene to go back to.” 
“Irene?” He asked incredulously, almost in outrage, almost as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. It spurred you on. “That’s what this is about?” 
“No!” you cried, “Or- yes, I don’t know.” 
Chan was silent for a few moments when you began pacing, hands over your eyes. “You were jealous?” 
“No- That’s not the point!” your lip trembled when you removed your hands and looked at him again, his arms at his sides, now that he didn’t have you to hold.
“We were never going to stop being friends, you know-” his voice was quiet and yours overpowered his easily, when you screamed at him to say: “I didn’t want to be friends!” 
Boom goes the dynamite, indeed. Fireworks filled every crevice of your ribcage.
“Because I love you,” you paused only to flick your eyes over to his, and you sucked in the fear. Your voice shook when you continued: “And I think I have for- for, like, a year? And I only realized on the fourth of July and there you were with Irene, and I just… And I thought if I backed off these feelings would go away, because you obviously don’t-” 
“Irene broke up with me,” his voice was much quieter than yours. You wanted to scream and cry and yell, because what did that matter? Why did that matter when it changed nothing? But then he spoke again: “She broke up with me because I kept thinking about you.” 
Silence. It hit you that Chan was not informing you, he was telling himself this.
“Yeah,” he scratched at the back of his neck and chuckled dryly, “I kept being quiet on our dates, ‘cause I was thinking about you. I guess she sensed it.” 
You were looking at each other in the dim lights. He was so beautiful, cheeks shiny and soft lashes curling over his lids. You sniffled. “Does that mean that you-” 
Yes.
Yes, it did, because before you could even finish your sentence he was taking a step forward and his hand was on your cheek again and this time his lips were on yours and fireworks, fireworks exploded in your chest and on your lips like bursts of static, but this time it wasn’t pained, it was beautiful, and you’re melting into his hold, just as he was yours. Lips moving in perfect unison, he tilted his head down and you tilted yours up, and grabbed his neck, and his other hand slid onto your waist, resting there, as the two of you rocked under the artificial light of your overhead lamp. 
Everything you yearned for was in your hands and you didn't dare to pull away, only whimpering when you ran out of breath, and chasing his lips when he pulled away to breathe. He chuckled, mouth curved upwards in that beautiful smile that you love. You love it, and there’s no point in hiding it. He pressed his forehead against yours and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.
“I love you too,” he said. You grinned, a perfect blush spread across your rounded cheeks, and his heart soared so much that he had to kiss you again, pecking and mumbling it again and again against your lips: “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 
His tongue slid over your lip and you opened your mouth with a squeak. His tongue was wet and warm in your mouth and his hands were suddenly on your hips, pushing them into his. Then he pulled away, blushing himself when a string of spit connects you. “Is this okay?” he asked, so softly, so gently, and you nodded, flushed and out of breath and pathetically desperate.
“Yes,” you whined, “need you so bad.” He cooed when you pressed your hips into his, long fingers brushing hair out of your face. “Channie’s gonna take care of you. Channie’s gonna make it up to you,” and yet again it's almost like he was saying it to himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he lowered the two of you onto your bed. Hair strands stretched from their roots in your head, when you hit your plush pillow, and you were all shiny and sparkling eyes, laid out before him in a way that he never dared to imagine. “Too pretty,” he whispered, kissing you again. 
He was grinding into you, anchoring himself on your waist and whimpering into the corner of your mouth at the feeling of your warm center through your shorts. “Baby, need you so bad. Can I take this off?” he tugged at your shirt and you nodded, unable to get anything out but whines. He pulled off the pink fabric, marveling at your bare chest before him. Of course, he’d seen it before, in tight shirts, on days where you’d decided to forgo a bra, and he’d always cursed himself for imagining the real thing. “You’re so beautiful,” he cried, as he hit your core just right and he stared at your tits’ slight jiggle. 
“Such a pretty baby, so ready for me, can I touch them, please, please?” he was babbling, somehow already pussydrunk, but you were no better, eyebrows cinched together in pleasure, nodding without even an ounce of hesitation at his request. He groped at your chest, thumbs brushing over the hardened buds, before he ducked his head down to suck on one. You’re gasping, as his tongue flicked over you, hands tangling themselves in his hair, moaning his name into the air. He hummed loudly, and you felt a thick glob of wetness escape your pussy at just the sight of him, hunched over you like a wild animal, panting into your chest.
“You’re so pretty,” you whispered and he let go of your tit with a small ‘pop’, lifting his head to look at you. He was grinning ear to ear, face still hovering over your chest. “Am I?” and suddenly he was so cocky, hand cupping your heat through your shorts, and watching as you buck into his hand with a strangled moan. “Needy girl, need pretty Channie to touch you, hm?” He teased, fingers gently rubbing over the fabric of your damp shorts.
“Please,” you whined, thrashing in the sheets, desperate enough to cry. He cooed and shushed you, hovering over you by one, strong arm: “Shh, sweetheart, shh, I know. I got you, I’ll make you feel good.” As much as Chan wanted to make you beg, he was desperate too, and he couldn’t help the slight guilt of what you’d been through. The thought almost made him frown, but he pushed it away and peeled off your shorts and underwear in one swoop. 
You cried out when his fingers were finally sliding through your folds. Your eyes, half closed, flicked up to see him, gaze trained on your core in amazement. “You’re so wet, baby,” he purred, spreading the warm slick up to your clit to start circling it with two fingers. “Just for you- Mngh!” 
He plunged two fingers into you with ease, wetness coating his fingers to let them slide in. You were panting and thrashing and moaning his name, and he just watched with the biggest hardon he’d ever had, how he made you feel good and how pretty you were, and how much he never wanted to pull his fingers out of your sopping wet heat. 
“Do you want my fingers in your mouth?” he asked, and you squeezed your eyes shut and nodded vigorously. “Hey, hey,” the fingers that weren’t plunging in and out of you and curling into your pussy’s sweet spot, squeezed your chin. Your eyelashes fluttered open, and you stared at him with blown out eyes. “You gotta look at me while you do it.” 
Then his fingers prodded at your lips, and you opened them with a whine, willing yourself to keep them open, to see how he smiled adoringly down at you. They were filling you just right, one hand stuck in your pussy and the in your mouth, teasing over your tongue. Your orgasm was approaching, knotting in your stomach, embarrassingly fast. 
He groaned at the sight of you, looking up at him with huge, adoring eyes while sucking his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, good girl, such a good, appreciative girl, taking my fingers wherever she can.” You clenched around him at that, and he chuckled knowingly. “Yeah, you like being my good girl? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum in my fucking pants.” 
You released his fingers only to moan - almost scream - his name, as you came around his fingers, curling into you and working you through your orgasm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum on Channie’s fingers. Look so pretty when you cum.” 
You were still dazed on your bed in the glimmering aftermath of your post-orgasm, when you heard Chan shuffling beside you, and then he was leaning over you once again, shirt and pants discarded and cock proud and stiff and leaking precum onto your stomach. You groaned at the sight, hand trailing over his exposed stomach, where abs dipped and rose, glistening softly. Then your thumb caressed and pressed against his slit and he hissed, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. 
He nosed at your neck, pecking a little, before speaking, voice too strained and too pretty: “Can I fuck you, baby? Please, please, I need to feel you around me so bad.” He had shut his eyes tight, fighting the urge to grab hold of your back and press your tits into his chest.
“Please,” you came back equally as whiny, writhing in his hold, where his thumb was rubbing soft circles in your hip bone. “Please, wan’ your cock. Need it.” He smiled into your neck, grabbing your head and kissing your cheek. “So cute.” 
You felt the head of his cock slide through your still impossibly wet folds, then pressing against your entrance. You were murmuring his name over and over and he was panting into your neck and licking a stripe of wet glistening saliva onto it, as he began to push in. 
You were writhing so much he had to place his hands on your hips to still you, whispering soft reassurances until he was pushed all the way, clit pushed into his abdomen. You’re so full, you can’t stop the wanton moans at the feeling of his pretty, red cock, every bulge and vein pressed against your gummy walls. “You’re so fucking tight,” he spat, fearful that he’d spill his load into you immediately from the way you were clenching him. Then, slowly, he was rocking into you and the both of you were clambering onto one another. Your hands found his neck, his hair, his flexing biceps, and his your hips, waist, boob, and then clambering up to hold your face and look into your eyes. 
“Look at me,” you almost didn’t catch the way he repeated those words from before, but you looked into his brown orbs, blonde hair curling over and tickling your forehead. “So fucking pretty, so cute, my little cumslut. Say you want my cum, baby, please, say it.” 
“Wan’ your cum!” you cried, as he angled his cock inside you to press into that spongy spot. He was giving in to all his wants at your words, pulling you up by pressing his arms under your back, so your tits pressed against his chest, and he was nosing at your face again, trailing kisses everywhere he could reach. “So good for me, so pretty, all mine. Fuck, sweetheart.” 
“All yours,” you babbled mindlessly, when his hand snaked between your bodies to rub circles into your clit. “Cum for me, cum for me, baby.” 
His thrusts were growing sloppy, and you felt the knot tightening in you once more, pulled tight and ready to snap. “Cum, cum, come on, my pretty darling. Fuck, Y/n, I love you!” 
At those words you came, pussy pulsating around his cock and clenching so tight, he was unsure if he could even pull out in time. He did though, pulling out just in time to see his seed spill all over your soft stomach. 
Panting and out of breath, his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of you, body covering yours. “Ugh,” you groaned and looked up at you, laughing softly. “Chan, you’re heavy,” you complained. “I’m a weighted blanket,” he countered, but climbed off of you anyway, lying down next to you. You looked at him, with the side profile of a god, and his blonde hair tousled and chest rising and falling.
“You are pretty,” you said, and you could almost cry when he looked at you and blushed. 
“You should’ve just told me,” he whispered, turning his head to gaze at you. You frowned and nodded. “But it doesn't matter now,” he reassured, one hand climbing from the sloping, bunched up duvet and running his hand through your hair. He tilted his gaze towards your cum covered stomach, some of it having smeared onto himself, and he pushed himself off the bed. "I'll get a towel."
Naked and divine, he disappeared into your small bathroom.
“Oh, God..” you groaned suddenly, face morphing into anguish.
“What?” Chan called from the bathroom.
“Soonyoung is going to be the most insufferable person on the planet when he finds out about this."
1K notes · View notes
fluentmoviequoter · 2 months
Text
Poisonously Bad Day
Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)
Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort
Word Count: 4.1k+ words
A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
Picture from Pinterest
Tumblr media
Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.
As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.
“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”
“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.
“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”
You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.
“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”
“I think you know.”
Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.
The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.
As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.
“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.
The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.
“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.
When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.
“Hey,” you say.
“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”
Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.
“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”
You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.
After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.
✯✯✯✯✯
Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.
The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’
You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.
Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number. 
“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.
✯✯✯✯✯
Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.
✯✯✯✯✯
After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding. 
Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.
You are next.
Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.
Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.
“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.
“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”
“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”
“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”
Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.
“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”
As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.
✯✯✯✯✯
Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.
“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.
There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.
After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.
The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.
✯✯✯✯✯
The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.
“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.
“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”
Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it. 
“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.
“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”
“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.
“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”
Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”
You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.
Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.
Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.
Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.
Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.
“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.
“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”
You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.
A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.
Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest. 
After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums. 
A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.
“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.
Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.
“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.
You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.
“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.
The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.
You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.
“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.
She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.
When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.
✯✯✯✯✯
The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.
Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”
✯✯✯✯✯
When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.
Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.
Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.
You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.
“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.
You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.
“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.
“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”
“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.
“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.
Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”
“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.
“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”
“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”
“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.
“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.
Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.
You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.
“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.
Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.
“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”
Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.
“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”
You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.
“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.
Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.
“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.
You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.
“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.
He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.
Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.
“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.
“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”
You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.
“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”
“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.
Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.
You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”
“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”
“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.
Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”
You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.
“You love me?”
Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”
You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.
“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.
Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”
“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.
“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”
You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.
“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”
“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.
“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”
You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.
Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.
“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”
Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”
You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”
291 notes · View notes
merthurweek2024 · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
✨STARTING December 18th - 24th✨
hi guys!! we’re back at it again for merthurweek, as always🫡 we can’t wait to see what brilliant creations everyone makes!! we love you all. thank you for allowing us to do this each year🩷have fun and enjoy🥰
FOR FANFIC OR META WRITERS - prompts and/or themes for inspiration:
day one: royalty + angst
day two: knight!merlin + protective!others
day three: soulmates + hurt/comfort
day four: reversal roles au + humor
day five: bamf!merlin + angst with a happy ending
day six: “please forgive me” + dragons
day seven: magic reveal + canon era
we have made a ao3 collection under the name which can be found here 'merthurweek2023' - if you wish to add your fics
please put the day and prompt in your summary if posting to ao3.
reminder: merlin/arthur do not need to be the one to say the line or be the things exactly! and the + means and/or. these are mostly for inspiration alone. if you would like to just write royalty!merlin for day one, for example, and not use angst, then that's perfectly fine.
FOR GIFS/ VIDEO/ ART CREATORS - ideas and/or themes for inspiration:
day one: their theme song + red
day two: any poem + orange
day three: favorite quote said between/about them + yellow
day four: favorite parallel + green
day five: what does this ship mean/represent to you? + blue
day six: any quote + purple
day seven: what could have been + white
Rules:
Must be posted on tumblr so we can reblog!
Please tag your posts as #merthurweek2023 and/or tag us directly.
NSFW is allowed, just please tag appropriately.
Have fun and enjoy yourself! This week is all about supporting each other and sharing your work!
questions, concerns, or just wanna talk? you can dm or send asks at this account or at our mains @bellamyblakru @tkstrrand
449 notes · View notes
Note
more gf ethan
This has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Enjoy!
Games like these are my favorite to read. If you have any fic recommendations, let me know
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
Tumblr media
After binging all the Stab movies, you found a new kink to add to your list. Some would say it’s a little dark and twisted, but you didn’t care. Ethan was willing to play and that’s all that mattered.
‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’ Ethan asked, his pretty face covered with a Ghostface mask as he sat over your hips with the blunt side of his knife right under your chin.  
You feigned fear and innocence with your eyes as you looked back at him. ‘’Are you going to kill me, Mr. Ghostface?’’ 
The knife pressed harder on your skin, forcing you to tilt your chin up as he shook his head slowly. ‘’You’re too pretty to end up gutted like a fish.’’ 
Ethan slid his other hand up the surface of your stomach, following the path to your breasts. You were visibly not wearing a bra, the peak of your nipples showing through the material and making Ethan grunt under his mask. Unable to resist, he rubbed his thumb over a nipple and pinched it. 
He pulled down the neckline, his palm closing around one bare breast. ‘’Mmh, that’s a nice pair of tits you have there.’’ You arched into his rough caress, a surprised yelp slipping when he slapped it. Ethan watched as it bounced, a red mark appearing on your skin. ‘’I bet they’ll look pretty when they bounce as I pound into your tight little pussy.’’ 
You whimpered at the words, your core aching at the anticipation of him stretching you, filling you all the way up. 
‘’You want that?’’ he asked, rocking his lower body against you, making you feel his erection in his pants. ‘’You want my big cock to destroy your little pussy?’’ 
A wicked grin curled on your lips with a matching gleam in your eyes. ‘’Yes.’’ You wanted his naked body rubbing against yours. You wanted him inside you…with the costume on. ‘’Please fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.’’ 
Ethan’s cock swelled at your request and he dropped his knife, snapping out of character. It was difficult for him to stay in his act when all he wanted to do was to drop his pants and let you use him, but he agreed to play. 
He took a deep breath and returned into character. ‘’Let’s play a game first.’’ Ethan picked his knife back and spinned with agility. ‘’I’m gonna ask a trivia question and if you answer right, I’ll give you what you want. If not…I’m gonna grab a fistful of your hair and force my cock down your throat like you're my little bitch and have you choke on it.’’
In all honesty, you didn’t mind any of those situations. You’ll take his cock whichever way he gave it to you. 
You moaned softly and nodded. 
Under his shy and dorky appearance, Ethan had a mouth for dirty talking. He didn’t look like he’d be this way, but it’s always the quiet ones, right? He could have you a needy whimpering mess and nearly coming from him just using his words on you. 
‘’First question. What does the demon that possesses the little girl in The Exorcist tells the priest when he tries to exorcise her?’’
They do quite a bit of talking in the movie, but if Ethan picked this question, you figured there must be one particular line he wanted you to say. You raked your brain, then it hit you. Ethan always quotes that part when you watch it together and it cracks the both of you up. 
‘’Your mother sucks cocks in hell!’’
 Ethan slowly lifted his hand to run the tip of his knife across your cheek. ‘’Now, now, that's not a way to talk about my dead mother…’’ 
You quickly corrected yourself. ‘’No! I’m not saying— Reagan! That's what she tells the priest!’’ 
Ethan brought a finger to your lips, shutting you up. ‘’I know.’’ He wanted to kiss you, but resisted and dragged his knife down your chest, running it down your cami and tearing it in half, exposing the rest of your upper half to him. ‘’Do I have to do it with these too?’’ He tapped his knife over your panties. 
Feeling the cool metal through the lace, your breathing started to speed up and you pressed your thighs together, turned on by the act.
Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes @adaydreamaway08
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup
724 notes · View notes
writingjourney · 3 months
Text
don't ask me about secondo ever or you will hear me rambling out a whole character analysis for two hours because I am DEDICATED to this man, he is my wife.
EDIT – Okay you did it.
Some SFW Secondo HCs:
had to deal with the highest expectations out of the brothers, being older than Terzo and a lot younger than Primo it was clear that his Papacy would be of importance and Nihil expected him to excel while not necessarily providing the necessary guidance (especially when Terzo turned out to be more rebellious in nature)
being Nihil’s “favorite” did not come with all the benefits one might suspect, no more attention, no more love or care, only more work and pressure within the clergy
outside of the family many people never realised how he suffered from this neglect and exploitation and therefore do not perceive his trauma as that, often mistake his character for being cold/aloof when really he is just masking extremely hard and trying to appear unaffected and professional
while he was prepared for his future role, he quickly realised that his needs weren’t of importance, only his work and his rise within the clergy and so he learned that it is better not to ask and appear weak (so they don’t consider him unfitting)
while Primo did the best he could to replace their absent father, the clergy’s demands on the future Papa never allowed him to be quite the father figure that he wished he could be for his younger brothers – Secondo had to learn fast how to take care of himself and how to protect his younger brother from the clergy’s influences
despite detesting the clergy’s inner mechanisms, Secondo is a man of duty and has accepted that he was put on this path in Lucifer’s name
just before and after becoming Papa he quickly learned that bringing in own ideas just leads to dismissal and that being Papa made him a vessel for the ideals of the clergy which he grew to detest (“I’m a marionette”), also quickly learned that it is wiser not to rebel against them
this made him worried for Terzo who already had a lot of plans for his own Papacy that weren’t in line with the clergy’s agenda
through it all he found a lot of solace in his faith, is the most spiritual out of all the Papas with a special fondness for the modern symbolism of Baphomet that represents balance and wholeness (“And he's as macho as he is connected to the softer, more feminine part of himself” X), something that means a lot to him who is caught in a lot of turbulent emotions, this spirituality and also his high level of literacy is pretty evident in his music
therefore: best spiritual guide/advisor out of all the Papas, knows the right quotes and the right words to provide comfort and reassurance to bring you back on your path, way more empathetic than people give him credit for based on his cool demeanour, even though he is someone who quietly reassures you and uses a more reason based approach
because of all of this he has grown to be a very measured man who will always weigh reason and emotions against each other, rarely will you see him lose his temper on the outside, being in control of his emotions is important to him because that way he can have a sense of power he lacked when he was younger (also means he cannot let loose and relax easily, this man is TENSE and his shoulders hate him for it)
if someone wrongs him that person will get the cold shoulder and honestly, being the object of his scorn is worse, disappointing him is worse than his anger and he never forgets anything, this man has a whole drawer of receipts
doesn’t hate anyone as much as himself, the top spot is however taken by his neglectful, uncaring father who never knew how to act like a parent
if he does lose his temper it will usually not be on behalf of himself but someone else he truly cares about (his brothers, his lover, his protégés etc) and even so his anger is not the loud, yelling or violent kind but the kind that sends chills down your spine (his looks alone can kill and he finds the perfect sharp words to hurt you)
soft-spoken (not quite as much as Primo though), very calculated and minimalist in what he shows on the outside but his words usually hit where and how they’re supposed to (just listen to his voice on Infest and some of his speeches on stage, it’s quiet and haunting)
very much a quality over quantity sort of person – good food, good drinks, nice clothes he can wear for a long time, simple luxuries that go a long way and add to his comfort
big earth sign energy when it comes to his habits, works hard, has high expectations, good with money, particular about how he does things but generous with those he loves
good luck trying to get this man to open to up to you, he will not overshare and you have to pry every bit of more intimate personal information out of him, especially about his childhood
however, he is a very willing and patient teacher if you want to learn about his special interests or happen to sit in one of his classes, especially if you show potential and interest
self-sabotages a lot, especially when it comes to romantic relationships, for flings he avoids anything too intimate which extends to his preferred sex positions as well as kissing, when he notices he could really like someone he will find reasons why it doesn’t work (commitment issues), scared to be hurt and also scared to inflict pain and false hopes on someone else
when he does fall for someone and overcomes his fears he is the most loyal and supportive partner, you will be surprised by how loving and gentle he is with you, by how romantic he is (not in the cheesy way but in that soft, caring way who wants to love forever), pays close attention to your needs and preferences and never forgets anything
love languages: shows love with acts of service, gift giving and also quality time, likes to receive physical touch (loves to cuddle but is hesitant to initiate, would never admit how much he loves kisses to his face and hand holding but you can tell after some time), quality time and words of affirmation (so many times until he finally believes them)
290 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Hobies one and only favorite meme that he sends to the Spider Society Group chat everyday without fail. And also to Gwen and Pavitr and everyone else he possesses the contact details of
He quotes it all the time at this point. Even if it's not propaganda he doesn't care because at the end of the day you - in fact - are not immune to propaganda
He makes the smug face and everything. He makes the face and Gwen is so use to it she's like 'SHUT UP the concept of breakfast is not propaganda 😐'
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The ONE meme he truly enjoys. Works for everything.
358 notes · View notes
enchantedbarnes · 1 year
Text
Uncle Buck Returns
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader
Summary: Our little menace of a nephew has secured a date for you. Here is part 2 to Uncle Buck.
Word Count: 1401
Masterlist: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
A/N: what in the actual f👀 is going on 😅 I was expecting maybe 10 or so people to read Uncle Buck. My notifications haven't stopped going off since I posted. Thank you so much everyone that read it and enjoyed it. I hope you also enjoy this little continuation. P.S. GIF replies are my love language so if you enjoy send me your best (or worst 😈) 🫶
Tumblr media Tumblr media
As soon as the pair returned home and walked through the front door, Benji skipped his way in shouting, "MAWWAGE! MAWWAGE IS WHAT BWINGS US TOGEVAH TODAYYYY!" Arms high above him as he rushes through the living room in search of his parents.
"Benji, please don't make me regret letting you watch my favorite movie," you sigh, flopping onto the couch, hands covering your face.
He stopped short and looked back at you, "Have you the wing?" He bowed and giggled then turned back around to continue on with his search.
"You're back!" Your sister shouted while she snatched Benji up into her arms, covering the small boy in kisses. "Did you have so much fun with Auntie today? Why are we shouting Princess Bride quotes?" She gasps, "Did you get to meet the dread pirate Roberts??"
Benji looks up at her in confusion, "What? No Mom, we saw Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson! And guess WHAT!"
"Ohhh, what?!"
He whispers into her ear and throws his head back laughing like a tiny evil madman.
"You did what???!" She laughs.
You groan from the couch.
She walks both of them over to you.
"Did I understand him correctly, is there something we should know? Are you betrothed to a super soldier?"
"I'm gonna go throw up," you groaned again.
Tumblr media
Sweating doesn't even begin to cover it.
Your entire body feels like it's on fire.
You agreed to meet Bucky for a late lunch the following day. You've been sitting on the floor by your closet for what you thought was 30 minutes now, staring into the clothing abyss, spiraling into an internal panic.
You don't go on dates. You keep to yourself. It's comfortable. Living in a combined household with your sister and her small family you're certainly never alone.
What are you even supposed to talk about?
Your current job is nothing super exciting to talk about. You do like to go to concerts and musicals... However you can't really imagine the 106-year-old super soldier going to a pop punk or metal show, nor do you imagine him attending Wicked 3 times. Note to self: do not bring up Rogers the musical. Yikes.
Your sister has already talked you off a ledge 3 times since last night when you got home.
While still wallowing in self pity and loathing, two outfits are scattered by you and you have three more in your arms.
Your sister walks by your open door and backtracks peering in.
"Y/n," she sighs, "just wear the first outfit. You'll look great, I promise." She walks over and grabs the armful of clothes from you, dumping them on the bed and grabbing the first outfit. Your favorite pair of black jeans and a sweater you bought specifically because it was so damn soft.
The doorbell rings and your eyes widen. "He's early?!"
"He's on time, you would have noticed if you weren't staring into space for the last hour."
"WHAT?!"
"Don't worry we'll keep him distracted while you finish getting ready."
"Oh sure, don't worry. That fills me with all the confidence..."
"Benji has already asked him to marry you, what's the worst that could happen now?"
"I don't even want to think about the answer to that. So many possibilities come to mind."
You grab your outfit and start rushing around.
Tumblr media
"Can I get you something to drink, Bucky?" Your sister asks while she moves about the room.
Bucky and Benji are seated at the kitchen table, just off from the living room. Benji is across from him with his tiny arms crossed on the table, and a very serious look on his face.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Ok, I'm sure she'll be down in just a moment. Make yourself at home. Hopefully we will see you around again soon," she smiles, "I'm just gonna go switch the laundry over quickly. Benji," she looks down at him while pointing two fingers at her eyes and then over to him, "behave yourself," she warns while leaving the room.
The table stare down continues.
"Where do you live?" Benji asks.
"In the city," Bucky answers.
"You have a house?" Benji fires back.
"Apartment."
"Own or rent?"
"Rent."
"Where’s your office?"
"I don’t have one."
"How come?"
"I don’t need one."
"Where’s your wife?"
"Don’t have one.."
"Yet," Benji squints with a tiny smirk, "but how come?"
"It's a long story."
"You have kids?"
"No I don’t."
"How come?"
"It's an even longer story."
"Do you prefer dogs or cats?"
"Both are fine."
"Do you have one?"
"I have a cat. Names Alpine."
"Is Steve Rogers really on the moon?"
"What's your record for consecutive questions asked?"
"38."
"He's up there all right." Bucky answers with a nod.
"Your metal arm and regular arm match well with how ginormous your muscles are."
"How nice of you to notice."
"I’m a kid, that’s my job."
Bucky raises a brow, "Why am I getting the 3rd degree here?"
"Just checking in on my investments. If this didn't work I was going to ask our neighbor Frank, but he kind of sucks," Benji shrugs his shoulders.
Before Bucky can question the language and what the 8-year-old said, you walk into the kitchen and quickly look back and forth between the two of them.
"Oh no, how long have you two been alone in here?? What did he say?" You ask Bucky, looking over at Benji quickly after, "What did you say??" Your eyes narrow.
Benji grins and holds your purse up for you. "Have fun storming the castle," he cheekily smiles with that glint in his eyes.
"Benji," you glare down at him.
Bucky clears his throat while standing up from the table. Walking over to you he points to a small bouquet of flowers that were already in a vase waiting on the kitchen table, "Um, these are for you…" he smiles.
"Thank you so much, they're beautiful," your reply is breathless while you look at the arrangement filled with a small mix of your favorites.
"He also gave me this," Benji holds up an RC truck with a Captain America shield painted on the side.
"That was very nice of him, did you say thank you?"
"Duh," he rolled his eyes while grabbing the remote to the car and rolling it out to the living room, "Thanks Future-Uncle Bucky," he grins and chases after it.
"Anyone ever tell you guys he's kind of a strange kid?" Bucky whispers conspiratorially while offering his arm to you.
You throw your head back with a quick laugh. "Oh, you have no idea."
Tumblr media
Your date is going better than you expected.
You have managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself so far and both of you seemed to be enjoying your time together.
You have apologized multiple times for Benji's antics.
Bucky laughed, "He reminds me a bit of a young Steve and my sister Rebecca combined. Didn't realize that combo was possible, it's a little terrifying. I hope they have great medical insurance," he jokes.
"His father's a nurse, so we have in-house medical on demand. My sister tried to convince me to go to law school so someone can represent him when he undoubtedly tries to take over the world. Guess I can save some money and time on law school now that we have a super soldier plus a Captain America connection that can potentially stop him before lawyers need to be involved."
"Your sister already welcomed me to the family when she opened the door to let me in," he smirks.
You put your face in your hands, elbows leaning against the table in support.
"Well now you know where her small menace gets it from."
Bucky helps pull your chair out for you as you're both about to leave. As you stand up your purse falls off the back of your chair, spilling some of its contents on the floor when it lands.
Bucky ducked down to help collect your things when something shiny appeared next to your chapstick. His eyebrows furrow as he picks both up and holds them up to you.
You let out a slightly strangled cough as you realized what he was holding up to you.
Bucky Barnes was kneeling holding up your peppermint chapstick and your Grandmother's opal ring that was supposed to be safely in your jewelry box at home.
...Benjamin!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
@pono-pura-vida @bitchy-bi-trash @random-writer-23 @jvanilly @clintsupremacy @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction
Next: Part 3 Lord of the Pins
3K notes · View notes