#I usually don’t mind talking to people on the phone; the problem is that I don’t have the answers people need so I just feel like a dumbass

[clockwayswrites]

Birds in their nest Part 18

masterpost

Danny woke relaxed. From his brow to the tips of his toes he was relaxed. Which was the first sign something was off. Relaxed was then followed swiftly by confused and wary. He stayed carefully still and silent as he took the space around him in.

The room was darker than his, heavier somehow in that darkness. It was quieter too. There was no noise of the city seeping through the annoyingly thin windows that looked out over the streets of Gotham. He was in a bed, though, and a very comfortable one at that.

(He forcefully pushed back the part of his mind that was still a scared boy worried about being captured and vivisected or cloned again or something else horrible.)

Slowly, Danny opened his eyes. The bed was more than comfortable, it was impressively ornate dark wood that almost faded into the dark blue walls. Somehow even the walls felt expensive. Danny figure it must be the wood detailing that ran around the room.

As he sat up up just slightly, everything clicked into place: the ballet, Bruce insisting on giving Danny a ride, and not remember the end of the ride. He must be at Wayne Manor. He must have fallen asleep in the limo. It was beyond mortifying. They Waynes had just been doing him a favor out of some sense of charity or pity and he’d ended up being a burden.

Danny collapsed back into the bed and covered his face with a groan. This wasn’t even some one night stand where he could slip out quietly or something; he had to see them. He had to say thank you and sorry and please don’t fire me for being weird. Gods, why couldn’t he just be normal for one night?

Even without wings or turning into a giant, eldritch bird he was a mess, Danny thought, slightly hysterically. Well, he might as well get up and face the music so that he could call a ride leave.

If only getting up wasn’t such a problem. Now that he was moving, Danny felt the ache of the missed doses of medication in every thread of muscle. He didn’t even have anything to take, not having one of his usual bags with him. Slowly, Danny got his feet under him and got himself standing. He breathed through the shaking muscles.

The change of clothing was a welcome sight. The suit (that he was totally going to have to get dry cleaned now) felt more than a little stale after sleeping in it. The provided leisure were was much more comfortable and, somehow as he pulled on the over sized hoodie, familiar feeling.

As he stepped out into the quiet hallways, Danny have wondered if he could make a break for it, pain and all.

“Good to see you awake, sir.”

Danny jolted so hard at the sudden voice he might have pulled something.

The stately elderly man that approached looked less than sympathetic. “My apologies, sir. If you will hand me your suit, I will see it dry cleaned and send to your office.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine, I’ve been enough trouble already—”

“I insist.”

Meekly, Danny handed over the suit after he had fumbled out his phone and watch from the pile. The other man took it with far more grace.

“If you will follow me, sir, I will direct you too breakfast on the way.”

“Right. Thank you Mr…?”

“Pennyworth, sir,” Mr. Pennyworth said and started off.

Danny scrambled after him and tried not to hobble too much even though he could feel his left knee threatening to buckle with every step. It was just a twinge. He would get home (after breakfast apparently) and take his medication and he’d be fine.

He’d be slowly turning into something eldritch and unknowable, but he’d be fine.

When Danny got to the able, it was already rather full though not everyone seemed that awake.

“They’re not morning people,” Duke explained with a sunny smile when he spotted Danny.

“Hn.” Bruce agreed articulately.

Danny smiled despite his current embarrassment. “I can see that, but I don’t think that I can talk considering last night. I am so sorry that I fell asleep in the car like that. I swear I don’t normally just crash like that. You should have just woken me up so that I wouldn’t be—”

“Danny,” Bruce interrupted. His voice was a low, sleepy rumble. Danny felt himself blush. “It’s no burden on us. You obviously needed the rest since you didn’t even wake once. I just hope that we didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” Danny admitted. “But I really don’t want to be any trouble to—”

This time it was Cass cutting Danny, off as she swept into the room and pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek, then Bruce’s, and a few of her siblings as she made her way to a seat.

“Sit. Eat,” Cass signed and motioned to a seat next to Bruce.

Danny felt it best to give in and do as he was told. This family was just very confusing.

[fivestaralien]

caddy princess

-> minygu x gn!reader

warnings+”: fluff!!, suggestive, reader is depicted as smaller than mingyu, reader and mingyu can not keep their hands to themselves, many golf references that I could not care less to double check if they made sense or not, pls don't ask me the color of his shirt word count: 1787 notes ִֶָ ࣪˖ mingyu on my mind. lmk what you think of this one!!! reblogs and comments help the most!! I had fun writing for him and tbh I find people that play golf vv attractive but I also think its one of the most BORING sports to watch. its a love hate relationship. anywayyyy, stay safe and be gentle with yourselves<3

//

It’s too early in the morning and your brain is a little fuzzy. You agreed a few days ago to join Mingyu in a game of golf and you were seriously regretting it. You should've double checked the time you’d be going. Though you don’t want to miss the chance to ogle him while he plays. 

 Your eyes follow Mingyu's tall figure as he walks back and forth between the bathroom and bedroom closet. He is rambling about something that happened at work the other day but all you could focus on was the rippling muscles of his back and arms. The golf shirt he throws on hugs his body so well you have no clue how you were going to survive this outing. 

 “.. And then.. hey, are you even listening?” Mingyu pouts after seeing how out of it you look. 

 You hum in acknowledgement but you were still staring at his arms. He rolls his eyes with a smirk, continuing to put his belt on as he walks over to you. You are laying on your side with your head resting on your palm. Your eyes shift up to follow his movements and eventually meet his gaze. 

 “You with me?” Mingyu squats down so you wouldn't strain your neck and rests a hand on your waist. 

 “Yeah sorry, it’s just way too early for you to be looking this attractive.” You mumble shyly, tracing a finger along the contours of his arm muscle. 

 “You’re gonna be a problem today aren't you?” 

 You then squeeze his bicep, “ no idea what you’re talking about.” the corner of your mouth lifts up a little. 

 “We have to leave soon so get up and get dressed honey.” He tells you then kisses the crown of your head. 

 Mingyu has never seen you fawn this hard so obviously over him. Usually it’s the other way around so he was definitely going to be savoring this for a long time. You shove yourself into your pillow, groaning about how you just want to sleep. He laughs, kissing the back of your head before getting up. 

 You follow him into the kitchen after you finish getting dressed and watch from the countertop as he makes snacks for in between holes. He would occasionally bring a few pieces of food up to your mouth for you to eat, which you accept with a smile. When he finished packing it all up you hop off the counter and then help him bring stuff out to the car. He takes to heavier things, like his clubs and a mini cooler filled with ice and water, while you carry the bag of food. 

 Mingyu pulls out of the driveway not long after and the drive to the golf course is peaceful, causing you to go back into that sleepy state. You look over at him, his wrist casually resting on the gearshift, veins branching their way up his forearm from his hand and the hat he put on at the last second leading the focus to his crazy sharp jawline. You barely think as you reach over and run your fingers along the outline of it. 

 “Thank you for coming with me.” Mingyu's voice is still deep from waking up, snapping you from your trance. 

 “Of course,” you squeeze his wrist, “ I love spending time with you and watching you play golf is a huge bonus.” 

 You go back to tracing his veins as his laugh fills the car. Just as you arrive at the course parking lot, the sun peeks over the mountains, casting  various pinks and reds to fill the horizon. You lean on your knees to get a better look and take your phone out to take a picture. 

 “Okay I see why you do this so early. It’s so pretty.” 

 “Seeing you all pouty in the morning is way prettier.” Mingyu leans over the console and kisses your warm cheek. 

 You smile down at your phone to try and hide how much his words affect you but of course he couldn’t let you be shy in peace. He pinches your cheek lovingly while cooing affectionate words in that soft high pitched voice he knows gets you to crumble. 

 “Stop it.” You whine and push him away. 

 “What? Only you are allowed to openly obsess over your partner?” 

 “No.. but.. whatever, shut up.” 

 You turn your head away, face on fire and look back towards the sunrise. Mingyu kisses your cheek a few times then leaves to go into the main building to pay for a golf cart. He opens your door when he comes back and the both of you, after gathering all of your things, begin walking towards where they keep them. 

  Once again you are drooling over his arms. You watch the way his muscles ripple as he lifts his golf bag into the storage compartment attached to the back causing you to swallow hard. Next he lifts the cooler and bag of food into the back seats. The golden sunlight is hitting him perfectly, it takes everything in you not to pounce on him. 

 Mingyu clears his throat, your face flaming hot at getting caught, “don’t.” you warn. 

 He smiles wide and kisses you softly then pats your hip, signalling to get into the golf cart. The first few holes you just sit and watch with casual conversation in between. He is teeing up on the 4th hole when your stomach starts to grumble. You wait until he takes the shot before asking if he was ready for a snack or water. Mingyu nods and tells you which one to get out for him. 

 “Honey, why don’t you hit one?”

 “And completely embarrass myself in front of my hot, insanely talented boyfriend? No thanks.” 

 You bite into your snack. Mingyu grabs your calves after sitting back down, laying them across his thighs and takes his snack and water from your waiting hand. 

 “Would it be more enticing if I said I would help you.” He questions and you tap your chin as if you were contemplating hard.  

 Mingyu continues, “I mean think about it. You wouldn’t really need to do anything,” his fingers begin tracing along your soft skin, " I'd be right behind you, guiding you to hit it right.” 

 Just the thought of his giant arms around you, even if it’s just for a game, had you nodding frantically before he could get another word out. The triumphant smile on his face makes your heart flutter and you lean over a little and kiss him. 

 “Only one hit though.” You tell him after pulling away. 

 You never had an interest to play before so having you finally say yes meant the world to Mingyu. He agrees with the same smile still on his face. You both finish your snacks and then continue down the fairway to where his ball landed. 

 Your eyes fall back to Mingyu's biceps then trail down to the way his hands grip the club as he goes to hit the ball again. If your phone could track the hours you stare at Mingyu like it does screen time, it would malfunction and overheat. Not a second goes by where you aren’t gazing at him in some way. He finished the hole with a birdie and you were making your way to the next one. 

 “Alright baby, you’re up.” Mingyu pats your thigh. 

 He sets up your golf ball and motions for you to come and stand right in front of him. A golf club is placed in your hands as he encases your body with his own. He guides your hands into the right position and leans your upper body forward a bit. You can’t help but swallow hard when Mingyu rests his head on your shoulder, pushing himself closer against your back. 

 “Spread your legs a little bit and bend your elbows like this,” his hands come up just under your elbows to move your arms, “make sure to bend your knees too.” 

 You try your best to follow along with his touch and words but it is all too distracting. Whether he was doing it on purpose or not, you needed to sit down. Your knees nearly give out when his lips graze from your neck up to your ear. 

 “Straighten your back.” He whispers. 

 Your face is on fire as you do it and you don’t even process it when Mingyu raises the club and hits the ball for you, hands pressing yours firmly to stay in position. He leaves a few lingering kisses on your cheek, praising you for a good hit even though you didn’t do a single thing.  As you sit back in the passenger's seat, you do everything except look at Mingyu. 

 The smirk on his face is telling enough that he was enjoying this which only made your blush deepen. Luckily he doesn’t press you to do it again and you continue to watch him play. By the end of the hole you were so hot and bothered you couldn’t talk without choking on your words. 

 Mingyu happily places a hand on your thigh, kneading very sensually as he drives to the next hole. To his surprise you take his hand off and place it back on his lap. When he does it again and you repeat your previous action he can’t help the challenge right in front of him. Instead of trying a third time he rests his arm behind your shoulders on the seat. His fingers trace patterns along your shoulder and the back of your neck making goosebumps scatter across your skin. You lean forward but his hand comes to lightly grasp your shoulder. 

 “Come on honey. Are you scared you won’t be able to stop yourself if I keep touching you?” You almost scoff but he wasn’t wrong so you just turn your head away from him.

 “Can you at least look at me?” He pouts. 

 You let out a big sigh and reluctantly meet his eyes. The smile on his face makes you want to smack it off, knowing he is going to use this situation against you whenever he sees fit. He had stopped the cart a while ago so it didn’t scare you when he took your face in both his hands and kissed you deeply. 

  “Can you be good until we get home?” Mingyu asks, his voice deep.

 “I think I should be asking you that.” You quip back and he laughs against your lips. 

 Mingyu took his sweet time finishing his game and by the last hole you threatened to leave him here if he didn’t hurry up. You couldn’t even make it out of the parking lot.

// main masterlist , find more fics of seventeen here

[luna-thecreator]

Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”  

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.  

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”  

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.  

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”  

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”  

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.  

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”  

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”  

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”  

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.  

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.  

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—  

Click. Thud.  

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.  

Roman Reigns.  

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.  

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.  

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”  

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.  

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”  

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.  

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.  

“He left.”  

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.  

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.  

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.  

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.  

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.  

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.  

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.  

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”  

You didn’t even get to finish.  

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.  

Then, before you could react, he moved.  

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.  

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.  

“Up. Now.”  

A command. Not a request.  

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.  

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.  

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.  

Then, he stopped behind you.  

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”  

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.  

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.  

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”  

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.  

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.  

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.  

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.  

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.  

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.  

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.  

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.  

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.  

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.  

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”  

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.  

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.  

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.  

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.  

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.  

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.  

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.  

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.  

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.  

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”  

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”  

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension. 

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear. 

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.  

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.  

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.  

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”  

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.  

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.  

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.  

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words. 

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.  

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching���as your body reacted to his every move.  

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.  

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.  

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.  

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”  

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.  

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.  

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.  

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.  

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.  

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.  

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.  

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”  

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.  

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”  

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.  

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”  

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.  

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.  

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.  

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.  

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.  

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.  

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”  

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.  

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.  

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.  

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.  

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.  

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.  

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.  

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.  

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.  

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.  

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”  

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.  

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”  

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.  

“Damn right, sweetheart.

[silkenwinger]

i do love a good misunderstanding early on. having a so-called “crush” on your commanding officer, lieutenant ghost. god, you feel ashamed just thinking about it. aside from it being against military rules, you're pretty sure he despises you. runs you to the ground in training. barely gives you a glance out of it. he doesn't even joke when you're present, and as a result you're confused when soap mentions his dad jokes. every whisper that proves he's a world hidden from your view only cements the sad consideration that he couldn't care less about you. despite being treated with coldness, you try your best to be cordial. well, it doesn't take trying when you're just head over heels for him. you don’t know how much time you have with 141, but you doubt you’ll have enough to change ghost’s opinion of yourself, much less–

meanwhile, ghost has a problem. it's been festering for some months now. he has tried every cure he could think of, even using his cracked phone and typing a search on it. he’s never been good with women, so taking his mind off it with another– tough shit, simon says. all he can think about, at the end of the day, is the determined look on your face as you work, and the pressure of your fingers on his shoulders that one time he dared face you hand-to-hand. by the end of it he was so hard he had to excuse himself with talks of a meeting with price– who wasn’t even on base. he feels predatory and looming– and by the way you look at him, all wide eyed, always replying with short phrases– he can tell you aren’t comfortable with him. he’s seen you joke around with johnny and garrick, your face lighting up like the sun, instead of the pale moon you face him with. usually, ghost would enjoy being domineering, exercising his authority over underlings. but when he has to reckon with your meek behaviour instead of even a hint of friendliness, of connection… he curses his past for making him this way.

johnny soap mactavish has a hobby. nah, it’s not footy. well, that too now that he thinks about it. but anyway, they’ve taken to call him cupid back home. yes lass you’ve heard that right. he enjoys setting up people. usually his friends, because he has to know both people for it to work. he has an active record of two weddings and three long relationships, so you may forgive him if he brags about it. granted most came from highschool times, he’s far too busy now to do it back home. but you see, he’s noticed something weird going on with his LT and fellow sergeant, and he’s going to get to the bottom of this. he may not return to his wee city enough to see the fruits of his work, but now his job? plenty of hours there. rules? never heard of them and not reinforced in any case. they’ve always said his head was too hard for his own good.

[arkaiveofurown]

him as a boyfriend

Pairings: Sabo x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader

Word Count: ~2-3k per character

tags: fluff, established relationship

my masterlist here ♡

Sabo

Sabo leaned back against the wall of the ship, his arms crossed as you sat nearby, chatting with a crewmate. You could hear their voices, but they were just background noise as your mind wandered to Sabo. He caught you glancing at him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” he asked, always attuned to your moods, even without asking directly.

You nodded. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed, though the tone in his voice was soft, knowing not to push too much.

“I don’t know… just feels weird sometimes, you know? Being out here… so free.”

Sabo’s smile widened. “You should be. You’re free to do whatever you want. No one can control you, not now.”

You hesitated, remembering how different things were when you’d first met him, when he’d been bound by so many rules and expectations. “I just… never knew what it felt like to have this much freedom. You know, no one telling me what to do.”

Sabo nodded, his eyes intense as he looked at you. “I get that. Growing up with people telling me what to do, who to be… I never want that for you. You get to decide who you are. I’ll always support you, no matter what path you choose.”

His voice was steady, but you could tell that there was a deep yearning in him. A yearning to see you be exactly who you were, free from the shackles that once held him back.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who encourages you to be yourself, to live freely, because he understands how hard it is to be controlled.

——

You were talking with a few other crewmates about a recent accomplishment—a small victory that felt like a huge step forward for the Revolutionary Army. As you spoke, Sabo appeared from behind, standing silently by your side.

“I’m glad to see you getting the recognition you deserve,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with pride. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight.

You smiled at him, grateful for his steady presence. “It was a team effort,” you said modestly.

“No, it was your effort,” Sabo said firmly, turning toward you with a serious expression. “I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far, and I don’t think you even realize how much you’re capable of.”

He didn’t need to say more—his tone said everything. He never bragged about his own feats, but when it came to your accomplishments, he had no problem shouting from the rooftops. He wasn’t just proud of what you’d done; he was proud of who you were.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who always praises your achievements, no matter how big or small, because he knows you deserve to be recognized.

——

You had just gotten off the phone with a friend, your voice light and upbeat. When you hung up, you turned to Sabo, who was already watching you with a fond smile.

“You really don’t hang up on me like you do with everyone else,” you commented.

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t make me want to rush it. I like hearing you talk. I like… just being there with you. Even over the phone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You usually hang up on people as soon as they start talking about business.”

Sabo smirked. “Yeah, but with you, it’s different. I don’t mind hearing your voice. Even if you’re just rambling about something silly, it’s the best part of my day.”

There was a quiet sincerity in his words that made your heart warm. Sabo didn’t just love you because of your strengths; he loved the little things, like your voice, your thoughts, the way you saw the world.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who will never rush you off the phone, because he loves hearing you speak, no matter what you have to say.

——

You hadn’t been expecting to see Sabo for a while—he was off on a mission with the Revolutionary Army, and the last time you spoke, he had been vague about when he’d return. But one day, as you were sitting alone in your room, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps outside.

The door swung open, and there he was, looking like he hadn’t been gone for months instead of just a few weeks. His eyes scanned the room and landed on you instantly. “I knew it was you.”

You blinked. “What do you mean? I’m not wearing anything special.”

He grinned, walking in with that unmistakable swagger. “You think I can’t recognize you from a mile away? You’re wearing the same bracelet you always wear on your left wrist. I’ve memorized every little thing about you.”

You blinked again, surprised. “You really do pay attention, huh?”

“Of course I do,” he said, sitting beside you, the same soft smile playing on his lips. “How could I not? You’re my priority. Every little detail about you matters.”

It wasn’t just that he could pick out the smallest things—it was the way he made you feel so seen, so important.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the kind of guy who remembers every detail about you. Even if you’re in disguise or afar, he’ll still know it’s you, because he has memorized everything about the way you move, speak, and even what you wear.

——

No matter how tough things got, how dangerous their missions were, Sabo always made sure to smile at you in the most gentle, reassuring way. It was as if his smile alone could calm you even when the world felt chaotic.

One night, after a particularly intense argument with some of the crew over the next mission, you were walking alone on the deck, your mind spinning with frustration. You didn’t hear him approach until his shadow fell over you.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, a contrast to the loud voices that had filled the ship earlier. He stepped closer, offering you that signature, gentle smile.

“I know you’re upset,” he began, speaking with a calm confidence. “But I want you to know that you’ve got every right to be frustrated. You just have to believe that things will work out.”

You didn’t say anything, simply looking up at him, drawn to the warmth in his eyes. It was like everything else around you faded, and you were left with just his smile—soft, reassuring, and always present, no matter what.

Sabo’s hand found yours, a small gesture but one that spoke volumes. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who offers you that gentle smile in the hardest moments, the kind of smile that reminds you that, no matter what, he’s there for you.

——

You had heard rumors that Sabo would be returning soon, but you didn’t know exactly when. So, when you walked out onto the deck one morning and saw him standing there, his familiar blue coat fluttering in the wind, your heart skipped a beat.

He turned as he heard your footsteps, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you. A soft smile spread across his face as he took a step toward you, reaching for the vivre card tucked in his pocket, something that always made you feel safe—because it wasn’t just a card. It was his promise.

“I’m home,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

You laughed, shaking your head, a rush of emotions flooding you. “You don’t even know how badly I missed you.”

Sabo’s smile didn’t fade as he stepped closer, pulling you into his arms. As he held you, you could feel the warmth of his embrace, the quiet reassurance in the way he touched you. “I missed you more than you know,” he murmured into your hair. “And you don’t have to worry, I’m always coming back to you. I keep your vivre card with me, so I know where you are, and I’ll always make sure you’re safe. No matter what happens, I’ll find you. It’s not even a question.”

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief as you wrapped your arms around him. No matter how many missions took him away from you, Sabo always made sure you knew that you were his priority. The distance, the battles—it didn’t matter. As long as he had your vivre card, he would always know where you were, and he’d always come back to you.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who keeps your vivre card close to his heart, making sure that your safety is his number one priority. No matter the distance or danger, he will always go to you.

——

The evening was calm. You and Sabo found a quiet place to sit, and despite everything happening in the world, for once, everything was perfect.

He leaned back, his legs stretched out in front of him, and glanced over at you. You caught him staring and smirked. “What is it?”

His eyes softened, the playful smirk from earlier now gone. “Just thinking. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like you.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Sabo, you don’t have to say that to be sweet.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean it. There’s no one else for me. I don’t care where this revolution takes us or what happens next—I just know that I’m not leaving you behind. You’re my future. And nothing’s going to change that.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. He was usually quiet, but when it came to matters of the heart, Sabo’s words always felt like a promise.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who makes a vow to stay with you, no matter the storm or the fire—the one who gives you a future in his heart.

——

Ace

“Ace,” you groaned, “why are you talking like that?”

He grinned down at you, chin propped on his hand, doing a terrible impression of a rich old noble. “My dearest, I do declare, the sun hath risen and so must we—lest the eggs be cold and the pirates be rowdy.”

You shoved a pillow in his face.

“I’m serious!” he said, muffled. “We mustn’t disappoint our crewmates, for they are in need of our stunning presence at breakfast!”

“Are you high on sea salt already?”

Ace burst out laughing, collapsing half on top of you. “Come on, that was a good one!”

You grumbled something into your pillow.

He poked your cheek. “Admit it. You smiled.”

You didn’t respond.

“You snorted. I heard it.”

“Did not.”

“I’m hilarious.”

And somehow, despite wanting sleep more than life itself, you were already laughing. Because it was impossible not to when he was like this—ridiculous and grinning and entirely too pleased with himself.

Ace as a boyfriend is the kind of idiot who performs a full comedy sketch at 6 a.m. just to hear you laugh before breakfast.

——

You were halfway through lunch when Ace stabbed the last piece of grilled fish off his plate. It was his favorite—the one Thatch made with extra spice, seared just right. He stared at it for a full second.

Then, silently, he slid it onto your plate.

You blinked. “…You’re giving that to me?”

He made a face like he was in deep spiritual agony. “Please appreciate the sacrifice.”

You snorted. “You sure?”

“No.” He shoved his chopsticks down dramatically. “But I love you, and this is how I prove it.”

“You could also say the words.”

“I just gave you my favorite food, what more do you want from me?!”

Ace as a boyfriend is the guy who eats like a wild animal—but still gives you the last bite like it’s the highest form of love. He won’t say it in big romantic speeches, but in the way he gives up his favorite things for you, you’ll always know where his heart is.

——

“So I was telling Haruta about your left hook,” Ace said, loud enough that the entire galley could hear. “Thing’s got range. Like a whole sea king’s tail!”

You groaned into your rice bowl. “Can you not brag about my punches to everyone?”

“Why not? It’s hot!”

Around you, crewmates started laughing. You heard Izo mutter, “Here he goes again,” while Jozu sighed into his drink.

Ace leaned across the table, grinning proudly. “You’re amazing. I just want people to know.”

“And if I want to lay low?”

“You started dating me. We passed ‘low-key’ like fifty ports ago.”

Ace as a boyfriend is someone who can’t shut up about you—and doesn’t want to. He’ll shout your name across the ocean if he thinks you did something cool. Even when it’s embarrassing, even when it’s loud, he’ll make sure the world knows he’s proud of you.

——

“You punched someone because they called me ‘dead weight’?!”

Ace looked totally unrepentant, knuckles scuffed and a grin spreading across his face. “They’re lucky I didn’t melt their boots to their ankles.”

“Ace, we’re not supposed to start fights over words!”

“Oh, right,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder as if nothing was wrong. “Next time, I’ll just accidentally sneeze and set their hair on fire.”

You glared at him.

“I love you,” he said simply, voice softening for just a second.

“And?”

“And no one gets to talk like that about the person who means everything to me.”

He paused, a flicker of something deeper flashing across his face. “I don’t like leaving people behind. Not when they matter. And you… you matter.” His eyes were fiery, but this time, the fire wasn’t about rage. It was about loyalty. “If someone tries to hurt you—if they try to put you down—I won’t back off. I won’t run away. You’re not alone in this, and I’m not gonna let anyone forget that.”

You tried to hold firm. You really did. But his arm tightened, heat rolling off his skin, and that stupid grin cracked your resolve right in two.

Ace as a boyfriend is the kind of man who defends your name like it’s the flag of his ship. He doesn’t just protect you—he honors you. Even your reputation is something sacred to him.

——

It was a quiet evening—rare. The sea was calm, the crew mellow, and Ace had convinced you to lie on the deck with him, watching the stars between drifting clouds.

You leaned into his chest, the slow thump of his heart grounding you.

“Y’know what I love about you?” he asked, voice surprisingly soft.

You smiled against his shirt. “My devastating charm?”

He chuckled. “That you’re just you. Doesn’t matter where you came from. Doesn’t matter who your family is or what you’ve done. You’re here. With me. That’s enough.”

You tilted your head to look up at him.

He met your eyes. No teasing. No grin. Just Ace—raw and honest.

“I’ve seen too many people judged for where they come from,” he said. “That’s never gonna be you. Not with me.”

Ace as a boyfriend is someone who loves you because of your soul, not your story. He doesn’t care who you were before, or what the world said about you—he sees who you are now.

——

That night, the sea turned colder. Not dangerous—but enough to make the whole crew bundle up. You curled tighter in your jacket, shivering despite yourself.

Then a warm hand slid into yours.

Ace tugged you close, resting your head against his chest as a soft wave of heat spilled from him—gentle, steady, safe.

He kissed the top of your head. “Better?”

“Mmm. You’re warm.”

He smirked. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You stayed like that, pressed to his heartbeat, the wind howling around you while his fire wrapped you up from the inside out.

Ace as a boyfriend is your shield against every cold night and every colder thought. When the world gets harsh, he wraps you in warmth—literal and emotional. With one touch, he melts away the chill.

——

The Moby Dick was quiet—rarest thing in the world. After a long battle and a long celebration, everyone had finally passed out. Ace had dragged you to the highest part of the deck, where the moon cut the sea into silver, and the stars looked close enough to catch.

He lay back with his arms behind his head. You curled into his side without needing to ask.

It was peaceful. And for once, Ace wasn’t running his mouth or teasing. He just watched the sky.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it. Low. Real.

“I never thought I’d get this.”

You glanced up. “Get what?”

He looked down at you like you were something sacred.

“This. You. Us. A crew that feels like home. A person who makes me want to stay.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going—like if he didn’t say it now, it might burn a hole in his chest.

“I used to think I wasn’t supposed to be here. That the world didn’t want me in it. But you…” He swallowed. “You make me feel like I matter. Like I’m me—not Roger’s kid, not a Whitebeard commander. Just Ace. Just yours.”

You didn’t speak. You just held him, fingers tangling in his hair, while his arms pulled you in like he never planned to let go.

The ocean moved quietly around you, the stars above, the fire in his chest, and that look in his eyes like he’d found his place at last.

Ace as a boyfriend is the one who finds his home in you—and makes damn sure you feel like you’ve got one in him, too.

——

Law

You were humming again.

Not a real song—just something you made up, wandering around the Polar Tang with a broom in hand, sweeping while swaying slightly to your own rhythm. It had no melody. No structure. Just something light and stupid and undeniably you.

From behind, you heard it.

A low, familiar “Tch.”

You turned, grinning. “Something to say, Captain?”

Law stood at the door to the observation room, arms crossed, expression carefully flat.

“You’re off-key.”

“Rude.”

“You’re sweeping the same spot for ten minutes.”

“Multitasking,” you said cheerfully, spinning the broom.

He exhaled slowly, as if your entire existence was testing his patience.

But he didn’t walk away.

You cocked your head. “You don’t actually hate it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say I liked it.”

“You haven’t moved.”

“…I was watching to make sure you didn’t fall on your face again.”

You grinned. “So you were watching.”

His lips twitched—barely—and he looked away, ears a little pink. “Tch.”

You stepped closer, broom tapping his foot. “You like my humming.”

He didn’t answer.

You bumped your shoulder into his. “You think it’s cute.”

He closed his eyes for a second, muttering something under his breath, then finally said, “It’s tolerable.”

You laughed. “That’s a huge compliment coming from you.”

He didn’t deny it. And when you resumed humming on your way down the hall, he stayed in the doorway a little longer—watching, listening, lips tugged in the faintest smile.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who secretly enjoys the little things about you—your bad humming, your quirks, your mess. He’ll roll his eyes and pretend it’s a nuisance, but deep down, he loves it more than he’ll ever admit.

——

“You skipped breakfast.”

His voice was calm, but the sharpness in it told you this wasn’t a casual observation.

You looked up from the mess table, caught mid-bite of an energy bar. “It’s fine, I wasn’t really—”

“Hungry? That’s not the point.”

Law sat across from you, setting a small tray down in front of you—your favorite warm soup, and a few cuts of fruit you were sure he’d stolen from the kitchen himself.

“You need proper food,” he said, tapping the tray. “You haven’t been sleeping well either.”

You blinked. “Are you tracking my habits or something?”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

You stared.

He stared back.

“…You’re serious.”

“I’m a doctor,” he said smoothly, then paused. “And your boyfriend. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

You lowered your gaze to the soup, feeling your face heat as you quietly picked up the spoon. You didn’t need to say thank you—he already knew. This was his version of care: watching, remembering, fixing.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who will monitor your health better than any physician. He’ll prioritize your safety and well-being over anything else—even if you don’t realize you need it.

——

You were lounging in his office, legs up on the couch, half-dozing while he scribbled something at his desk. The scratching of his pen was the only sound—until it abruptly stopped.

“You know what’s insane?” Law said suddenly, eyes still on the page.

You blinked, looking up. “Hm?”

He didn’t even wait for you to answer. “That episode of Sora, Warrior of the Sea—the one where Germa 66 attacks the Vega Kingdom? Stealth Black phases through an entire wall of seastone-infused armor plating. It’s not physically possible, but they don’t explain it. Not once.”

You sat up a little, blinking. “…Wait, what?”

“And people always forget, but that was the first time Stealth Black used that mid-air cloak burst move. You can actually trace the evolution of it across three issues after that. See, the author was setting it up early, but everyone thinks it just came out of nowhere.”

He finally looked at you then—and froze.

You were just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

“What,” he said flatly, though his ears were already turning pink.

You blinked slowly. “Are you fanboying right now?”

Law narrowed his eyes. “It’s a narrative analysis.”

You grinned. “Law, you’re gushing.”

“I’m discussing the mechanics of a fictional battlefield maneuver,” he corrected, straightening his notes. “It has strategic value.”

“You just quoted a comic from memory.”

He muttered something under his breath and picked up his pen again, clearly trying to move on.

But you weren’t done.

“You like Stealth Black the most, don’t you?”

He didn’t look at you. “…No comment.”

“Is it because he’s broody and wears black?”

Still no eye contact. “Coincidence.”

“You’re blushing.”

He dropped his head into his hand with a groan. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You scooted over, nudging his arm. “No, I like this side of you. The soft, nerdy one who thinks cloaking technology is cool.”

“…It is cool.”

You laughed, and he glanced at you from under his bangs, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who’ll accidentally let you see the dorky fanboy underneath the surgeon’s coat—and once he does, he’ll let you in on every secret obsession, because your love makes it safe to be exactly who he is.

——

Law wasn’t the type to loudly declare his feelings, nor was he one to give extravagant displays of affection. Instead, it was in the smallest gestures that you could see how much he cared. It was the way he always made sure you had a spot beside him during the quieter moments on the ship, how he’d prepare your favorite tea if you were feeling down, or how he’d bring you the rarest fruits from islands the crew visited—those little things that made all the difference.

One evening, as you sat on the deck, lost in thought, Law approached with a plate of sliced fruit.

“You’ve been distracted all day,” he remarked, handing it to you without fanfare. “Eat something. It’ll help.”

You looked up at him, taken aback by the thoughtfulness. “How did you know I was hungry?”

“I didn’t,” he said with a small smirk. “But I know you tend to forget to eat when you’re deep in thought.”

You chuckled softly and took the fruit, finding the quiet care in his actions oddly comforting. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was his way of showing affection.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of person who shows his love through small, practical gestures. He’s not loud about it, but every action he takes is meant to make your life a little easier, a little happier.

——

You’d seen Law in battle. You’d seen him command a crew, outwit warlords, hold his own against legends. But now, he was sitting beside you in his quarters, the lamplight warm on his skin as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

He didn’t look at you—he rarely did when he was being vulnerable—but he moved carefully, letting the fabric fall away to reveal the tattoos you’d traced only in glimpses.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “What?”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Touch them. If you want.”

It felt sacred—like he was letting you in to a place no one else got to see. You reached out, fingers brushing the inky black letters spelling out DEATH, the swirl of symbols running down his arms. Your fingers traced the contours of old scars and fresh tension.

“These aren’t just marks,” he said, eyes closed. “They’re everything I’ve survived. Everything I carry.”

You leaned in, brushing a kiss to the side of his throat. “And you let me carry them too.”

He nodded.

Law as a boyfriend is the one who lets you see every part of him—not just his body, but the weight behind the ink, the past he rarely speaks of. He trusts you enough to let you close, even to the pieces that hurt.

——

It was one of those rare quiet nights—no battle, no storm, no urgent detours. Just you and Law curled up on the couch in his quarters, a thin blanket over your legs, and a book you weren’t really reading anymore resting on your chest.

You glanced at him as he scribbled notes in the margin of a medical journal, brow furrowed, concentration absolute. Even now, with ink on his fingers and the room barely lit, he was so composed it was unfair.

“Law.”

He hummed, not looking up.

“Why do you love me?”

He paused mid-sentence.

You watched him blink once, then close the book without marking his page. When he finally looked at you, his expression wasn’t confused—it was serious, almost pained. Like the question itself tugged something loose inside his chest.

“Is that something you’re doubting?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. I just… wondered.”

He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was gathering his thoughts carefully.

“I don’t love you because of your strength, or because you’re clever, or kind, or good with people. All of those things are true,” he said quietly. “But if you lost them all tomorrow, I’d still feel the same.”

You felt your breath catch.

Law leaned back, watching your face like he was daring you to disagree. “I love you just because. No reason. No conditions. Just… you.”

You sat in stunned silence for a beat. Then, slowly, you reached for his hand.

He didn’t move away.

You rested your head against his shoulder, and he let out a breath, threading his fingers through yours.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who doesn’t love you for what you give or do—he loves you just because. He doesn’t need a reason. You, in all your pieces, are more than enough.

——

You didn’t hear the door open at first—just the sound of his boots, slow and steady down the hall. The crew had said the mission might take days. Maybe weeks. You’d told yourself not to wait up.

But here you were anyway. Curled up on the couch in his quarters, half-asleep with a book pressed to your chest.

He stopped in the doorway, pausing like he always did when he first laid eyes on you after being gone too long.

“…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head lifted immediately. “Law.”

He walked in without another word, coat sliding off his shoulders, footsteps silent. He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, blood still staining the edge of his sleeve. But his gaze was only on you.

You stood. “You’re hurt.”

“Already stitched.”

“You should rest—”

“I needed to see you first.”

You blinked as he reached you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head like he was grounding himself. Forehead to yours, breath soft against your skin.

“I thought about you every moment I was gone,” he said. “Not because I was afraid of dying. But because the thought of not coming back to you…” He trailed off, voice lower now. Rougher.

Your fingers slid into the hem of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him, alive and whole and here.

“I don’t care how far I go,” he murmured, “how much blood I shed. I’ll always come back.”

“You promise?”

He looked at you then—really looked. Not just with his eyes, but with everything he’d never been able to say out loud until now.

“I live for you.”

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who never forgets to come back home to you. He lives for you.

[solxamber]

Crisis Averted - Cater Diamond x reader

After a royal screw up, Cater is left scrambling trying to fix his mistake before you find out. Best part? You've known what he did from the start and you think it's hilarious.

It started out as a normal day. Sun shining, birds chirping, and Cater Diamond doing what Cater Diamond does best—being charming, taking selfies, and generally vibing. But today? Today was different. Today, something bad had happened. And Cater was in full-on crisis mode trying to fix it.

The problem? He’d accidentally erased an entire folder of your saved photos. Not just any folder, either—the one with all your most treasured memories. Birthday celebrations, vacations, goofy selfies of the two of you, everything. Gone. Deleted. Kaput.

Now, to most people, that might not seem like a big deal. But Cater knew better. Those pictures? They were important to you. You loved looking through them on rough days, getting lost in nostalgia, and reliving all those sweet moments. And now? Now they were digital dust, and he was freaking out.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…” Cater muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth in his room. He tugged at his hair, his phone in one hand as he furiously scrolled through every possible "how to recover deleted photos" forum. “I am so dead…”

What Cater didn’t realize, however, was that you already knew. In fact, you’d known from the start. He wasn’t exactly subtle, and after the fifth time he started texting you, only to delete the message before you could read it, you had a pretty good idea that something was up. Honestly? It was kind of… cute. Watching him scramble to fix things like that, his usual cool and carefree attitude unraveling right before your eyes.

You decided to sit back and let the chaos unfold.

Meanwhile, Cater was in full-blown panic mode. He had no idea how you hadn’t noticed yet. He'd been avoiding you all day, coming up with the most ridiculous excuses for why he couldn’t meet up. His messages were starting to get weirder, too.

Cater: Heyyyyy, babe! Can we talk? Wait, no. Scratch that. Uhm, are you free? Like, soon?

Cater: Actually, no. Never mind. I’m busy. Super busy. The busiest. TTYL!

You stared at your phone, a smirk playing on your lips. He was so bad at this. Deciding to mess with him a little, you shot him a casual reply.

You: Sure, I’m free! Wanna hang out?

There was a solid three minutes of radio silence before Cater’s reply came in.

Cater: Haha, maybe later? I’ve got, uh… stuff. Very important unbirthday stuff.

You could practically feel the anxiety radiating through the text. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back in his room, Cater was biting his nails, sweat beading on his forehead. “Okay, okay, okay. Gotta fix this, gotta fix this now,” he whispered to himself, pacing like a madman. He quickly uses split card, and suddenly, there were three Cater Diamonds standing in front of him, all looking equally panicked.

“Alright, team,” the original Cater said, clapping his hands together. “We’ve got a mission. We need to recover those photos before they notice anything.”

One of the clones raised an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know!” Cater wailed. “That’s why we’re brainstorming!”

The clones exchanged a look before launching into a ridiculous plan. Clone One suggested hacking into your cloud account, while Clone Two thought maybe bribing one of your friends for a copy of the pictures might work. Neither idea was particularly realistic, but desperation was a powerful motivator.

“Alright, alright, calm down, me,” Cater said, rubbing his temples. “Let’s start with trying to recover the deleted files. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll… we’ll figure something out.”

The next few hours were a blur of Cater running around, trying every possible recovery trick in the book. He even roped his clones into checking your laptop, your external hard drives, and even the trash bin on your phone, all while sending you increasingly bizarre texts to keep you from getting suspicious.

Cater: Sooooo, what are you up to today? Got any fun plans? Not that I’m prying! Just curious!

You: Just chilling. You?

Cater: Oh, you know, vibing. Totally normal day here. Nothing weird happening.

You: Uh-huh. Sure.

By this point, you were just waiting for him to crack. And when he started sending his clones to “casually” check in on you—one pretending to drop by for a “totally innocent, nothing-to-see-here” visit—you had to bite back laughter.

The first clone showed up at your door, grinning nervously. “Hey! Just thought I’d swing by and say hi. You’re not, like, working on anything super important, are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not really. Why?”

The clone scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting around. “No reason! Just checking! Everything’s fine! Great! Haha, okay, bye!”

And he was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared.

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head. Poor Cater was really losing it. And you… well, you were having the time of your life watching him squirm.

Finally, after what must’ve been hours of frantic searching, Cater hit his breaking point. All of his clones were gone, exhausted from their efforts, and he was alone in his room, slumped over his desk, completely defeated.

“I’m doomed,” he muttered to himself, face in his hands. “They’re going to hate me. I’ve ruined everything…”

That was your cue. You figured you’d let him off the hook before he spiraled into a full-on meltdown. Casually, you made your way over to his room and knocked on the door.

“Cater? You in there?”

There was a long pause, and then the door slowly creaked open. Cater peeked out, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. “Oh, hey…” His voice was weak, his usual enthusiasm completely drained.

You smiled softly, stepping inside. “You okay?”

He let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no. Actually, no, I’m really not okay. I screwed up, and I didn’t know how to fix it, and now you’re going to be so mad at me, and I just—”

“Cater,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “I already know.”

He froze, eyes wide. “You… what?”

You chuckled. “I knew the second you started acting weird. You accidentally deleted my photos, right?”

Cater stared at you, completely dumbfounded. “You knew?”

“Yup,” you said, grinning. “And honestly? Watching you try to fix it has been hilarious.”

He gaped at you, his face a mix of relief, confusion, and a tiny bit of betrayal. “You… you knew? And you didn’t stop me?!” He whines "You're so, so mean!"

You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “I thought it was kind of cute. Plus, I backed up the photos ages ago, so it’s not a big deal.”

Cater sagged against you, all the tension draining from his body. “Oh my Seven… I thought I was going to die from stress.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not off the hook, though. You still owe me for all the chaos you put me through today.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “Fair. Totally fair. But… thanks. For not being mad.”

“Who could be mad at you?” you teased. “You were way too entertaining.”

Cater finally pulled back, his usual grin returning, though there was still a hint of sheepishness in his eyes. “Well, I guess if you enjoyed the show, then it wasn’t a total disaster.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Diamond.”

He flashed you a wink, back to his old self again. “Oh, I know I am.”

And just like that, the crisis was averted.

Masterlist

[unluckilyimnot]

How they comfort you – yoichi, chigiri, sae, reo, karasu, rin, hiori

after a bad day

m.list rules 1k

note: sorry I moved in with my colocs and I just started criminals minds and got lost. I’m barely coming back to write.

Isagi

he takes you on a date when he notices how bad your day seemed

doesn’t matter the hour or if he’s exhausted

he takes you out, walking around the street

then to eat, it doesn’t have to be a big things

usually 7/11 date

you two brought your favorite ramens, desert and drinks and eat there

letting you rant if you need or talking about totally something else to change your mind

in any case, he’s emphatic and really listen to you

he might be a little blinded and he’s always on your side but he’s sweet

he doesn’t try to solve your problem and you’re thankful for that

chigiri

he takes care of you, your skin, your hair : you name it all

he takes his time to gently exfoliate your skin while a mask sit on your hair

your eyes shut and the sweet smell of the big candle he lights up for you to relax

he doesn’t ask about it unless you talk about it first, but then he might be a bit mean to the people who ruined your day

he’s part of the girl yk

he washes and blow dry your hair for you before watching a movie or a tv show

but in the end you don’t even watch it and just talk together, about everything and nothing

he talks about his day as well, mention it if something bothered him and you two can rant together

or he can just let you sit between his legs and listen to you while stroking your hair

anything to make you feel better

sae

when you mentioned it over the phone or through text that your day was awful, he makes sure to pass by a flower shop

and if he knows he won’t have time, he call over for the bouquet to be delivered at your place or your work

he’s really into talking at first, he prefers to let you come to him further if you need it

yet, it's still the first thing he asks when he gets home – just to let you know that he cares

if you decided to talk about it, all his focus is on you

but don’t expect much answer from him, he knows he’s not the best at this anymore

but he’ll order your favorite food

and let you lay on him, playing with your hair or stroke your arm

if he feels you being overwhelmed you can be sure that his arms will tight up around you in a warm embrace

He expects you to fall asleep in there to be honest, but he'll always leave a kiss on your temple before taking you to bed

reo

He hates seeing you like this so if it can bring a smile back to your face, he’s down for anything

so he drops everything and takes you to a fancy restaurant !

For him it’s the best thing possible and he always enjoy taking you out to clear your head

but if you’re too tired for that, he let you tell the chef what you want to eat and spent a chill night

he asks about it, he wants to know what happened and how he can help

he physically can’t leave you like this – and if he can’t help it right now, he’ll do the same tomorrow

until you feel better

he honestly would do anything for you to feel better

Do you want to order something ? He doesn’t really like it but anything for you

wanna stay inside and do nothing, rot in bed ? He’ll stay with you

best boy

karasu

he can tell you’re on edge even if you don’t mention anything

you’re snapping at him too easily or in contrary not talking to him at all and he hates that it getting into him

so he’ll run you a bath or tell you to take a hot shower, that he’s handling what’s needed to be done

he reassure you that you’re free for the night, it doesn’t matter what there’s to do – he’ll do it

after that, he’ll take his time to massage your shoulders and back while asking you what’s going on

he insist on you telling him what's going on, he doesn’t accept a shrug or a simple ‘hum’/’nothing’

your his partner, he needs to know what’s going on to help you

he’ll fight every time if it’s needed for you to tell him

rin

take you for a walk, to clear your head

he hates it when you rot in bed for too long so he tries to avoid it in the first place

but he doesn’t force you to talk about it if you don’t feel the need to do so

he waits for you to open up, even if he has to fill the silence if it makes you uncomfortable

But it rarely happens, you two really enjoy a quiet walk around the city

There's also time when you talk about it

He's a bit annoyed about it if it's about someone ruining your day, but he dies his best to be there for you

The type to run his thumb a the top of your hands

He can be shy about pda but doesn't hesitate if it can make you feel better

Hide you in his chest if you cry on the way

hiori

He can be deeply emphatic so he'd rather spend the night hearing you talk about it

Even cry in his shoulders

Than to leave you alone

He tries to make you feel better, stroking your hand and hair, your cheeks

Looking deep into your eyes and kissing you all the time

He wants to find a solution if he can, and if you want it

He has a hard time letting you alone if you need space

But he will if he can check in you regularly, you have to stay available

But he much rather have you sitting in his lap, warmly in his embrace, not talking if you don't want to

Just, stay near please

Let me know if you liked it ♡

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part seventeen

I should clarify that when I said this fic will be "another 30ish chapters" I meant 30ish in total!!! So sorry omg we don't have 30 MORE to go, that would be crazy even for me tbh, I think we've just got about 15ish more from this point on. Okay carry on 🫶🏻

Warnings: stalking, panic attack, lots of emotions and angst, hotch clocking you left and right lol, police being useless (yes that's a warning), idk if this situation would be handled this way just go w it ok, are they...flirting?

As the team digs into your life, you feel like you never have a single moment alone.

If it weren’t for the fact that you really don’t want to be alone right now, then you would be pissed. Instead, you’re grateful, and you’re relieved to have so many wonderful people to lean on.

And then there’s Hotch.

It’s not that you can’t lean on him. It’s that he never exactly gets close enough for you to, because getting close only means bickering, and the two of you hardly speak these days. It’s been just over a week since you confessed to the team, a week since Hotch told you if there’s anything he can do to help, a week since he apologized — again.

One week of the girls coming over for dinner and a movie, one week of dinner at Rossi’s house, one week of drinks at a bar after work. You’re no closer to any answers than you were last week, but you don’t mind. 

You had no idea letting your secret out would feel so relieving. It’s not at all what you were expecting.

You can’t and won’t relax by any means; you won’t be able to do that until you actually catch this unsub and figure out what his problem is.

The team can only be at your side for so much, though, so it isn’t long before the first night comes where everyone has things to get done. Meaning, you go home alone.

It wouldn’t have felt so weird if you hadn’t gotten used to someone coming with you. Tonight a strange dread settles in the pit of your stomach as you pull into the parking lot of your apartment.

“It’s fine,” you give yourself a little pep talk as you grab your purse. “You’ve come home alone so many times before. This is literally fine.”

And it is fine. Until it’s not.

Until you get to your door and see an envelope stuck in the small space between your door and the doorframe. Until you glance at the writing on the outside of it and recognize it immediately. Until you see the word.

The hallway seems to grow longer as the walls lean closer. Everything shifts, tips onto its side.

Your purse drops to the floor, the sound echoing in the hallway as your mind races to think. Think. What are you supposed to do?

You don’t know why. You don’t know what comes over you. You blame it on your shaking hands. But when you pull out your phone, you call Hotch.

He answers on the second ring, his usual tired, almost absentminded greeting, “Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” your voice is barely a whisper. You stare at the envelope until it almost doesn’t look like it exists here on this plane. “Aaron, I—”

“What happened?” He’s aware now, alert. “Where are you?”

“My apartment, I—”

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, realizing too late that he can’t see you.

“I’m coming to you,” he says, leaving no room in his tone for any protesting on your end. You hear sirens. He was already driving. 

But you don’t protest. You don’t even want to. “Okay.” Your mind slowly kicks into gear. “I need to hang up, I need to call the police—”

“What happened?” Aaron asks again. Then says, “Do you want me to call them?”

You shake your head slowly, starting to look around you at the empty hall. “No, no I can—”

“Give me one second.” 

You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear him put you on hold, and it feels like hours pass before his voice returns, though you know it’s barely been two minutes.

“Police are on their way,” he says. “Are you inside?”

“I’m outside my door, I—” Your eyes land on the envelope again, the handwriting. “I can’t go in.”

“Why?”

“There’s a note,” every word that passes through your lips feels foreign and sounds wrong on your tongue. “It’s in my door.”

“Don’t touch it,” he says firmly.

“I wasn’t going to.” If you were feeling better, it would’ve held more heat to it.

“I know,” he exhales. “Do you have your gun on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he sounds relieved, but you don’t know why. You’re in no state to shoot anything right now. You don’t know that you could even get the safety off if you tried, that’s how bad your hands are shaking. “Just stay where you are, I’m two minutes away.”

Two minutes? Already? “Don’t hang up.” You don’t know why you say it.

“I won’t,” he answers easily, not at all bothered by it. “Not until I see you.”

“Okay.”

“Can you tell me five things you can see?”

“Aaron, I’m really not in the mood—”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. The panic is starting to melt away, so this really isn’t necessary, but still you humor him. “The note. My door. My shoes. My doormat. My neighbor’s plant that they really need to water.”

He chuckles, the sound barely there. “Four things you can touch?”

“My gun,” you start, placing your hand over the weapon just for the sake of knowing it’s there. “My shirt. The wall. My hair.”

“Three things you can hear?”

“Your breathing,” you say without hesitation. He shuts his car door. “My voice. The light down the hall buzzes constantly, they should really fix it.”

“Two things you can smell?” he continues. You hear the tap of his footsteps before you hear him in the stairwell. 

“My neighbor’s cooking. The cleaner Lucia uses when she comes by.”

Aaron’s voice echoes on the phone and into the hall when he finally finds you. “One thing you can taste?”

“I wish I could taste my neighbor Alex’s cooking,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood as much as you can as Aaron approaches you, phones still pressed to your ears. You hang up first. “Thanks.”

He tucks his phone away with an almost imperceptible nod, jaw set and eyebrows furrowed.

Is he…bothered about the fact that you called him?

You study him with narrowed eyes as he looks at the note, craning his neck as he examines it closely.

You pick your purse up off the floor, rummaging around in it. “You can go,” you say as you look for some gum, “if you have other things you need to be doing.”

“I don’t,” he says.

You find the gum and pop one into your mouth, letting the minty taste settle over you and calm your shot-to-hell nervous system. “You could at least try to look like you aren’t annoyed about being here.”

“I’m not annoyed that you called me,” he says, voice calm. So calm that it’s actually starting to annoy you. “Why do you think I’m upset that you called?”

“Why are you turning this around on me?” you counter. You nod your head at the note, changing subjects. “See anything odd? Other than the handwriting being the same, and it’s got Gambit on it.”

“No,” Hotch shakes his head. “We’ll have to take a closer look at it.” He pauses, eyes studying you in a way you don’t like. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you huff, crossing your arms. “As fine as one can be when they come home to a note in their door from their stalker, apparently.”

You shift under his gaze. He won’t stop looking at you and you’re five seconds away from yelling at him to cut it out.

You don’t get the chance, though, before two police officers are coming up the stairs. And then they start asking Hotch all the questions.

“It’s her apartment,” he says flatly, directing them toward you. “I’m just the one who called.”

“Got it, so you’re the husband?” one officer asks.

“No,” you both say almost instantly, equally as deadpan. 

“Like I said on the phone,” Hotch continues, tone bordering on vicious, “we’re federal agents. This is her apartment—”

“If you’re federal agents, what do you need us for?” the other officer gives Hotch a dumbfounded, almost exasperated look.

Hotch stares at both of them tiredly. “Would you like to speak to the front desk and check the cameras?” He words it as a question, but it is not one.

“We can’t do that without—”

The glare Hotch levels at them is downright lethal.

“Alright,” the officer immediately corrects himself. “I’ll go check the cameras.” He nudges his partner. “Get that note in an evidence bag so it can be checked for prints.”

“We’ll have it sent to be checked at Quantico,” Hotch says firmly. “It will be faster and we need to check the federal database.”

The officer sighs. “Just do what he says.”

As the officers leave to speak to the front desk and retrieve the evidence kit, Hotch takes out his phone.

“What are you doing now?” you mutter.

“You can’t stay here.”

That sends you reeling all over again. “What?”

“You’re not staying here,” he repeats.

“Hotch, this is my apartment.”

“I know that,” he says without looking up. “But you aren’t staying here, not when the unsub clearly knows where you live. He walked right up to your door.”

“Good. Let him try to do it when I am home, see how that works out for him.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, looking up from his phone. “That’s putting your life at risk unnecessarily.”

“You can’t kick me out of my apartment, Hotch.”

“I’m not,” he hisses. “But you need to stay somewhere more secure.”

“So? Where exactly are you proposing? Because no way in hell am I staying with y—”

“I’m texting Dave,” Hotch interrupts, clearly sensing where you were going with that train of thought. “He’s in a gated community, and he has the best security system on the market in his house. You’ll be safe there.”

“But—”

“I’m not arguing about this, I’m sorry,” Hotch says. “I won’t let you stay here while this unsub is out there.”

As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. Clarity comes and you realize it. You don’t have any security system in your apartment, just your two deadbolts, and the occasional bar that you prop under the door handle on your particularly paranoid nights. The apartment complex isn’t even that secure; anyone can walk up the stairs. You’re an easy target if you stay here, and that’s exactly what the unsub wanted to show you by putting the note in your door. He wanted you to see how close he can get, to see how much closer he could get the next time.

You begin to wonder if the unsub has walked right up to your door many times before this, just left no trace, so you never knew. How long has he known that you live here?

“I’m at least packing some things,” you say, almost out of nowhere.

Hotch slowly looks up from his phone. “Yeah…yeah, of course.”

You nod once, effectively ending that conversation. He’s clearly shocked you saw reason and aren’t protesting anymore, but you’ll be dead before you ever admit that he’s right about something to his face.

The officer returns to retrieve the note and promises to send it off to Quantico. Hotch says he’ll call ahead to let them know to expect it at the lab.

The partner that went to look at the cameras returns with a shrug. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

Hotch stares a hole through the guy, his jaw ticking. “Fine. Thank you.”

“Do you want me to report—”

“Just go,” you reply tiredly, ready for this to be over. “It’s fine.”

The officer leaves you with his card, but you know you won’t be using it. You shove it into your purse all the same with a huff.

“I’ll have Garcia look into the footage,” Hotch says as you both step into your apartment. 

You nod absently, tossing your purse down on the counter when it hits you.

Hotch. Is in your apartment. He’s never been over to your place before — because why would you invite him? — and now he’s here. Standing in the entryway. 

It seems to hit him right when it hits you because he freezes as soon as he shuts the door. His eyes flick up to yours.

You give him a tired stare. “You could at least try not to look like I’m holding you hostage.”

He straightens up, tries and fails to soften the tension around his eyes and shoulders. “I’ll wait here.”

You almost let him.

But because you’re not a monster, and because you don’t know how long you’ll take with packing, you gesture into the living room. “I have a perfectly good couch. I’ll be insulted if you decide to stand the whole time.”

The corner of his lips barely tug upward. “Alright. Thank you.”

“I’ll try not to take too long,” you say as you head for your room. “I’ll just throw some things together.”

“Take your time,” he says, his voice following you before he turns and heads for the couch.

You check your bedroom window just in case, finding it still securely locked. Your closet is empty. So is the bathroom. Which means the unsub truly must’ve walked up to your door, tucked the note, and left.

Sure, he’s playing a game, but why is he taking so long? Why drag this out?

Again and again, you come back to the same question: who the fuck is this guy?

You try to focus on what you can control right now, which is packing your things. You pull your smaller suitcase out and throw it onto your bed, looking to your closet.

You blink once before the tears come.

You can’t even say that they happen for no reason, or that they come out of nowhere, because with everything happening in your life — and everything that has happened in your past — you have more than enough reason. You should expect this. How you don’t break down at every stroke of the hour is a wonder even to you some days.

Instead, it happens like this, somewhat randomly and quietly. Although this has to be a first, crying silently because your boss is in your living room, waiting for you to get your shit together.

You bury your face in your hands, allowing yourself this wallowing for just a single moment. It’s longer than you can afford, and much shorter than you need to feel better, but it’s all you can do.

The moment passes and you have to pick yourself up. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and get to work throwing clothes into your suitcase. You know this feeling well. The need to flee. Acting on it. Packing your things at a moment’s notice is no strange thing to you.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

You take one look at yourself in the mirror before you head back out with your suitcase.

“Ready?” you ask, rolling right past Hotch on the couch and grabbing your purse.

You hear him stand and walk over, feeling his eyes all over you. You guess this is the first time he’s seeing you out of work clothes and in leisure wear, but you don’t care.

“Were you crying?”

Your eyes betray you even as you look at the ceiling, trying to blink more tears away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“Aaron,” you say, voice small. Pleading. You look over at him and shake your head. Please. Not right now.

He nods, reaching for your suitcase. 

“I can get it,” you say, moving to stop him.

“Please,” he says, voice almost just as small as yours. “Let me.”

You back off. You aren’t sure why. But you decide to let him take your suitcase.

“You’ll need to leave your car here for now,” he says. “If he’s watching, we need him to think you’re still living here.”

“Oh, but the suitcase won’t make him think anything?” you deadpan, always eager to poke holes in Hotch’s logic when you can.

“It’s small,” Hotch shrugs, lifting it up. “And you’ll be leaving with me.”

Oh. Right. You see what he’s implying now.

“I’ll try not to look like I want to kill you, then.”

You can see Hotch’s smirk this time. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Astrology Observations 07/30/2024

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Sign Parings That Annoy, Irritate, or Eaisly Upset Each Other

Aries — Scorpio

Taurus—Pisces

Gemini— Capricorn

Cancer — Libra

Leo—Virgo

Virgo— Gemini

Libra— Taurus

Scorpio— Gemini

Sagittarius— Capricorn

Capricorn— Pisces

Aquarius—Pisces

Pisces — Capricorn

A Sentence To Describe Your Moon Sign

Aries: This too shall pass, but when it’s here I’m going to act-up.

Taurus: I don’t feel like doing that, sorry.

Gemini: Hey everyone, this is my newest fascination.

Cancer: I want to eat my favorite food and scroll through my phone.

Leo: I need as much validation as possible right now.

Virgo: Let me do it my way or I’ll have a breakdown. 

Libra: I just want to go out and have a good time, let’s vibe.

Scorpio: I’m going to sit in the dark and overthink my entire life until I feel terrible.

Sagittarius: Fuck this, I’m going to go somewhere else where I’m appreciated.

Capricorn: I don’t even feel that way. You are the problem.

Aquarius: If I was to breakdown what I feel it would be that I’m just way too smart and people can’t understand me.

Pisces: Wait, what’s going on?

Signs That Have An Instant Connection

Aries & Leo

Taurus & Sagittarius

Gemini & Sagittarius

Cancer & Pisces

Leo & Pisces

Virgo & Aquarius

Libra & Pisces

Scorpio & Leo

Sagittarius & Aquarius

Capricorn & Scorpio

Aquarius & Scorpio

Pisces & Libra

Ascendant ( Rising Sign) & How It Relates To Your Personality

Aries Ascendant: Dare-devils, risk-takers, blunt. These people are easily noticed because they always have a unique or distinctive feature to their look. Loners. In a rush type of energy. Changes hair and looks a lot.

Taurus Ascendant: Chill, nonchalant, nature-oriented, needs to be in places with nice vibes. Luxury people. Quality oriented. Into their looks and will keep up on them. Can have really soothing or nice voices to hear.

Gemini Ascendant: Talkative and chatty, great at talking to others, feels the vibe of the room before interacting. Funny and loves to laugh and make others laugh. Thoughtful in their perspectives and mindful of how they come across. Can talk with their hands a lot.

Cancer Ascendant: Reserved, polite, funny, and has a lot of stories to tell. They can take time to warm up to others but are actually very talkative. Great story tellers and generous. Sensitive, but can reserve their tenderness for people in their close circles. If they gain weight it can be in their upper body.

Leo Ascendant: Talkative, always need a friend beside them or a main person, charismatic, funny, always knows how to put that shit on ( dress well), draws attention easily ( positive or negative), think of themselves well and really enjoy compliments ( changes their whole day). People with big hearts.

Virgo Ascendant: Simple dressers, nit-picky with a lot of things ( food, hygiene, looks, items). They can look/smell something and know if they like it or not. They can be super sensitive physically and enjoy alone time. Loners as well. If they’re interested in something they really are into learning everything about it. Great talkers and can capture people’s attention when they do open their mouth and talk. They can have either defined eyes or unique ears. They also might get an upset stomach faster than others.

Libra Ascendant: Alluring, has a striking beauty about them ( usually stand out beautiful features), these are the people who will strike up a conversation with anyone, they love flirting and love getting attention. Social chameleons they can blend in many environments, a lot of people tend to like them. Sensitive and easily offended, will strive to always have good relationships with others. May be prone to getting stressed easily.

Scorpio Ascendant: Observant, fascinated, obsessive, sensitive, private, sexual, jealous. They prefer to get to know people and build unbreakable bonds. They can be very stubborn to what people say about them, refuse to give people power over their own minds and self. Chooses what to share and usually shares information when they decide. Anything can hurt their feelings but they won’t tell you that. Has a super kinky mind and can be possessive over those in their lives. Can masturbate or enjoy it a lot.

Sagittarius Ascendant: The person who always seems positive and upbeat, a pronounced smile, talkative, expressive, always down for an adventure, open-minded, loves learning and always learning something new, a huge flirt, sexual, and says things that others won’t dare to say. They can be unpredictable and tend to try new things. Strong legs or a nice ass. They can be strong physically.

Capricorn Ascendant: They can be the type of person who follows rules and behaves well publicly and get wild in their private space. Brags a lot and likes to talk about what they have or do. Always having to look out for someone else either a sibling, a friend, or family member. They can mature fast physically and look older than their age or mentally mature fast. Tend to respect their parents a lot or at least can hold their parents dear to their heart. May feel like things take more effort in their life to get or that they have to work hard for all they get. Can have very nice skin or skin issues. Serious look when not smiling.

Aquarius Ascendant: Loves to stand out, the friend who works at a non-profit, social justice warrior, or goes to protests. Scattered brain with so many ideas. They are into unconventional ways of living. Probably interested in human psychology. Probably goes through many phases with their aesthetic and interests, depending on who they’re around. Whatever race or background they’re from they may not follow their tradition/culture. They are the type to find interest in unique people and niche groups.

Pisces Ascendant: The artist, poet, spiritual person. Sensitive, understanding, optimistic, loves being around others but always needs time for themselves. Can feel as if life is too much and prefers to escape into their own reality ( hobbies, having fun and pleasure, being apart of communities away from society, drugs). Loves so deeply and willing to sacrifice, friends with all different types of people. Naive and can fall into their own demise if not grounded. Can be eternally sleepy and ready for bed.

🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

[fluentmoviequoter]

Pull This Move

0.8k+ words of chaotic Tim Bradford fluff

A/N: Have you guys seen the "when he's copying your snaps so you pull this move" thing? I saw a drawing of it with the Batboys and then this happened.

“Tim never keeps his ringer on,” Lucy muses after your phone buzzes again. “Is that a cop-to-cop thing?”

“Yeah, some people have problems with it, others don’t mind,” you explain. “I usually have mine silenced, I just forgot.”

“Do you know why Tim is off today?”

“Just needed a break,” you explain. “Have to have to a balance in a job like this.”

“And Snapchat gives you that balance?” Lucy teases as your phone chimes with an incoming photo. 

“If it’s from who I think it is, maybe,” you answer cryptically. 

“Who do you think it is?!” she inquires loudly. 

“Hold that thought, we’ve got a reckless driver ahead.”

During your lunch break, you open the new Snapchat and roll your eyes. 

“So,” Lucy says as she sits beside you. “Who is it? New boyfriend? Potential boyfriend?”

“Let’s go with really good friend,” you reply. “Who doesn’t know how to use the app and just copies my snaps.”

“Cute!!”

You hum, then think of the snap you wish to get. So, you open the app and move the phone to one side to capture your flexed bicep. Lucy gasps as you lock the screen, and you furrow your brows at her. 

“What?” you ask. 

“It is a guy! Why else would you flex to have them copy it? Tell me everything!”

“New rule, when I’m substituting as your TO, you have to talk to me like Tim.”

Lucy sighs and raises her hands in surrender when your phone chimes again. Yet, after you unlock it, she snatches your phone out of your hand. 

“Lucy!” you yell as she stands. “No, stop- listen. I will blue page you, Chen!”

Lucy freezes. Half-standing with your arm extended over the table, you exhale. 

“Give it back and I’ll- I’ll let you see the picture. That’s it, and you have to learn to respect boundaries.”

“Will you tell Tim?” she asks, blocking your phone with her free hand. 

“Not if you listen.”

Lucy nods and passes your phone back with a quiet apology. You sit, and Lucy pulls her chair beside yours. You click the red square in the app and lift a brow appreciatively at the muscled arm on the screen. There is a familiar gray shirt stretched tightly around the flexed bicep, and you hold the screen for several seconds to prolong your enjoyment of the picture. 

“There,” you say, shifting your hips to slide your phone into your pocket. “Happy, Chen?”

Lucy doesn’t answer, and you turn toward her. Her jaw drops as she stares at you. 

“What?”

“Was that Tim?” she asks. 

“Why would you think that?” you say rather than answering. 

“He wears a lot of gray shirts, and you… I don’t know how to say this without getting in trouble again.”

You cross your arms below your powered-off body cam and lean back in your seat. “Speak freely, Lucy.”

“Everyone knows you have a crush on him,” she blurts out. 

“So, a gray shirt and a workplace crush lead you to believe that Tim - officer stoic and serious - would send me a Snapchat?” you challenge. 

“Well when you put it like that,” Lucy mumbles, “it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’ll give you something if you give me something,” you offer. “I need some dirt on Lopez. Help me get that, and I’ll tell you something.”

“Done,” Lucy agrees. Then, she asks, “Wait, why? What’d she do?”

“No questions. Agree or don’t,” you reply. Lucy nods, and you say, “I’m going on a date with the guy in the picture tonight. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Will you tell me more later? If things work out and I get something on Angela?”

You stand to return to the shop and say, “We’ll see.”

Walking into your house after your shift ends, you sigh. 

“Did you actually help my boot today or just send Snapchats?” someone asks from the kitchen.

Laughing, you enter the room and lean your forehead between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades. 

“Lucy saw the picture,” you say. “It was a really good picture, though.”

“How?” he asks, holding your arm as he turns toward you. 

“She wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t tell her much, and she’s helping with our Angela problem.”

“Your Angela problem,” Tim corrects. 

“Which will become our Angela problem when she finds out that my fiancé and my least favorite sergeant are the same man,” you point out. 

“Shouldn’t have told her you were engaged.”

“I didn’t!” 

Tim chuckles, so you sigh and fall against his chest. 

“It’ll be fine,” he assures you. 

“As long as you keep showing those Bradford biceps,” you grumble against his chest. 

“Hey,” Tim begins carefully. 

You pull back and narrow your eyes at him. 

“If Angela already has an idea, and Wade knows… maybe we should ask them to help,” he suggests. 

“You want Wade and Angela to be our witnesses?” you clarify. After a moment, you concede, “It could work. She’d keep it a secret if we let her come to the wedding.”

“Not what most people think about when they’re wedding planning.”

You smile and kiss Tim, thankful that your relationship is anything but average. Most people don’t have Tim Bradford going down the aisle with them, you think.

[chansdoll]

방찬 ─── cracks in the mirror 2

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ drama ig, kinda fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ mean girl mina , chan is mean but to mina :3 ♡ synopsis ៸៸ chan confronts mina. [ part one ] a/n ๑ i messed up the format please don't laugh at me— this second part is confrontations like requested but if you guys want i’ll write a fluff scene to close the lil series ! [ 1.7k words ] ♡ masterlist

the next morning, chan walked into the company with a clear mission. mina was sitting inside a practice room, scrolling on her phone, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“mina,” chan said, his tone calm but unmistakably firm.

she looked up, surprised at the abruptness in his voice. “oh, hey, chan!” she flashed him her usual sweet smile. he didn’t reciprocate, instead crossing his arms. “we need to talk.”

mina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, adjusting her posture. “oh? what about?” he shut the door and turned to face her.

“mina, i’m going to be straight with you. what you said to y/n yesterday was completely out of line.” her brows furrowed in mock confusion. “what do you mean? i didn’t say anything wrong to her. we were just talking.”

chan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “talking? you called her ‘brave’ for being confident with extra weight. do you really think that’s appropriate?”

mina hesitated for a second but then tilted her head, trying to appear innocent. “i didn’t mean it in a bad way! i was just giving her a compliment. if she took it the wrong way, that’s on her.”

“no, mina,” chan interrupted, his tone sharper. “it’s not on her. you’ve been here long enough to know what’s acceptable and what’s not when it comes to how we treat people—especially our colleagues. y/n has done nothing but work hard, and the last thing she needs is passive-aggressive comments or veiled insults.”

mina’s expression hardened slightly, her facade cracking. “i think you’re reading too much into this, chan. maybe you’re just overly sensitive about her.”

“don’t deflect,” he countered, his voice steady but firm. “this isn’t about me being ‘sensitive.’ it’s about respect. and it’s about creating an environment where everyone feels safe and valued, not judged.”

mina crossed her arms, defensive. “fine. if she’s that upset, i’ll apologize.”

chan shook his head. “don’t just apologize to check a box, mina. think about why this behavior is a problem and how it affects the people around you. if this happens again, we’re going to have a much bigger issue to deal with.”

there’s a moment of tense silence before mina finally nodded, though her expression didn’t suggest much remorse. “got it,” she muttered, looking away.

chan sighed, his disappointment evident. “good. i hope this is the last time we have to have this conversation.”

as mina left the room, chan stayed behind for a moment, running a hand through his hair. he knew he couldn’t force someone to change, but he hoped his words would at least make her think twice before targeting you—or anyone else—again.

later in the day, you were back in the studio, focusing intently on your work. you were determined to push the events of yesterday to the back of your mind. mina’s cruel words still lingered, but chan’s support had given you the strength to move forward, even if only slightly.

the faint sound of voices carried through the hallway as you typed away on your laptop, but you didn’t pay them much attention until the door to the studio opened, and in walked mina. you glanced up briefly, then returned your attention to your work, pretending she wasn’t there.

“hey, y/n,” mina said softly, her tone uncharacteristically subdued.

you didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to finish typing your thought. then, you leaned back in your chair and gave her a curt nod. “what is it, mina?”

she hesitated, her usual confidence replaced with something resembling awkwardness. “i just… i wanted to say i’m sorry. about yesterday. i think i might have come across the wrong way, and i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you studied her for a moment, trying to decipher whether her apology was genuine or just another act. “is that so?” you asked, your tone as neutral as you could manage.

“yes,” mina said, clasping her hands together and giving you what she probably thought was a sincere look. “i was just trying to make conversation, but i think it came out wrong.”

you let out a soft scoff, turning your attention back to your laptop. “right. making conversation.”

she faltered, clearly not expecting your cold response. “i mean it,” she pressed. “i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

you gave her a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. “funny, because you seem to be really good at saying things that hurt people, mina. so forgive me if i’m not buying this sudden burst of remorse.”

the door creaked open slightly, and you noticed the reflection of two familiar faces in the glass window—changbin and han. they were leaning against the frame, partially hidden but clearly listening.

mina didn’t seem to notice. her expression shifted instantly, the veneer of sweetness cracking. “well, i was just trying to be nice,” she snapped, her tone defensive. “it’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

you smirked, though there was no humor in it. “there she is,” you said, your voice low and pointed. “i was wondering how long you’d keep up the act.”

hans’s low mutter of “oh, hell no” barely registered, but changbin's quiet snort did.

mina’s face reddened, her fake apology dissolving entirely. “you know what? maybe i was wasting my time trying to apologize.”

you leaned forward, meeting her glare with unwavering calm. “then maybe you should do us both a favor and not waste your time next time.”

she huffed, crossing her arms. “whatever,” she muttered before turning on her heel. as she opened the door, she froze, noticing changbin and han standing there, arms crossed and faces set in disapproval.

“oh, don’t mind us,” han said, his tone light but dripping with sarcasm. “we were just passing by.”

mina’s eyes darted between the two of them before she shoved past and stormed down the hallway.

changbin let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he stepped into the studio. “wow. she’s worse than i thought.”

han followed, plopping down onto the couch. “nice work.”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “thanks.”

you sat in the breakroom, nursing your coffee and trying to shake off the encounter with mina earlier. her fake apology and subsequent outburst had left you drained, though you wouldn’t let her know that.

the door swung open, and you glanced up to see chan. his jaw was set, and his usually warm eyes were stormy.

“where is she?” he asked, his tone clipped.

you blinked, startled by the intensity in his voice. “who?”

“mina,” he bit out, already turning to leave. “i heard what happened. she’s not getting away with it this time.”

before you could protest—or warn him—he was out the door, striding down the hallway. you followed hesitantly, curiosity overriding your instinct to stay out of it.

chan found mina sitting in the cafeteria, scrolling on her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world. he didn’t hesitate.

“oi, mina,” he snapped, his voice carrying across the room.

she looked up, startled, and quickly masked her surprise with a saccharine smile. “oh, hey, chan! what’s up?”

he stopped a few feet from her, his posture rigid. “cut it,” he said, his accent thicker than usual, each word sharp enough to cut glass. “what the hell is your problem?”

her smile faltered. “excuse me?” she said, her voice rising indignantly.

“you heard me,” chan said, his tone low and hushed, as if trying not to let anyone hear. “why do you keep goin’ out of your way to be such a goddamned pain in the ass?”

mina’s mouth opened and closed, clearly taken aback. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“oh, don’t play dumb with me,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’ve heard how you treat y/n. and today? you waltz in with your half-arsed apology, then turn around and throw more shade when it doesn’t go your way. are you serious?”

mina straightened her spine, trying to regain her composure. “i was just trying to be nice—”

“bullshit,” chan interrupted, his accent thick and raw. “you were bein’ a snake, and you know it. nice doesn’t look like what you do, mina. nice doesn’t leave people feelin’ like shit after every conversation. so drop the act, yeah?”

her face reddened, her carefully crafted facade crumbling. “i don’t need this from you,” she snapped. “i was just trying to help, but clearly y/n’s too sensitive to handle a bit of honesty.”

chan took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “honesty? you call tearing someone down ‘honesty’? nah, mate, that’s just you bein’ a spiteful cow. and if you think i’m gonna let you get away with it, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

mina looked like she wanted to retort, but chan didn’t give her the chance.

“you’re done,” he said firmly. “you don’t get to treat people like that and expect everyone to put up with it. especially not y/n. so unless you’re ready to actually grow the hell up, you can’t work for me, or anyone else here.”

the room was silent, and all eyes were on chan as his chest heaved. mina’s jaw tightened, and without another word, she grabbed her bag and stormed out.

chan let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair before turning around to see you standing there. his expression softened when he saw you standing there, half-hidden behind the doorway.

“you heard that?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

you nodded, your chest tight with a mix of gratitude and surprise. “yeah. you didn’t have to–”

he offered a small smile, his eyes warm again. “no, i didn’t, but.. you don’t deserve that from her. no one does.”

you walked over to him, taking in his worked up, flushed state. “are you okay?” you asked him, cautiously inching closer. he nodded, sighing. “yeah. but i already know i’m about to get scolded for talking to her like that.” he looked up at you from his fists, his gaze tender. 

you bit the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself. “do you wanna step outside, and go for a walk or something? to cool off?” 

he stood up straighter, nodding. “sure,” he grinned, showing off his adorable dimple. “after you.”

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 2 (r.c)

Summary: Rafe goes to Y/N at the bait shop and his presence is not celebrated

AN: part 2 of ‘I Know Places’ and I’m deciding to go the traditional route! I’m used to the old school way of fics so this will be fully written out and not SMAU! Though I do love how that’s on trend right now!

Previous part

The next morning, Y/N Maybank was up before the sun had fully risen, her mind too restless for sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, debating whether or not to tell JJ and the Pogues about what happened at Tannyhill. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep secrets—she just didn’t know how to explain the strange feeling of being pulled into Rafe Cameron’s world, if only for a fleeting moment.

By the time the bait shop was ready to open, she was already elbow-deep in her morning routine: feeding the live bait, checking inventory, and wiping down the counters.

Summer was here, which meant the shop would soon be crawling with locals and tourists alike, and she needed everything to be in order.

The small bell above the door jingled, pulling her attention away from the tank of minnows. She glanced up to see Rafe Cameron standing in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his usual air of arrogance replaced by something quieter.

“Hey, Pretty Girl,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Y/N quirked a brow, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. “Rafe Cameron on the Cut? You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Funny,” he replied, stepping closer. “How’s business?”

“It’s early,” she said flatly, then tilted her head. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” Rafe said, though his hand instinctively went to touch the bandage she had applied the night before. “Still aches.”

“Maybe now you’ll listen to me and see a doctor,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “What if you’ve got brain damage? You must have if you thought coming here was a good idea.”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, but his expression quickly sobered. “I need to talk to you about last night.”

Y/N set the container of fish food on the counter, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

Rafe leaned against the counter, his blue eyes scanning the shop briefly before landing back on her. “How many people did you see leave the house?”

“Three,” she said slowly, thinking back to the shadowy figures slipping through the side gate. “They looked like men, but I couldn’t see their faces. They had black hoods on.”

She watched as Rafe’s jaw tightened and his eyes clouded over, clearly running through a mental list of possibilities. It didn’t take a genius to realize there was more to the break-in than he was letting on.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now.

Rafe shook his head quickly. “No. Don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe, someone broke into your house and assaulted you. You need to tell Shoupe,” Y/N said firmly.

“I’m sure they didn’t find what they were looking for,” he replied cryptically.

“What does that even mean?”

Rafe ignored the question, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I just... I wanted to see you. And to thank you again for helping me last night.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “It’s no problem,” she said, though her voice faltered slightly. “But you should probably go before JJ finds you talking to me.”

“Do you always do what JJ wants?” Rafe asked, but there was no malice in his voice.

Y/N hesitated, his question catching her off guard. Did people really think that? “No,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just that a fight is bad for business.”

Rafe returned her smile, a rare softness in his expression. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Here. Put your number in. You know, in case I need another house call.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her instinct screaming at her to say no. But Rafe seemed... different. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been consumed by grief and arrogance, still reeling from his father’s death and struggling to take over the family business. But now, he seemed calmer—more grounded, though still carrying an edge.

She grabbed his phone and began typing her number. Her head was screaming at her to not do it, don’t give him access. But she did it anyway.

“Rafe?”

Both their heads snapped toward the dock, where Sarah Cameron was walking toward the shop. Rafe stepped back from Y/N, his demeanor instantly shifting.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.

“Thought someone broke into the house last night,” Rafe said smoothly. “I knew you parked outside when you went to that party, so I came to see if you saw anything.”

Before Sarah could respond, Y/N interjected. “I already told him I didn’t see anything. We were still at the party when it happened.”

“Someone broke into the house? Did they take anything? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned. “I’m fine. It didn’t look like they took anything. Just a window and a door I have to replace.” Rafe answered.

“I uh, gotta go, I’ll see you around.” He added, his gaze fleetingly on Y/N.

He walked past Sarah and up the dock, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t fully understand.

“Was he bothering you?” Sarah asked, stepping into the shop.

“No, no,” Y/N said quickly. “He just wanted to ask if we saw anything.”

But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe’s visit meant something more. And as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t entirely mind.

“JJ is going to freak when he finds out.” Sarah commented. “We don’t need to tell him. I’m sure Rafe came here looking for you but I was here.” Y/N quickly replied.

As Sarah stepped closer, Y/N busied herself with the container of fish food on the counter, her mind racing. She could still feel the heat of Rafe’s presence lingering in the room, and her stomach twisted at the thought of Sarah catching onto something she hadn’t even figured out herself.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms as she studied her friend.

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, hoping her casual demeanor would be enough to shut the conversation down. “Nothing.”

“Since when does Rafe come to you for answers?” Sarah’s tone was skeptical, her piercing gaze making Y/N feel like she was under a microscope. “And why didn’t he just ask me?”

“Maybe because you were at the party too?” Y/N said, raising a brow. “I don’t know, Sarah. He didn’t exactly give me his whole life story.”

Sarah frowned but didn’t press further, instead moving to grab a soda from the mini fridge behind the counter. “Still... I don’t like him showing up out of nowhere like that.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “What, you think he’s gonna rob the bait shop? Pretty sure we’re not hiding any family heirlooms in the minnow tank.”

Sarah snorted, but her expression remained thoughtful as she leaned against the counter. “I just don’t trust him, Y/N. You know how he is.”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Sarah wasn’t wrong—Rafe Cameron was trouble. He always had been. But last night, when he was bleeding and vulnerable, he didn’t feel like the same guy she’d written off.

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N said quietly. “But he’s your brother, Sarah. He can’t be all bad.”

Sarah gave her a sharp look, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re defending Rafe now?”

Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying... people can change, right?”

Before Sarah could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, and John B strolled in, followed closely by JJ, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, ladies,” John B greeted with a grin, grabbing a bag of chips from the shelf. “What’s the gossip?”

“Rafe was here,” Sarah said bluntly, making both boys freeze in their tracks. Y/N glared at her friend, eyes saying ‘why the hell would you do that?’

“What?” JJ’s tone immediately turned sharp as he walked over to Y/N. “Why the hell was Rafe Cameron here?”

“Someone broke into his house,” Y/N said quickly, trying to downplay the situation. “Wanted to know if we saw anything suspicious last night. That’s it.”

JJ’s jaw clenched, and he let out a humorless laugh. “Since when does he care about what we saw? He’s up to something.”

“Relax, J,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his arm. “He wasn’t here to start trouble. He just... wanted answers.”

“Well, he better not come around again,” JJ muttered darkly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I don’t care what he wants. You don’t need to be talking to him.”

Y/N bristled at his tone, but before she could respond, Sarah spoke up. “Let’s not make this a thing. Rafe’s gone, and he’s not coming back here.”

JJ muttered something under his breath, clearly still annoyed, but he let it go for now. Y/N, however, felt a tinge of annoyance in her chest. She loved her brother, and it was just the two of them at the end of the day so it makes sense he’s protective. But he’s not her father, she’s 20 years old, she doesn’t need her brother telling her who she can and can’t talk to.

||

The fire crackled softly, its orange glow casting warm shadows on the Pogues as they lounged in the cool evening air. John B was sprawled out on the sand with Sarah curled up beside him, their laughter intertwining as they recounted the story of JJ’s infamous fight with Topper outside the country club.

“And then Shoupe shows up, and Y/N’s out here sweet-talking him like she’s auditioning for a soap opera!” JJ exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.

“Sweet-talking?” Y/N interjected from the hammock, her tone dripping with mock offense as she rolled another joint. “I’ll have you know I was using logic and reason to keep your ass out of juvie.”

Kie snorted. “Logic and reason? You told Shoupe Topper started it and then cried about how JJ was just trying to defend your honor.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a smug grin. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

JJ grinned back, leaning over to flick sand at her. “I owe you for that one, Sunshine.”

“Damn right you do,” Y/N quipped, expertly twisting the joint closed.

The group dissolved into another round of laughter, the kind that came easy after a long day and a few too many hits. Pope was stoking the fire while Cleo leaned against him, teasing him about his terrible impression of Shoupe. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt simple—just them, the stars, and the stories they carried.

“Hey, Sunshine!” JJ called, breaking through the chatter. “Toss me one of those masterpieces!”

Y/N smirked, flicking the newly rolled joint in his direction. JJ caught it with ease, holding it up like a trophy before lighting it.

As she reached for another paper, her phone buzzed against her thigh. She picked it up without much thought, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name.

Rafe.

The text was simple but enough to tug at her carefully guarded smile.

RC: Hey, Pretty Girl.

Y/N: Can I help you, Cameron?

RC: What are you doin’?

Y/N: Currently? I’m rolling a joint.

RC: Lol, save one for me?

Y/N: Maybe.

The next text froze her in place.

RC: Just wondering, is asking you out against doctor’s orders?

Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Was Rafe Cameron—Rafe Cameron—really asking her out? She stared at her phone for a moment too long, trying to process what this meant.

Y/N: Hm, that might be bad for your health

RC: What if we don’t tell anyone?

This wasn’t the Rafe she’d known before. The old Rafe was reckless, arrogant, and self-absorbed. But now? He felt different, quieter. Something had shifted, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

RC: Did I lose you, Pretty Girl?

She glanced around the fire. Her friends were laughing, oblivious, completely immersed in the stories of summers past. Sarah was teasing John B about his failed attempts at surfing, JJ was leaning back with a lazy grin, and Kie was high enough to be softly singing to herself.

Y/N was the odd one out—always had been in a way. The one without a partner, without a storybook romance. And yet, there was something undeniable about the way her chest had tightened in Rafe’s bathroom, how she’d felt something she couldn’t ignore.

Y/N: Better plan a good date

The reply came seconds later.

RC: Is that a yes?

Y/N: It’s a yes. Don’t mess it up.

Y/N set her phone down, the smallest of smiles playing on her lips as she leaned back in the hammock.

“Who are you texting?” Kie’s voice came from beside her, making Y/N jump. Kie had slid into the hammock, her eyes glassy but curious.

“My cousin,” Y/N lied smoothly, reaching for another paper. “We need more weed, and he’s got the good stuff.”

Kie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, her movements sluggish. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Y/N froze, the lie suddenly feeling heavy in her chest. “Of course, Kie,” she murmured, though her voice felt hollow.

“You’re my best friend,” Kie continued, her words slurring slightly. “You and me, we’re a team, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, guilt twisting in her stomach.

But as Kie drifted into a half-asleep haze against her shoulder, Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to Rafe. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

[rindreamery]

yukimiya, sweet or bitter (u choose), a tight embrace and secret relationship, please & thank you ♡

ORDER 4: READY TO GO !

yukimiya + bitter + tight embrace + secret relationship w.c. 1.6k+

note. thank you minjee for proofreading <3 erm so this went way above 1k👩‍🦯 i feel like if i cut it short, the story just wouldn't sound right at all, yk?? listened to the instrumental version of toxic till the end - rose while writing this, highly recommend

interested in more? check out the lounge !

there’s nothing more disappointing than being stood up.

the feeling of being so excited to see someone again, after weeks of your schedules not lining up with one another, just for them to not follow through with their plans. without notice, of all things. you understand, in some cases— some things come up unexpectedly, emergencies, problems that are simply out of your control. but as far as you’re aware, there had been no emergency.

yukimiya had simply forgotten all about your date. again.

this would mark the third time, at this point. which was so weird, so unexpected, and so out of character for someone like him. he was nothing short of practical; he was always organized with his time, and any and every event would always be marked down on the calendar in his phone. set with an alarm, a calendar widget added onto his lockscreen, and everything. 

you glance at the clock on the wall, and you sigh to no one in particular. it’s late, hours past the time he had agreed to come over. the food on your dining table had long gone cold, the candles had been blown out and the smoke had fizzled out, and you’ve changed out of your nice clothes into something more comfortable. you sit on the couch in absolute silence, your apartment still, and you stare out the window. 

the city outside is buzzing with the usual hum of nightlife, and you can hear the distant chatter and laughter as people whizz by. people on their phones talking, people with their friends, and people with their significant others. it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite name. jealousy? discontent? or are you simply just sad? you’re not quite sure. 

you’re about to get up, about to pack up the food and save it for yourself to eat another day, when a rapid series of knocks at your door pulls you out of your thoughts.

for a second, you stand there, unmoving. you chew on the skin of your lips as you contemplate opening the door— you know who it is, but truthfully, you’re unsure of whether you're in the mood to really talk to him. a second passes, a tick of the clock rings somewhere in the silence, and then another knock to your door. you walk, despite your best judgement, and you take your time opening it.

you crack the door open, only a little, and a sliver of yukimiya comes into view. 

“i’m so sorry,” he apologizes, words tumbling out of his mouth and rushed, and he sounds as if he were out of breath. beads of sweat line the crown of his forehead, his bangs are slightly matted to his skin. “i swear, i promise, my manager sprung something on me, last minute.”

you stand there, hands gripping onto the doorknob, as you take in his disheveled appearance— his typical polished, put-together demeanor crumbling right in front of you. for the first time, since you’ve known him, yukimiya looked genuinely distressed. his mouth was opening and closing repeatedly, desperately searching for the right words to say, and you can see a glint of pleading swirling in his eyes. but the words never leave his mouth, and all you’re stuck with is his rushed apology. 

“please,” he finally speaks again, “please, open the door. let me in, please.” 

you don’t, not yet.

you’re disappointed, angry, sad, all at the same time— you feel it all as one emotion, deep in your heart, and you want to shout at him. you want to open the door and shove him back, to give him a piece of your mind, and let him feel the weight of the constant disappointment. three dates worth of waiting, having hope that things might finally change, and then realizing that it won’t. 

but you stay calm, eerily so. “you’re late,” you tell him instead, voice flat and quieter than you intended. though, even to your own ears, it sounds more sad than anything. he flinches slightly, despite your hushed voice. “third time, yukki. this is the third time.”

“i know,” he mutters, “and you didn’t deserve that.”

at least you’re aware, you respond back in your head, but you don’t say it out loud. a silence falls between the two of you, thick and suffocating, and you both stand on opposite sides of your door. he doesn’t move, he doesn’t try to shove his way into your apartment, but he simply keeps a hand on your door. just there, yet somehow, so invasive. 

you’re just not sure what hurts more: the fact that he keeps forgetting about your dates, or the fact that you’ve begun to expect it. you’ve already started bracing yourself for the feeling of disappointment each time, somewhere in the back of your mind nagging you that your hopes would be crushed by the reality of his busy life. 

the life he just doesn’t seem to be able to make room for you in. (the life he keeps you far, far away from.)

"please, just open the door." with a heavy sigh, you swing the door fully open. there, the two of you stand, facing each other, unsure of what to say. 

you press your lips together, your mind swirling with all the things you want to say, all the frustration you’ve bottled up. and you end up talking before you think, “another modeling gig.” his shoulders tense at the words, and the way his eyes flit away for a second tells you all you need to know. “and you couldn’t say no, again. even though this date was planned two weeks in advance, and you ended up choosing a modeling gig over me. again.”

the words sting as they leave your mouth.

"i know, i’m sorry. i don’t know what else to say," is all he could say, his voice barely audible, and his apologies repeat like a broken record, "just, i’m sorry."

you want to demand more from him, more than just an empty, repetitive, half-assed apology. but before you can, he steps forward, closing the distance between you, in one swift motion.

you don’t step back. you don’t move at all.

when his arms wrap around you, your arms stay stuck to your sides. his embrace is tense, desperate even, in the way his arms tighten around you at the lack of response. you feel everything he feels— you can feel the way his heart pounds against his chest that’s pressed to yours, you can feel the way his fingers curl into your hair as he pushes your head deeper into the crook of his neck, and his ragged breath that fans against your ear as he buries the side of his face into your hair. for a split second, you find yourself losing to yourself, melting into his touch against your will. 

you can feel the apologies, you feel his regret— as if he’s hoping this hug would say everything he can’t put into words. but it doesn’t fix anything. it doesn’t change the fact that he’s failed you again.

it’s hard to ignore the fuzzy feeling of having his arms wrapped around you once again, the feeling of being shielded from all of your problems. but it’s even harder to ignore that feeling of fear that you’ll always be second to everything else in his life. his jam-packed schedule, spontaneous modeling gigs that he just can’t seem to say no to, and his fans who aren’t even aware of your existence— all who come before you. you’ve tried to be understanding, to be patient, but the neglect has finally worn you down. 

“we can’t keep doing this,” your words are muffled by the skin of his neck, his hand on the back of your head keeping you close to him. "i can’t do this anymore, yukimiya."

silence. 

your words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, you’re unsure of whether you've even said them out loud. but the shift in yukimiya’s grip—his body stiffening, his breath audibly getting caught in his throat, his hold on you faltering momentarily—tells you that he’s heard you. loud and clear. another beat of silence, and you realize the two of you will never get anywhere like this.

you take this chance, this moment of weakness, to put some distance between you two.

you find the resolve to rip yourself from his arms, hands pressed against his chest as you finally push him away. “i think—” and your voice cuts out as you swallow heavily. but you’ve made up your mind, and you continue. "that maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

his arms reach out for you again, but this time, you step back. "i’ll change," he pleads with you, his eyes searching to meet yours, "i’ll tell everyone about us, i’ll make sure my time is all yours. i’ll even quit, if you told me to." and you know, deep down, that he would. 

you look at him, and the part of you that still (inevitably) loves him aches at the sight. "you know i would never ask you to do that for me, yukimiya," you tell him, shaking your head. "and i should never have to ask you to change, you know."

and yukimiya knows, you’re not wrong.

still. he stands on the threshold of your apartment, unwilling to leave, not wanting to leave. but with a gentle shove of your fingertips against his chest, he steps back. and with that, you move to close the door between you, a “goodbye,” slipping past your lips, before the door clicks shut.

© rindreamery, 2024

[untoldstar]

Your writing is addictiveeeee. Can u do ur ocs reaction to being cheated on by reader? Im so down bad for jesse 😫 hes just a lil guy who wants to be loved! Sue me!

The yanderes reaction to you cheating on them

Thank you smmm🫶 but fr I’m down bad for Jesse as well even tho he’s a lil psycho🫠

I can make a part two for the rest of the oc’s if anyone’s interested I just usually go for these oc’s because they’re the most popular and seem like a common favorite.

warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere themes, murder, stealing appearance and changing appearance (not reader), nsfw content, imprisonment, keeping reader locked up.

find out more about these characters here.

Ava (yandere best friend)

She’d go off the rails. She’ll cry and sob her heart out. she won’t talk to anyone except for you. Her phone is filled with missed calls and worried messages from her family and friends. Everyone gets so worried they start showing up at her apartment door but she’s too busy crying into her pillow waiting for your call or to hear your sweet voice outside her door.

She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Just please please don’t leave her.

Even if you already moved on and decided to be with your partner she’s still stuck on you and obsessing over how to get you back.

She’d go over every detail of the physical traits of the bitch you cheated on her with and tries to match it. What did you even see in them? they’re nothing compared to her!

Doesn’t matter. She’ll do whatever it takes. She’ll go as far as dying her hair, getting new piercings if they had any, changing her makeup, changing her entire wardrobe.

You’re absolutely mortified when she shows up at your doorstep looking like your partners lost twin.

Theo (yandere boss)

All his past paranoia will come right up to the surface. He’s always wanted to lock you up so no one would look at you so. No one would breathe your air. He didn’t want anyone to have the pleasure of even looking at you.

And you’ve finally given him a reason.

He has you cooped up in his mansion with no way of getting out. You’re always watched and monitored. Most of the week he’s working from home to be around you. Clothing you, feeding you, bathing you. He won’t let you out of your sight for a single second.

And every time you ask about your partner he’d smile softly and tell you to not worry about them. They don’t mean anything to you anymore.

Because they’re not here anymore.

Warner (rich yandere)

He can never be angry with you. No never~

But he will give you the punishment you deserve.

And he has certain methods for punishment like having you tied up to his bed and leaving you all alone in a dark lonely room with a vibrator strapped to your cunt.

You’re not truly alone of course, he’s always watching you with the cameras he set up.

Howw else is he supposed to stop the vibrator right when you’re about to cum?

Other than making you struggle for his forgiveness he also has to keep you busy while he gets rid of your little problem. He’s hurt people for you before and certainly has killed them but he’s never gotten to this level of cold blooded torture.

He spills their blood while in a trance like state, he’s absolutely drenched in their blood and the scene is gruesome enough to have his body guards who have seen many similar things while working with him not withstand this particular scene.

But you won’t know any of it, you don’t have to. They’re a distant memory by the time he’s back home in brand new clothes and looking as sharp as ever. Some of that rage is still simmering under that cool exterior though so he’s not quite finished with you yet.

Yandere bully

You’re not even in a relationship the guy tortures you on a daily basis! but he saw you get all blushy and smiling while another guy was teasing you in the hallway.

You never blush when he messes you what the fuck is that about?

That’s as good as cheating in his delusional mind.

He starts clinging to you everyday even more than before. Scowling and glaring at any guy who passes you by like a guard dog. You’re too focused on his asshole behavior to notice that you haven’t even seen the guy since.

You’ve heard students around you murmuring about a student who’s been in such a bad accident that he can’t even walk anymore. So many broken bones, swollen flesh, he might have even gotten a brain injury. Poor thing can’t even come to school anymore.

You never made the dots…

bonus! Yandere tentacle monster

Nom.

Let’s not forget this guy is an actual monster the second that guy gets on top of you on the bed he has already devoured him.

He walks toward you with an icy expression while wiping the blood off his mouth not paying any mind to your mortified expressions.

“You could’ve of at least brought a proper meal pet. That tasted absolutely terrible. I’d much rather eat you instead~”

the person reader cheated with knowing they’re absolutely fucked no matter who the oc is:

[gothamite-rambler]

Bruce Wayne sat in bed, awake, counting sheep, currently at five hundred.

Bruce (gritted teeth): 501 stupid sheep, 502 stupid sheep, 503 stupid sheep... Who came up with counting sheep? This doesn’t work!

Hatman (Australian accent): The repetition and countin' make you bored and annoyed enough to fall asleep. Doesn’t work for everybody.

Bruce looked around his room, darkness surrounding him until he saw a tall shadowy figure wearing a wide-brimmed black fedora.

Bruce (stammering, confused): Who… what… who are you?

Hatman: Me? I’m the Hat Man!

Bruce blinked a few times, checked his pulse, slapped himself in the face, and confirmed three times that he was still awake. The hat man waved with his shadowy hand.

Bruce (of all the things he could ask): How are you talking when you're just shadows?

The hat man’s shadow shrugged. Bruce decided that asking questions about how a shadowy man wearing a fedora with a Kiwi accent was real was rather pointless, especially since he was living in Gotham, knew Constantine, and was friends with Zatanna.

Bruce (asking instead): Why are you in my room?

Hatman: I invade people’s rooms and stand in one spot to scare 'em. I’ve been followin' ya for a few years. Ya just haven’t seen me 'til now, so that’s nice.

Bruce (raising an eyebrow): Nice is an odd word to use in this situation. When did you… first appear in my life?

Hatman: Remember wettin' the bed 'til ya were thirteen?

Bruce (mortified): Yes.

Hatman: I started around that time, and ya got used to avoidin' sleep and probably thought I was in ya head. I usually like to feast on people being scared of me, it’s a tasty little meal, but ya always intrigued me.

Bruce: Seeing as my sleep is worse than an insomniac’s, I could understand that. Plus, I’m Batman.

Hatman: Wow, you do say that as a defense. Let me try, why do I like to stand in the darkness of a room? I’m the Hat Man.

Bruce (approving nod): It works.

Hatman: Thanks!

Bruce: No problem… Fedora Man. Um, are you going to attack me or drain my life force? Because I’m not in the mood for that.

Hatman: Nah, that’s not what I do. I just stand here.

Hatman cleared his 'throat'.

Bruce: That’s it?

Hatman: Yeah… and scare people, feast on your fears and nightmares. Most of that is caused by me standin' here. I’ll head out in a few minutes.

Bruce (accepting this, since it’s not the worst thing he’s dealt with): Yeah, okay. I owe Clark a hundred bucks. Are you one of those sleep paralysis demons?

Hatman: Mmm. Yeah and no.

Bruce: And I owe Diana two hundred bucks and a phone. Thanks for that.

Hatman: Hey, mate, it’s not my fault ya made poor bets. Mind if I ask some questions that’ve been on my mind?

Bruce: Questions from a shadow formed into a guy wearing a fedora? Sure, go ahead.

Hatman: Did ya hear McDonald’s brought back the chicken tenders?

Bruce: I had no idea. I don’t usually eat at McDonald’s. Some of my kids, who I hope you’re not haunting, enjoy that fast food. Are they good? I… asked the man with no mouth.

Hatman: One of my clients has been eating them like crazy. Says they’re the best. I won’t disclose if your kids are ones I watch.

Bruce: One of them looks similar to me, with a white streak in his hair.

Hatman: Jason? Yeah! He tried shootin' me once, nice kid, otherwise.

Bruce: Good to know. Got any other questions?

Hatman: Do they actually make the mcnuggets from pink slime?

Bruce (resigned to having a bizarre conversation): No, that’s a rumor. McNuggets are gross to me, but most of it’s real chicken.

Hatman: You would look down on McNuggets, rich kid.

Bruce: That’s not... Why does everyone say that? I like certain items on the artery-clogging menu, the nuggets aren't one of them. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation, but the tenders were actually pretty good when they were first on the menu.

Hatman: Yeah, mate. Try them when you go and tell me what you think.

Bruce: I will, possibly remember that... Hat Man. How much time do you have left?

Hatman: Five minutes. This has been cool chattin' with you. You’re just as interestin' as I hoped.

Bruce (prideful tone) That’s to be expected. Any other questions?

Hatman (talking quickly): A few that you can answer quickly, Batmite?

Bruce: Finally left me alone.

Hatman: Selina or Talia?

Bruce: Selina, but I did love Talia.

Hatman: Does that clown fellow know ya Batman?

Bruce: Yes, but he pretends I don’t know he does.

Hatman: What’s your favorite thing in the Star Wars films?

Bruce (eager): Okay, this is complex, I can explain in the next five minutes.

[christopherisfoive]

Cold Burn (Chapter 4)

!idol reader x Seungmin; enemies to lovers

Word Count: (It literally won't let me move it from here lol)

Note: I wrote this super late last night and tried to edit my best but sorry if there are any mistakes, going back to drafting on docs because tumblr hates me. It has been a long week. Thank you for reading, I appreciate it <3 (it will eventually make sense i promise)

Masterlist

The city was alive with the midday rush, bustling streets and flashing signs lining every corner. It should’ve felt freeing after being cooped up in venues and hotels for the past few weeks, but even with the fresh air, I still felt off.

I adjusted my mask, letting my hood cast a shadow over my face as I followed behind my group.

It was supposed to be a day off.

But my mind was still playing back every mistake I’d made on stage during the tour.

I should have been enjoying this break. But instead, I was still holding onto every mistake, every moment that made me feel like I was losing control.

And then, like perfectly timed chaos, I heard it—the sound of cameras clicking.

Whispers turned into excited calls.

I instinctively pulled my hood lower, keeping my face neutral as the others started interacting.

A group of fans and paparazzi had spotted us, and before I could even process it, they were already approaching fast.

"Oh my god, it’s Stray Kids and Stellar!" one girl squealed, phone already out.

The energy shifted immediately.

Han, Hyunjin, and Leah engaged easily, smiling and waving. Bang Chan answered a few quick questions, even as security started stepping in to maintain a barrier.

Then came the actual questions.

"Y/N! Can you talk about your solo stage? People said it didn’t seem like your usual energy!"

"Is it true you don’t like performing live?"

"Are you okay? You seemed out of sync in the last show!"

I ignored them.

I always ignored them.

Instead, I kept walking, keeping my gaze forward, shoulders tense under my hoodie.

That was all it took to shift the crowd’s mood.

People started stepping in front of me, blocking my path, shoving phones and cameras in my direction.

The excitement turned to pushy persistence.

"Why won’t you say anything?"

"Y/N, just one word for your fans?"

I clenched my jaw and sidestepped them, but it was too late.

Someone moved in too close.

Before I could react, a fan—a girl, maybe late teens, wearing a hoodie with our group’s name on it—stepped right into my space.

"Why do you always ignore us?" Her voice was sharp, demanding.

I took a step back, my pulse spiking. Too close. Way too close.

She didn't stop. "Other idols talk to their fans. What’s your problem?"

Before I could respond—before I could even process how uncomfortable I felt—she lifted her phone closer to my face, snapping a photo at point-blank range.

I barely kept my composure, my breath hitching as I turned away sharply.

Security finally stepped in, blocking her as one of our managers started ushering us forward.

But the damage was already done.

I could already hear the murmurs.

"What’s wrong with her?"

"So rude."

"Seungmin would never act like that."

And of course—there he was.

I glanced up just in time to see him smiling effortlessly, answering questions, personally greeting every fan that came up to him.

Easy. Natural. Everything I wasn’t.

I could already feel his judgment from across the crowd.

To him, I probably looked like the worst kind of idol.

What he didn’t know was that I had my reasons.

And I wasn’t about to explain myself to him.

The second we finally got away from the crowd, I could feel the weight of the encounter still pressing on my chest. My steps were quick, my head down, but I could still hear the lingering whispers, the judgment heavy in the air.

I wasn’t sure if it was my own overthinking or if they were actually talking about me, but it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done.

As we turned the corner onto a quieter street, I felt someone fall into step beside me.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You could at least pretend to care."

I exhaled sharply, barely sparing Seungmin a glance before looking ahead again. "Not in the mood, Seungmin."

"Oh, I know," he said, voice casual but laced with something sharp. "You’re never in the mood, right?"

I clenched my jaw. "Drop it."

But of course, he didn’t.

"Seriously, what’s your deal?" He scoffed. "You act like it’s such a burden to interact with people who support you. The rest of us can handle it just fine. Why is it so hard for you?"

That did it.

I stopped walking, turning to him with narrowed eyes. "You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Don’t I?"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "Not everything is as easy as you make it seem, Seungmin."

"No," he agreed, "but being decent to the people who made your career possible isn’t that hard."

The words hit me harder than I expected.

I had spent years learning how to brush off the criticism, how to let things roll off my back.

But for some reason, hearing it from him—someone who already thought the worst of me—made my blood boil.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You don’t get to judge me."

"Then give me a reason not to."

The challenge was clear in his expression, in the way he refused to look away first.

I had so much I wanted to say.

But I knew it wouldn’t matter.

Not yet.

So instead, I just exhaled sharply and turned away, continuing forward.

"That’s what I thought," Seungmin muttered behind me, before falling back into step with the others.

I didn’t look back.

But the anger sat heavy in my chest, burning quietly.

-

The hotel lobby was quiet, save for the occasional footsteps of staff moving around and the faint sound of music playing from the lounge area. Most of the others had already gone up to their rooms or found their own ways to unwind after the long day.

I had planned to do the same.

Instead, I found myself sitting in the corner of the lobby, scrolling through my phone, letting the harsh glow of the screen burn into my eyes.

I knew I should’ve put it away.

I knew I shouldn’t have been reading any of this.

But my fingers kept moving, my screen lighting up with headlines, forum posts, and brutal opinions dissecting everything about me.

"Y/N is proof that visuals matter more than talent in the industry."

"Best 4th Gen Dancer my ass."

"She’s not even the best in her group—why does she get so much attention?"

"I heard she got her spot because of connections, not skill. Makes sense why she’s so stiff on stage."

"You really think she made it this far just by ‘working hard’? LMAO, be serious."

My stomach twisted, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.

The accusations weren’t new—I had heard whispers like this for years. But somehow, seeing it laid out so blatantly, with thousands of likes and shares, made it feel heavier.

Worse.

Like no matter what I did, no matter how much effort I put in, there were still people who would never respect me.

I barely noticed when someone sat down in the chair across from me, but I did feel the weight of their stare.

"You still look at that stuff?"

I flinched slightly, my thumb freezing mid-scroll.

I glanced up to see Jeongin, leaning back in the chair across from me, arms crossed.

I quickly locked my phone, shoving it onto the table. "It’s nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

His voice wasn’t accusing, just matter-of-fact.

I sighed, running a hand over my face. "Just people talking. Same as always."

Jeongin didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, watching me like he was waiting for me to be honest.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head. "You know none of that’s real, right?"

I let out a small, dry laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Jeongin frowned, his usual playfulness gone. "Y/N."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, but my chest felt tight.

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now.

So I shrugged. "It’s fine. Doesn’t matter."

Jeongin studied me for a second longer before pushing off the chair, leaning forward to grab my phone.

Without asking, he flipped it face-down on the table.

"Then stop looking."

His tone was soft but firm. A simple statement, not a suggestion.

I swallowed, my fingers twitching slightly.

Jeongin sighed, his expression less teasing than usual, more serious. "Don’t let them win, Y/N."

And with that, he stood up, walking off toward the elevators.

I sat there for a moment, staring at my phone, my reflection faint in the dark screen.

I should’ve let it go.

But the words were still burned into my mind.

And I wasn’t sure if I knew how.

-

The burn in my throat started a few nights ago. Subtle at first, just a scratch that I figured would go away with enough water and rest.

Except, there was no rest.

Not when we were on back-to-back schedules, traveling city to city, rehearsing between shows, barely enough time to breathe, let alone recover.

I pushed through like always.

Now, standing in the middle of the rehearsal room, sweat clinging to my skin, I felt off.

The usual ache from training felt heavier today, my limbs sluggish, my breath coming shorter than it should have.

I rolled my shoulders back, ignoring the way my vision blurred for half a second.

I was fine.

Across the room, Jeongin watched me.

I caught the way his brows furrowed slightly, the way his gaze lingered as I moved through the choreography.

I knew that look.

I ignored it.

"Let’s go again," Chan called out, already stepping forward to reset the formation.

I exhaled sharply, steadying my stance, locking my body into position as the music cued up again.

But the moment I took my first step, I felt it.

The slight dip in my balance, the way my head felt lighter than it should have.

I corrected it immediately, moving into the next beat as if nothing had happened.

But Jeongin saw.

And so did Seungmin.

I felt his gaze before I even turned his way, a glance quick enough to catch the way his expression flickered—something almost unreadable flashing across his face.

For once, he didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the room or my own body turning against me, but every time we restarted the routine, my chest felt tighter.

I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs, willing my body to cooperate.

I couldn’t stop now.

Not when I had spent the last few weeks feeling like I was slipping. Not when people were already questioning whether I deserved to be here.

I needed them to see me succeed.

So I kept going.

Even when my legs felt heavier than they should have.

Even when my head felt like it was filled with static.

Even when I knew—knew—I was moving on sheer willpower alone.

I felt the weight of Jeongin’s stare first.

He wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore—I could see him watching between reps, his usual easy-going expression replaced with something more cautious.

But he didn’t say anything.

Neither did Seungmin.

I caught his gaze in the mirror, just for a second.

He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed just slightly.

For once, there was no smirk. No sharp remarks.

Just quiet observation.

I ignored them both.

I had to.

The music started again, the pounding bass vibrating through my body, rattling in my chest.

I moved on instinct, letting my muscle memory carry me through—each step, each transition, each sharp hit of the beat.

But something was off.

I felt it before I saw it.

The moment my foot landed wrong, I knew. The angle was off, the weight uneven. My body moved a fraction of a second behind my mind, and suddenly—

I was out of sync.

Just for half a beat.

But in this world, half a beat was everything.

I immediately corrected, snapping into place, but the mistake had already happened. I could feel the eyes on me.

Someone spoke. "Y/N, what was that?"

I blinked, chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

My mind scrambled for a response, but the words weren’t there.

I wasn’t fully there.

"I—" My voice sounded strange, distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Across from me, Ari’s gaze sharpened.

She saw it.

But she didn’t get the chance to say anything.

I sucked in a breath, forcing my posture straight, willing my body to hold itself together.

"Let’s go again," I said quickly, pretending nothing happened.

I needed to shake this off.

I needed them to see me succeed.

Even if my body had other plans.

The music thundered through the speakers, vibrating through the stage beneath my feet.

I kept moving. Kept pushing.

Every step felt heavier, like my limbs were fighting against me. My skin was damp with sweat, but I felt cold.

It was getting harder to breathe.

The stage lights burned hot, casting everything in a hazy glow. The air felt thick, each inhale tighter than the last.

And then—

The misstep.

The dizziness.

The moment my body finally gave out beneath me.

The floor rushed toward me, the sharp gasp of someone nearby cutting through the ringing in my ears.

The music stopped.

Someone called my name.

I barely heard them before everything faded to black.

The moment my body hit the stage, everything exploded into chaos.

The music cut off instantly.

Footsteps—rushed, frantic—pounded against the stage floor as voices overlapped in panic.

"Y/N!"

"Someone get the staff!"

I felt hands on me—someone kneeling beside me, another hand brushing my hair back, the fabric of my sweat-soaked clothes sticking to my skin.

I was aware of it all, but everything felt distant. Like I was watching it happen from the outside, my limbs too heavy to respond.

"Is she breathing okay?" Ari’s voice was the sharpest, her usual calm cracked with pure fear.

"She’s burning up," Leah’s voice trembled. "We need to get her offstage—now."

Someone lifted me slightly, supporting my upper body. The movement made my stomach turn, a weak groan escaping before I could stop it.

"She’s conscious," Jeongin said quickly, relief barely masking the tension in his voice.

A shaky breath. My lips parted, but no words came out.

Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of Seungmin standing a few steps away.

Frozen.

For the first time since this tour started, he looked…unsure. His usual sharp eyes were wide, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

But I couldn’t focus on him.

Because my head was spinning, my skin was on fire, and the weight of every mistake, every moment I ignored my body’s warning signs, had finally come crashing down.

And now?

I wasn’t in control anymore.

The coolness of the backstage area barely helped with the heat radiating off my skin.

I felt cold and hot at the same time, my limbs too heavy, my breathing uneven.

Voices blurred together.

"Her temperature is high."

"She needs fluids—has she eaten today?"

"She’s completely burned out."

I tried to speak to tell them I was fine, but my throat felt raw. The most I could manage was a weak, halfhearted shake of my head.

"Don’t try to talk," Ari’s voice was there, close, softer than before. "They’re just checking your vitals."

I swallowed, eyes flickering open.

The faces above me were blurry, shifting in and out of focus. A few staff members kneeled beside me, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead, speaking in hushed tones.

Ari, Leah, Jeongin, and Lee Know were still there.

Lee Know stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

I tried to sit up, but the second I moved, my head spun.

A sharp inhale.

Lee Know was faster than Ari this time, pressing a hand to my shoulder and easily keeping me down.

"Not happening," he muttered. "Just rest, okay?"

Leah crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I knew the truth would only piss them off more.

Before I could gather enough strength to argue, the managers arrived.

Their voices were firm, no room for negotiation.

"She’s not performing tonight."

The words hit like a slap, and suddenly, the heaviness in my body wasn’t just from being sick.

I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pounding in my head as I looked between them. "No. I can still do it."

"Y/N," Leah warned, eyes flashing with frustration.

But I wasn’t listening.

I turned to the managers again, pushing past the ache in my limbs. "I’ll be fine by showtime. I just need—"

"You just collapsed on stage," Ari cut in, arms crossed. "There’s no debate. You’re sitting this one out."

No.

No, no, no.

I had spent weeks proving myself, clawing my way through every performance, every mistake, every doubt.

I wasn’t losing my spot now.

"I can do this," I tried again, my voice hoarse. "I just—"

"Oh!" A voice interrupted, and I didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to.

Mira.

She strolled into view, faux concern plastered all over her face, hands clasped in front of her. "If she can’t go on, I can step in."

The air shifted.

For a split second, nobody spoke.

Then, one of the managers nodded. "That could work. You already know the choreo."

My stomach twisted violently.

Mira turned to me, her smile oh-so sweet, but her eyes telling an entirely different story.

"Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll take good care of your part."

I felt numb.

The room was still spinning, but the real sickness sat in my chest.

I should have fought back. I should have said something.

But the moment Mira tilted her head, smiling like she had won, everything inside me just… shut off.

I went blank.

Ari’s head snapped toward Mira, eyes narrowing. "You’re really volunteering that fast, huh?"

Mira turned to her, expression perfectly innocent. "What do you mean? Someone has to do it."

Ari’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t buy it. I could see the irritation tighten her jaw, the way her hands fisted at her sides.

She wasn’t the only one.

Lee Know, who had been mostly quiet until now, finally spoke.

"You sure you can handle it?" His voice was flat, unreadable, but there was something pointed underneath.

Mira smiled wider. "I mean, it’s not that complicated, right?"

Ari let out a sharp breath, like she was physically stopping herself from saying something she’d regret.

Lee Know just stared at Mira for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he turned to me.

"Y/N."

I blinked, but I couldn’t force words out.

What was I supposed to say?

Mira had already taken my spot.

Nothing I said would change it now.

So I just looked away.

-

The moment Mira stepped away from me, I could already hear her faking concern as she walked over to the others.

"Guys, change of plans," she said, voice just loud enough for me to hear from where I sat. "Y/N isn’t performing tonight, so I’ll be taking her place."

The reaction was immediate.

Kat’s face twisted in confusion. "Wait, what? Since when?"

Mira sighed dramatically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Since about five minutes ago," she said. "The managers agreed, and I already know the choreo, so it just makes sense."

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered toward me, his concern obvious. "And Y/N’s okay with this?"

Mira didn’t even hesitate. "Well, she didn’t argue."

Ari scoffed. "Yeah, because she’s half-conscious."

The room tensed.

Mira only shrugged, smiling just a little. "Either way, we should start getting ready."

Lee Know, who had been watching the whole thing in silence, finally spoke. "Just don’t mess it up." His tone was neutral, but his expression wasn’t.

Mira’s smile didn’t falter. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got this."

And with that, she turned away, ready to steal the show.

I barely registered the conversation.

I barely felt anything at all.

Because the second they all turned away, the second I was left sitting backstage, my chest tightened in a way I couldn’t control.

I blinked up at the ceiling, forcing back the burning in my throat.

I had lost my spot.

After everything I had fought for—**after every moment I forced myself to push through, to prove I was worth something—**I was still replaceable.

And the worst part?

Mira was making sure I knew it.

My hands curled into fists, nails pressing into my palms. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the feeling of failure from swallowing me whole.

I had fought so hard.

And it still wasn’t enough.

-

By the time the show started, I was watching from the wings, still too weak to stand on my own.

The lights hit the stage, the energy buzzing through the arena as Stellar performed without me.

And then, it happened.

Mira did my move.

Not just any move—my signature move. The one I had created, the one I had made my own.

The audience cheered like nothing was wrong.

Mira beamed.

And I?

I felt sick for a whole new reason.

The energy backstage was still buzzing, staff members congratulating each other, the usual post-show adrenaline filling the space.

But I wasn’t part of it.

I sat off to the side, still too weak to stand properly, watching as everyone came back from the stage.

And Mira?

She made a beeline toward me.

She tilted her head, still in full makeup and costume, wiping sweat off her brow like she had just saved the whole show.

And then she smiled.

"That was fun," she said sweetly. "I mean, I wouldn’t want to replace you permanently or anything, but… I did fit in pretty well, don’t you think?"

She let the words sink in, let them cut.

Then, with a final smirk, she turned and walked off.

And I sat there, feeling like I had lost everything.

I needed to get out of here.

The post-show energy, the voices, the flashing lights from the screens playing encore footage—it was too much.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my legs wobbled beneath me.

Leah and Ari noticed immediately, their heads snapping in my direction, but I didn’t give them time to stop me.

I kept my head down and moved, weaving past staff and dancers, making my way toward the private restroom backstage.

My hands were trembling by the time I pushed the door open.

The second it closed behind me, the weight I had been holding in collapsed all at once.

I braced myself against the sink, sucking in sharp, uneven breaths.

Everything hit me at once.

The exhaustion.

The humiliation.

The sharp, suffocating feeling of being replaced so easily.

A ragged breath tore from my throat, and I gripped the edges of the sink, my vision blurring as my chest heaved.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t—

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

My stomach twisted.

For a second, I thought it was Leah or Ari coming to check on me.

But then—

"Y/N."

I went rigid.

Because that wasn’t Leah.

Or Ari.

Or anyone I would’ve expected.

It was Seungmin.

I gripped the sink harder, willing my breaths to even out, willing myself to stay silent.

Maybe if I didn’t answer, he’d take the hint and leave.

Seconds passed.

Then—

"I know you’re in there."

His voice was calm. Not sharp, not teasing—just even.

I clenched my jaw, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes. Flushed skin. The complete opposite of the image I was supposed to keep up.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat.

Silence.

Maybe he’d take that as an answer.

Then he spoke again.

"So that’s it?" A slight shift in his tone, like he was testing the waters. "You’re just gonna sit in there and pretend nothing happened?"

My fingers twitched against the cool porcelain.

That’s exactly what I was going to do.

Pretend this wasn’t happening.

Pretend I wasn’t falling apart.

Another pause.

Then, softer this time—"You don’t have to pretend with me."

Something in my chest tensed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the sink even harder.

Why was he still standing there?

And more importantly—why did it sound like he actually meant that?

A long beat of silence stretched between us.

I refused to move. Refused to speak.

But Seungmin wasn’t leaving.

Instead, he let out a slow exhale, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, less guarded.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this."

Something in me flinched.

His tone wasn’t mocking, wasn’t sharp—just honest. And that somehow made it worse.

He shifted outside the door, and I could almost picture him standing there, arms crossed, debating what to say next.

"All this time, you’ve acted like nothing gets to you. Like you don’t care what people say." A pause. "But you do, don’t you?"

I sucked in a quiet breath, my grip on the sink tightening.

"You care too much."

Another pause.

Then—"That’s why you don’t fight back."

My stomach twisted.

Because I hated how close to the truth that was.

I stared down at my reflection on the floor, my own exhausted eyes staring back at me.

And still, I didn’t say a word.

Seungmin shifted again, like he was about to say more—then stopped himself.

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice dropped to almost a murmur.

"You know, you’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this."

I blinked.

My breath hitched just slightly, but I caught it before it could be heard.

I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say, but… not that.

Something in his voice was different now.

Less sharp.

Less detached.

More like he actually… understood.

I swallowed, my chest tightening with something I couldn’t place.

And yet—I still said nothing.

I heard him shift once more, but this time, he hesitated.

Then, after one last pause—I heard footsteps.

He was leaving.

But somehow, it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to face.

The room was quiet again.

No more footsteps.

No more words.

Just me.

I stayed where I was, back pressed against the cool tiles, knees pulled up to my chest.

My breathing had finally evened out, but my mind was far from calm.

Seungmin’s voice still echoed in my head.

"You know… I thought you were stronger than this."

"That’s why you don’t fight back."

"You care too much."

I wanted to ignore it. Pretend like none of this happened.

But I couldn’t.

Because somehow, for the first time since this tour started, Seungmin didn’t sound like my enemy.

And that thought alone terrified me.

I exhaled, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, just thinking.

Minutes passed—maybe longer.

Eventually, my legs felt steady enough to move.

I pushed myself up, straightened my hoodie, and finally unlocked the door.

The hallway was empty now.

No one waiting.

No one lingering.

And yet, as I stepped out, the weight of what just happened still clung to me.

The venue had mostly cleared out by now—staff moving equipment, dancers heading back to their dressing rooms, the energy finally settling after the chaos of the night.

Seungmin was off to the side, stretching out his shoulders, his expression unreadable.

Jeongin had been watching him for a while.

And he was done staying quiet.

He stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "I know what you’re doing."

Seungmin barely glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

Jeongin let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "You and Mira. You’ve been messing with her this whole time."

That got Seungmin’s attention.

His expression barely shifted, but Jeongin knew him too well to miss the way his jaw tensed.

Still, he played it cool. "You sound paranoid."

Jeongin huffed, not buying it for a second.

"You think I didn’t notice?" He tilted his head. "The mic feedback. The ‘accidental’ positioning mistakes. Mira shifting in formations just enough to throw Y/N off. You might think you're being slick, but I see it."

Seungmin’s hands curled into loose fists.

But Jeongin wasn’t finished.

"And tonight?" His voice lowered. "You let Mira take her spot. You watched her steal Y/N’s move. And you didn’t say a thing."

Seungmin’s eyes flickered, but he kept his face carefully blank.

Jeongin took a step closer. "Tell me this, hyung." His voice hardened. "At what point does it stop being funny?"

Silence.

For a moment, Seungmin didn’t respond.

Then—"It was never funny."

Jeongin’s brows furrowed. "Then why?"

Seungmin exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t answer.

Because maybe—for the first time since this started—he wasn’t sure anymore.

Why had he gone along with Mira’s games?

At first, it was easy. It was just harmless frustration, just a way to get under Y/N’s skin—because she annoyed him, right?

That’s what he told himself.

But now?

After seeing her collapse on stage, after watching her lose everything she worked for while Mira stole her place without hesitation?

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure who the real problem was.

Taglist: @victoriaaf @mirophobic @minhosprettywife @peskybirdysya @littlewolfieposts