#it's been a minute and i was surprised how much i could remember

[strwberri-milk]

heyyy, could i request lads men forgetting readers birthday or anniversary? hurt comfort pls 🥹

You understand that Zayne's job is incredibly important and you would never hold it against him for forgetting these dates but you also know that you're still going to feel hurt no matter how much you rationalise it. You woke up that morning, knowing that today should have been a special day, that he remembered to book it off months in advance and the two of you would be together.

When you see him getting ready for work you feel your heart drop, watching silently as he puts together his lunch and grabs his things. He doesn't notice you're up, thinking that you're still asleep and you take that opportunity to run back into bed and feign sleep again. You'd feel awful if you let Zayne go to work worrying about missing something this important so you decide it'd be kinder to just let him go to work in peace.

It's not until he looks at his schedule after a complicated surgery right from the moment he got into work that he realises what day it is today. He feels awful about it, immediately trying to figure out what surgeries he could offload onto the others so he can try and get home to you as soon as possible. Thankfully, all the other staff are emphatic about his situation, assisting him in getting home as soon as he can.

Thankfully, he's usually prepared in advance when it comes to gifts so he doesn't have to buy you anything last minute. He does make it a point to go and grab you a bouquet as well as some little treats/snacks of all your favourite things. When he comes home he finds you curled up in bed, trying to cheer yourself up. He hates how he made you feel and silently slides in behind you, holding you tightly as he whispers that he's sorry for forgetting about you. He promises that he'll make it up to you another night when the two of you are free, promising an evening at a restaurant you love while he currently placates you with the food and flowers he brought.

Xavier was so exhausted that he accidentally slept through the plans that the two of you made. You didn't even know it happened until you reappeared from the bedroom, watching him sleep peacefully on the bed. You can't bring yourself to wake him, sighing as you move to tuck him in.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, sitting up with a jolt as he realises that he missed your date. He rushes to bed only to find you dead asleep, dried tear tracks on your face. The sight breaks his heart, and he immediately starts making plans to try and fix his mistake.

When you come home one evening you're a little panicked because you can't see anything. You reach around blindly, trying to find a light switch to turn on some light in the pitch black darkness. confused when you realise you can't move the switch. You're about to call for Xavier when he makes his presence known beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to the living room. You're expecting to run into your coffee table but you're confused when you don't, kneeling on the ground as he counts down after covering your eyes.

You hear the click of a button and he uncovers your eyes, showing you the room illuminated by seemingly hundreds of little stars. You look around in surprise by the assortment of fairy lights and stars, a little surprised as you realise you're also sat in front of a meal comprised of your favourite takeout.

He gives you a heartfelt apology, promising that he didn't do it on purpose and he's felt awful about it the entire time. He promises that he'll clean all of this up after the two of you are finished. He doesn't want you to take on any of the stress about this at all, pampering you in extra gifts as an additional apology.

Rafayel is amazing whenever it comes to remembering important dates. His life revolves around you so that's why you find it so odd that the day comes and goes with absolutely no fanfare. It's so out of character that you literally gaslight yourself into thinking that you had the dates mixed up, mentioning it to him offhandedly how it's so weird that you thought yesterday was your anniversary but maybe it actually wasn't. Your birthday is an entirely different scenario though - you just tell him that it's okay if he's too busy to do anything and hopefully you can do something next year.

Rafayel is devastated, internally falling to his knees and sobbing while externally all you see is him humming thoughtfully. Internally he's trying to figure out what the hell happened for him to have dropped the ball. He's so panicking, pulling out his phone to book reservations at the fanciest restaurant he can think of and paying an exorbitant amount of money to do so. He also has so many gifts for you that at this point, he could just pull from a pile he has hidden in his home, telling you that you can have this for now because the main event is coming at your dinner reservation.

It doesn't take you long for you to realise that he actually kinda did fuck up and totally forgot about it when you hear him talking to Thomas about how he can't take on any projects at all because he's busy trying to make sure you don't hate him for forgetting a major event. You end up asking him about it right then and there, basically confronting him about why he forgot. He promises you it wasn't intentional and that he just had so much fun preparing for the even that he fully forgot to actually carry through with his plans.

He ends up making it up to you in bed. You mope and pout and bury yourself underneath the luxurious sheets and refuses to let him in. He basically just lays on top of you, burying his face into your neck and begging for forgiveness. You refuse to give it to him that easily, deciding to make him mope and pout more. He holds you tightly, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as he tells you he'll make it up to you by giving you his credit card. You jokingly tell him that's more than enough before getting serious and telling him how upset you are. He swears it won't happen again and to his credit, it never does.

Sylus couldn't get out of a previous commitment, mentally noting that it was a special day and aiming to follow through with absolutely no problem. Unfortunately, his meeting dragged and by the time it finished he had even more things to do which left you standing in his bedroom, dressed extravagantly for a missed reservation.

You cry to yourself quietly in the room as you get yourself undressed for the evening. It doesn't really hit you until you're laying in bed in your pajamas, staring up at the ceiling as you tell yourself that he didn't mean to do it on purpose.

He comes in as you're crying, listening to your soft sniffles. When you go quiet in hopes of attempting to convince him you weren't just sobbing your eyes out he feels even worse, quickly putting two and two together. He realises what he just missed, looking back at his phone and seeing the reservation cancellation.

He immediately scoops you up in his arms. You try to resist him at first but falter when your body settles into his familiar warmth. He coos at you, whispering apologies into your ear. You want to tell him too little too late but you also know that he never would want to see you crying like this, especially not because of him.

He holds you all night, telling you that you can ask him for anything and he'll make it happen for you. He already does but the guilt of this weighs on him so heavily that he knows that no matter what stands in his way, he won't let it stop him from giving you everything that you want. He also makes sure that it doesn't happen again, wanting you to feel like you could always trust him. If he lost your trust on top of that he'd never forgive himself, telling you that you're everything to him.

[kizzfolio]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

피원하모니ㅤㅤㅤfem!reader, non-idol au, est relationship, skinship, kiss, fluff, scenarios ‹𝟹 proofread !! 979wc

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ──── how piwon would show their love for you

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlikes and reblogs are appreciated <3

꒰ yoon — keeho ꒱ㅤㅤ(기호) . keeho would show his love with words, conversation would be the basis of your relationship. he knows you better than you know yourself, he remembers everything about you, from your favorite ice cream flavor to the brand of your conditioner. if there's anyone you can lean on, it's him, you understand each other beyond words. you're like each other's pillar,

he comes home with a bag of snacks for the two of you to share, too concerned about your well-being when he realizes that you've spent the whole evening too focused on studying for a test, "you know me so well," you say, munching on the food he brought for you, keeho ruffles your hair and you hum in disapproval, raising your head to look at him with narrowed eyes. "if you don't take care of yourself, i will personally babysit you."

꒰ choi — taeyang ꒱ ㅤㅤ(테오) . theo would never say what his love language was until he realized that spending so much time by your side was the answer. he would dedicate his time to walks, moments alone and conversations. the bond between the two of you would be built through small moments together. if you needed him, he would be here. he would be like your home, feeling comfort in your arms.

enjoying each other's company was what you usually did, counting the minutes that passed in silence, your body close to theo's while he dedicated himself to learning a new song on his guitar, your fingers between his strands of hair, caressing him until you suddenly stop, it took two whole minutes for theo to notice and look curiously to know the reason, smiling when he found you sleeping soundly.

꒰ choi — jiung ꒱ㅤㅤ(지웅) .   jiung would love to show his love through meaningful gifts and surprises. he would be the boyfriend who, when you were shopping, would ask if you liked something so he could buy it for you, and also, whenever he was out alone and saw something he thought you would like, he would make sure to buy it to give to you later.

"what do you think?" he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looks at the small pendant hanging over your collarbone through the mirror. it was shiny and you knew it had been an expensive gift. "it's so pretty, ji." he kisses your neck, you admire the gift in your reflection in the mirror that seemed to shine under the dim lights of the room, smiling at how sweet he had been to consider buying something so expensive just for the pleasure of gifting it to you.

꒰ hwang — intak ꒱ ㅤㅤ(인탁) .  intak would be so affectionate with you, he wouldn't be able to stay away from you for long. every day he spends with you is like magic and all the time together is cherished, he's always just a phone call away. even if you had just seen each other, he would miss you before you even said goodbye. in the kisses and hugs, your comfort is guaranteed in his arms.

"what's wrong?" you ask between a giggle as you feel intak's arms wrap around your figure in a warm and tight hug, pulling you closer until your back is pressed against his chest. he buries his face in your neck, sighing deeply, as if he wanted to engrave the scent of your perfume in his memory. you were getting ready to leave, but neither of you wanted to leave the other's side. he leaves a little kiss on your neck, mumbling softly for you not to leave him yet. "stay a little longer." he murmured, tightening his embrace as if with one slip of his hand you would disappear. 

꒰ haku — shota ꒱ ㅤㅤ(白翔太) . i believe that soul wouldn't talk much about his feelings, not being a very verbal person, he shows through actions and small gestures how much he likes you. patience and understanding are the key to a relationship like yours, people with quirks and habits that other people find strange understand each other more. being with soul is like finding your space, where you feel like you belong.

"it's so cold today, i feel like i could freeze." you chatter, curling up under the soft blankets next to soul who doesn't even seem to be affected by the cold that was happening tonight, just listening to your complaints. he smiles before getting up, mumbling that he'll be back in a few minutes. what seems like an eternity until he comes back with two mugs of hot chocolate for you to drink while watching doraemon. 

꒰ kim — jongseob ꒱ ㅤㅤ(종섭) . jongseob would be the boyfriend who would take care of you, you wouldn't even need to lift a finger because he would always be there to help you. from getting a pot from a high shelf to an important job, something he would help you with without even thinking twice and would do to see a radiant smile appear on your face. the feeling of being loved by jongseob is like the feeling of coming home after a tiring day, like a cold night where the only thing that can warm you up is being in his arms.

“ah, i forgot my coat at home.” you say as you feel the draft hit your body as you step out onto the street, making a shiver run down your spine and hug your own body. you weren’t far from home yet and could go back to get it. “i’ll be right back-”   before you could say anything else, jongseob took off his jacket, he was wearing a sweatshirt underneath so he wouldn’t be cold. “i knew you would forget.” he says with a smile, passing the jacket over your shoulders for you to put on. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ@kizzfolio

[writingdevil]

Hii! Hewwo!!! Finally got the courage and an idea to get here haha. First of all I wanted to thank you for Tongues and Teeth. Like, really, big thanks. This fic got me through a pretty bad illness, and I found myself waiting for every new chapter. And, well, of course, it was an indirect reason for me even being here... I really enjoyed reacting on your fic in tags, and that, in fact, gave me the courage and impuls to post my own stuff. As for a prompt... Slay the Princess is happening at night, but rarely someone appreciated the stars. But they still were there. And in post-Tongues and Teeth they are there, too. I just thought it would be interesting to touch some voices' feelings and opinions when they are just stargazing. It could be about any voice really, or any group of voices, maybe you'll even explore them all - I would love to see it anyway :> Have a great day!!!

(Oh my God,you're so sweet!Thank you for liking my fic that much-I never expected people to actually be invested in my story.I'm really sorry that you were going through that illness,but I'm so touched that my story helped you get through it.I always love seeing your reaction to my fics-it's one of the things I look forward too!I love your idea and I hope you enjoy this,and that you have an amazing day!)

(This is post Tongues and Teeth)

It wasn't often that Contrarian liked to be still.He much preferred to be doing something that pissed one of the others-mainly Oppy-off.He liked keeping everyone on their toes,not knowing what he was about to do next-and no,he's definitely still not bitter from Oppy calling him predictable.Why would you think that?

But tonight,Contrarian was honestly happy to just relax with his flock,and stargaze with them all.

He couldn't remember who's idea it had been, probably one of the softer ones like Hero or Smitten,but eventually they all found themselves sitting out on the roofs of their bird houses at night, gazing up at the stars.

Contrarian never noticed how pretty the night sky was.Or did he ever even get the chance to,back in the Construct?Either way,it was nice to just chill out,take it easy,and look up at the stars-

"I don't see the appeal of this."

Well,not everyone felt the same way.

Contrarian chuckled,looking down at Cold,who was lying on his back and staring up at the sky in boredom.Cold hadn't seen the point in stargazing, but had still allowed Contrarian to drag him up here,and he had been silent ever since.

Contrarian had a feeling that Cold wouldn't particularly like this one activity,even if everyone had come out.He leaned back on his hands and asked,"No?You don't think the stars are interesting and cool to look at?"

"They're lights in the sky."

"Yeah,but do you think they're pretty?"Cold hummed in thought,before looking away as he replied,"You could certainly call them mesmerizing, if you were poetic enough."Contrarian snorted, knowing for a fact that Smitten has definitely described the stars as exactly that before.

"Mesmerizing doesn't equal interesting though," Cold quickly added,and Contrarian sighed,sitting up properly to tuck his knees under his chin."Yeah,I thought you'd say that,"he said,hoping to hide his disappointment in his voice.

He wasn't sure if Cold caught it or not,but he shrugged and looked back up at the sky."It was nice for a few minutes,but it doesn't make me feel much."

"Well not everything has to be about feeling something grand and overwhelming."He caught the flash of surprise on Cold's face,and then Contrarian's smile fell into a regretful frown.

This felt like a weird conversation to have,especially considering that himself and Cold were the known mischief makers of the flock.Contrarian just liked to do things that were fun,and his realm of fun had gotten a whole lot bigger now that they had their own bodies.

Cold was in that same boat,in which he could freely got out and find things to do that could potentially get rid of that numbness in his chest.The two of them spent most of their days discovering every fun thing that they couldn't before,not with that annoying Echo keeping them trapped.

He glanced back down at Cold,only to find him staring up at the sky with an empty look in his eyes. To anyone else,you would think that that was just Cold's natural expression,but Contrarian's been around him long enough to pick up the slight bitterness in his eyes,and he immediately felt bad.

He knew Cold had trouble with going about life without wanting something to make him feel something.He knew that in some ways-getting their own bodies had been harder to achieve that, because now Cold was responsible for everything that his body did.

What he chose to do,to hear,to experience,was all up to him,and sometimes his body and mind couldn't handle it.But the only reason it was difficult,was because the Decider wasn't here anymore.It was easier to want to feel something new,and block out anything that he deemed unimportant,when the situation involved whether to slay another person or not,and the horrifying consequences of it-all while hiding behind another greater being.

Contrarian sighed,then looked around at the other houses near them,and said,"I know this isn't your usual brand of fun and excitement."Cold just hummed in response,still not looking at him."But I think taking a moment to chill and relax is nice too."

"Easy for you to say,"Cold said,"you can be entertained by anything,and boredom can be easily fixed.You're not as...rigid as I am."Contrarian shrugged,looking back up at the stars."You never know until you try."

Cold huffed in quiet amusement,and Contrarian watched as his wings twitched and spread out and in-a surefire way to tell that Cold was getting restless,and was about to leave.

But Contrarian didn't want him to go.He wanted to be able to enjoy the loud and the quiet moments with Cold,without Cold feeling like it was pointless.

So he squinted up at the starry sky,until he grinned playfully,scooting closer and leaning down to whisper into Cold's ear.He pointed up at the sky and quietly said,"You know,if you squint,you can kinda see Skeptic's grumpy face in the sky."

Cold was confused for a few seconds,before he chuckled lightly,and Contrarian grinned in victory. Cold now had a soft smile on his face as he gazed up at the sky."You'll turn anything into a joke,won't you?"

Contrarian giggled,leaning away from the other bird now."Yeah,why not?Nothing's fun if everything's so serious all the time."

"But eventually even clowns get tired at telling jokes all the time."

Contrarian froze at Cold's empty words,before quickly turning to face him,and his heart twisted in guilt-something that didn't happen a lot,at the subtle sad look on Cold's face.

He thought Contrarian was getting bored of his own ways?He thought that stargazing meant that he was getting dull?

Contrarian would be offended if he didn't think this wasn't deeply hurting Cold,no matter how much the icy one would try to deny it.He thought that he was losing the one flockmate that could understand the way he thought and operated, leaving him an outcast in his own flock.

That wouldn't do.

Contrarian sighed loudly,then casually threw an arm over Cold's shoulders,which meant that his body was half bent down to even manage that,and even then,his arm was actually just circling the top of Cold's head.

He stayed in that position for a few minutes,until Cold eventually asked,"What are you doing?"

"I'm just-taking the moment in."

There was a small pause,before Cold then asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well,"Contrarian began,"it's such a nice night out, and it's rare that we're all doing something that isn't eating or having a meeting.I just wanted to take this moment in."

"Why would you bother with 'taking it in'?You could have moments like these all the time,and they'll just replace the last memory."

"Yeah,"Contrarian agreed,"but nothings gonna beat the first time you went stargazing with your whole flock." There was a fondness in Contrarian's voice that had Cold looking up at him curiously,but Contrarian took that moment to look up and around at the rest of his flock.

"There's just something-special,about moments like these,and it makes you want to stay there for as long as possible."

Contrarian's gaze went straight to Hero,who was giggling as he watched Hunted preen Stubborn's wings,and the preening appeared to be making Stubborn sleepy,to the point that he was struggling to keep his eyes open while laying on his chest. Hero smiled at them fondly,and started to pet the feathers on Stubborn's head.

Contrarian smiled at the sight,then his gaze drifted to the far left of them,where Smitten and Skeptic seemed to be utterly transfixed by the display of stars in the sky.Contrarian watched as Smitten excitedly pointed up at the sky,blurting out what was sure to be some sappy,poetic mess,looking over at Skeptic with pure glee in his eyes.

Skeptic actually looked quite calm and relaxed in this moment,matching Smitten's passion with a more calmer enthusiasm,gesturing up at the night sky and talking just as much as his counterpart was.

It was funny to imagine the conversation they must be having-a mix of lovey-dovey mush and innocent curiosity-but it also sounded very sweet.

"What's the point of dragging out something special?"Cold asked,"It's just going to make the moment boring more quickly."Contrarian made a noise of uncertainty."I don't think so.There's always something interesting to pick out."

He glanced over at their right,where Paranoid and Oppy were huddled close,talking quietly to themselves-probably the most unexpected and fascinating friendship to come out of this whole thing.

Paranoid-or Jitters,as Oppy loved to call him-was hugging himself for comfort,and had an anxious look in his eye as he spoke to Oppy,who was giving him his full attention,completely ignoring the illuminating sky above them.

Then Oppy smiled,in a way that Contrarian knew was hard for the other to easily do without fear,and softly draped his wing around Paranoid's shoulders, who's tense body instantly melted at the gesture, face wiped clean of stress,as he instead smiled and gave Oppy a grateful look.

Contrarian's attention was quickly snatched by the duo not too far away from them-Broken and Cheated.Broken had tucked his knees under his chin and looked to be in complete awe at the stars above him,and Contrarian wondered if he had found a new love to worship and submit to.

But then he saw the way that Cheated's attention was in no way on the stars-but instead on Broken. He was resting his arm on his knee,his cheek in his hand,and he had the most fond and lovestruck look that Contrarian has ever seen-that he truly believed that Cheated could give Smitten a run for his money.

He giggled and finally looked back down at Cold, who didn't seem so upset anymore,but instead was struggling to understand Contrarian's words."I don't get it,"he finally admitted,and Contrarian made a quick,sweeping gesture at their flock and said,"I'm just saying that-maybe this moment isn't for right now."

"What?"

Contrarian sat up properly again,and Cold was quick to copy him,determined to understand. Contrarian looked back up at the twinkling stars and said,"Maybe this moment is purely to look back on,to remember the soft times that made you happy.Maybe-maybe these are moments to make you feel warm in the future,whatever that may be."

Contrarian quickly glanced at Cold,suddenly feeling embarrassed at having talked so much without it sounding like a joke."I-I just like the thought of that as well.At being able to sit still,and still have good memories to look back on,with the rest of you weirdos."

He refused to look back at Cold,just waiting for the other to poke fun at or dismiss what he said.He couldn't decide what would be worse.

But then Cold hummed softly,scooting closer to nudge him with his wing."I suppose,"he quietly said, and Contrarian risked a quick look,"that you can sort of see Skeptic's grumpy face."

Contrarian froze,before he burst out laughing,and he even heard Cold's light laughter join in.

It ended being a perfect memory for Contrarian to cherish forever.

[mjrtaurus]

"Where's my other grandma?"

Gabe asks Crocodile this one day when they're reading together in the drawing room. He really shouldn't have been surprised. That particular query was bound to come up at some point, especially since Urpi's been dropping by. If this were a few months ago, he might have shut down or snapped at the boy, but Crocodile is not keen on repeating that mistake. But he also can't lie to his son.

"She passed away, hayati. She's been gone for a long time"

"Oh," he's quiet for a bit as he absent-mindedly tugs at the carpet for a minute "Did someone make a clone of her?"

Croc has to take a deep breath at that. It's not Gabe's fault in the slightest, but they really need to sit him and Gryphon down at some point and explain that regardless of what the Vegapunks cook up in their labs, cloning is not an undo-button for death. There are things and people that truly are lost for good. But that's besides the point.

"I highly doubt it. She died a long time ago and wasn't someone the World Government would have taken notice of ("at least not for that reason" is what's left unsaid)."

"Oh... what was she like?"

Hell if he knows. His mother perished before he had left the haze of infancy, and in a way that was slow and torturous. Of course he doesn't tell Gabe the last part but he's honest once more about being just as in the dark on the details as his son. Well, he did know some things.

"She had hair like mine. And there were patches of her skin that glimmered like jewels. I think they might have been fishman scales"

"Like ours?"

Ours? What could he possibly mean by that?

When he asks, Gabe climbs up on the couch and lifts his shirt sleeve so Crocodile can see the tiniest little patch of lime-green scales growing right under the transparent tube of green blood.

"You have some on your neck next to your bumpies. I saw them when you were carrying me to bed last night. We match! 😊"

(Gabe calls scutes 'bumpies' and I just find that really cute)

“… What… happened to her, Baba?” It’s asked cautiously. There’s something in Gabe that’s always felt uneasy and upset when thinking about this branch of the family tree. He can’t place it, but it all just feels sad.

And maybe that’s why he’s asking about it.

What can Crocodile even say? How can he even explain?

“Hayati… you know how Tayta loves me? How he’s there for me if I’m hurt or sick, or even if it’s just to be there?” Okay, strong start. Let’s hope the comparison he’s setting up actually works.

“Yeah?” Gabe says expectantly, star-bright eyes wide.

“My father- not Pops, just to be clear- wasn’t like that for my mother. He was… not nice to her. Did bad things to her. And to me. He… didn’t love either of us.” He spoke carefully, riding the line between not wanting to sugarcoat and not wanting to distress.

“When I was four, she got very sick… and he wouldn’t help her. One night I feel asleep next to her, and when I woke up… she didn’t. I never even knew her name.” He remembers the rattle of her breath, how her scales and scutes slowly but surely lost their iridescent luster, how her hair had thinned. How still she was… too still…

Gabe looked at him as if what he was saying was the most alien thing he’d ever heard. Crocodile lays a kiss on his brow, and holds him close.

The silence is heavy, but Gabe’s tears haven’t come just yet. He can tell from the quiet that his son is putting pieces of some bigger picture together.

“…Is that why Vang covers his eyes?” The boy asks, resting his head on his father’s shoulder. He sounds… sad.

“It’s part of it…” Crocodile sighs, carding his fingers through starlight silver hair. “Though not all.”

There’s more to Rocks D Xebec than being a horrible partner and father. Much, much more. But for tonight, that’s enough to chew on.

To divert the conversation, he looks over the little scutes and scales that had cropped up on Gabe’s arm. They were new. Very new. Possibly the cause for the irritable streak the child had been having these last few days. And the voracious appetite.

They are very uniform and healthy, like little plates of bright green armor. Crocodile remembers how his had come in a little wonky, with plenty of uneven edges. He takes it as a comfort, knowing Gabe was far healthier and happier than he had been at his age.

Come to think of it, Crocodile’s had only come in when he was sixteen. He imagines early life malnourishment and eventually running out of puberty blockers had something to do with it.

“They itch when they come in, don’t they?” He asks, scarred lips turned into a lopsided smile.

“They feel like feathers, ‘cept more.”

[skeilig]

i am on my knees begging for more info about the kieran-jeremy beef...

oh boy, i used to dream of asks like these.

so a lot of it just me reading into things (bc i think a basically harmless beef btwn 2 costars who did good work together is fun and spicy lol) but most of it stems from the original, infamous new yorker profile of jeremy. of the cast's remarks, most people read kieran and brian's as being the harshest. brian ofc had doubled-down on his issues with jeremy's method since then (see the "method acting masterclass" bit from fallon), in a way that is kinda extra and cringe imo. the kieran-jeremy beef is more subtle and unspoken and therefore classier (and kieran is sexy and funny so he can do whatever he wants).

some of kieran's remarks in the new yorker profile i think have been a bit misinterpreted. for instance, he was quoted saying that jeremy's method "doesn't work" for him, which is kinda ambiguous. is he saying that jeremy's approach to acting inhibits his own ability to work OR is he saying that jeremy's method wouldn't work for him personally if he were to try it. i lean toward the latter. the worse parts of the article imo were just cringe-fodder, such as kieran and jeremy's disagreement about whether the show is a comedy, and kieran speculating that jeremy prepares improvisations for set, and he repeated one such "improvisation" ("rooting-tooting good time for all the family!" which made it into the climactic scene in austerlitz) in so many takes in a row that it began to grate on other cast members, until sarah snook snapped at him in character and said "SHUT. UP. KENDALL." kieran sharing this anecdote definitely is NOT flattering to jeremy. i can see how from another actor's pov, when you're encouraged to improv on set, and how vulnerable and intimidating that can be (kieran struggled with improv at first but grew to excel at it!), it could break the trust on set to have one actor not playing by the same rules.

in a later profile of kieran (i wanna say GQ but i'm not gonna cite sources sowwee), he was asked to reflect on the jeremy profile and his remarks that caused a lot of buzz. his response was cordial but he basically just quickly shut it down and the journalist editorialized that "maybe he's learned to keep things to himself." which i think may be the case!

ever since then, i've just noticed the many times when kieran has conspicuously failed to mention jeremy. in a pre-s4 profile, there was an account of their last day of filming, which was the scene between the 3 siblings in the kitchen in barbados. after they wrapped, kieran made a speech and apparently profusely thanked and poured love onto sarah snook (as he should!). it was not stated whether or not he addressed jeremy, his other scene partner for this last scene. he might have, but it was not confirmed one way or another. and then there's just his many acceptance speeches (the emmys being the most recent) where he names other lead cast members but does not mention jeremy at all, even when they have been nominated in the same category (a bit strange, i'll admit!).

so in conclusion this is just me speculating for fun. it's not a big deal, i don't think either is in the wrong or a bad person or anything. it's a personality mismatch but they were still able to do amazing work together (kendall/roman scene in the finale is sooo cwazy). it's just kinda funny when a lot of popular tv shows are very invested in the "we're all a family and love each other" image for their cast/crew, to see a show that's very well made but has some obvious interpersonal tension. reminds you that interpersonal conflict is not bad and evil which is something i think a lot of people forget, lol.

EDIT BC I FORGOT: sometime during s4 there was an interview where it came out that roman's rant at the end of s3's episode "too much birthday" was at one point cut from an early draft of the script and kieran fought to have it added back in, and he stated that it was his favorite roman scene. he also stated that jeremy disagreed with the scene being in the episode. which is just a funny thing for him to add. like, yeah jeremy didn't want the scene in the show.. but daddy jesse agreed with me 😁

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

[pastelclovds]

thinking about giving some relief to your stressed husband before he has to attend an important meeting with his colleagues later in the afternoon…

you’re awakened by the shower of gentle kisses from your neck and face provided by none other than your own darling husband. your gaze softens when you notice that desperately hungry look in his eyes. then, when your eyes travel downward, you were pleasantly surprised by the sight of your husband’s naked body. the sunrise shone through your bedroom window, basking your husband in a golden light. he looked near damn ethereal.

you greedily took in his meaty thighs, toned arms, rock hard abs, and his useless, thick, leaking cock. sometimes you wondered how in the hell you were able to marry a hunk like him. you could distinctly remember that your husband had many admirers in his life who would give anything to be able to have a chance with him.

you felt pride bubble in your chest knowing that none of them would ever be able to see your husband like this: looking down at you with pleading eyes, not even having to say a word to let you know what he wanted. for you to fuck him like a cheap whore until your bedroom stank of sex. how could you deny your baby when he’s been good for you all week long?

“you look so pretty on top of me baby, mhm, move your hips just like that,” you praised as the grip of your husband’s quivering legs tensed around you as he raises his hips until just your tip is inside him before plopping down, his skin slapping sinfully against your cum stained pelvis; evidence of your previous rounds that your husband was so desperate to keep inside him as it continued to leak out with every frantic movement of his hips.

“yer cock feels so good, i needed this so much— ah!” he gasped when you grab hold of his waist and snapped your hips up to match the pace of his feverish riding. you could hear the tear of fabric beside your head as your husbands claws at your pillows, his breathless moans increasing as you continue to plow into his hole.

“oh fuck yes! please go faster, i’m so close,” your husband begs so beautifully as he rest his forehead beside your neck, he pants against your ear as his climax creeps closer. the final straw for him was when you wrap your fingers around his girth and stroke him along with your erratic thrusts. he muffled his whine by biting into your shoulder as he added more to the white mess of your abdomen. overstimulation cuts him like a knife as you continued to use him until you quickly follow suit and you slam balls deep into his ass and fill him with warm cum.

you husband lays flat against you like a puppet without strings as you both try to catch your breath. he lifts himself from your shoulder to stare down at you with so much tenderness. only you had the privilege to see your husband in such a mess. a mess that you had created to perfection.

you felt yourself grin as your husband starts to slowly ride you again, making your cock harden just minutes after your previous session. your handsome man was just as greedy as you. if not more.

ghost, gaz, soap, price, miguel, choso, sukuna, vander, jayce, gojo, geto, ur fav characters <3

[hoshifighting]

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. 

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.” 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[rafecameronssl4t]

Out of my league || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: Fans have always speculated that Drew was dating someone until he confirmed it in an interview. After digging through Drew's socials, fans stumble upon you, a Yale law student.

Warnings: age gap (r is 23)

Word count: 515

A/n: my absolute dream to study law at Yale, Oxford or Edinburgh 😔😔

MASTERLIST

"Omg!" Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the message from your sister, her excitement practically radiating through the screen. Without hesitation, you tap on the link she attached. It directs you to a fresh, two-minute interview of your boyfriend, Drew, from the red carpet premiere of Queer. The video had been posted mere minutes ago, and your curiosity piqued as you hit play.

The clip begins with Drew stepping confidently into the spotlight, his tailored black suit fitting him perfectly, exuding effortless charm. His neatly styled hair and sharp features gleamed under the intense glow of the camera flashes. Seeing him like this—a star in every sense of the word—made you pause, a proud smile spreading across your lips.

The interviewer, a charismatic host with a warm smile and infectious energy, introduces Drew before diving straight into the conversation. Her tone is laced with both admiration and curiosity. “Drew, you’ve been receiving such incredible praise for your performance in Queer. Tell us, how was the filming process? What was it like working on such a powerful project?”

Drew’s face lights up, his passion evident as he responds. “Oh, it was an amazing experience,” he begins, his deep, smooth voice carrying a sincerity that draws you in. “Getting the chance to work under Luca’s direction and alongside Daniel was an absolute honour. The cast and crew brought so much energy to the set—it really felt like a family by the end of it.”

He pauses briefly, a soft smile gracing his lips, before adding something that makes your breath catch. “What made it even more special was having my family visit during filming. And my girlfriend…” His eyes momentarily shift, a small but noticeable fondness in his expression. “She took some time off from university to spend a couple of months with me on set in Italy. That support meant the world to me.”

Your heart swells with warmth, a mix of pride and affection bubbling to the surface. Drew rarely spoke about his personal life publicly, but when he did, it was always with the kind of sincerity that made you feel like the luckiest person alive. Those two months in Italy had been unforgettable, the perfect escape from the stress of your law studies at Yale.

The interviewer lets out an audible gasp, clearly surprised by Drew’s candid revelation. “Wait, you have a girlfriend? This is definitely news to us.” Drew chuckles softly, nodding. “I do. She’s brilliant. Balancing law school while putting up with me can’t be easy and honestly, I think she's out of my league.” Drew chuckles. Who is this mystery woman? How could someone possibly be out of Drew’s league?

The mystery only fuels the frenzy, and it doesn’t take long for determined fans to track down your Instagram account. Your page, once a space where you documented your life, was now flooded with notifications. Followers pour in by the thousands, combing through your posts for any clue about your connection to Drew. Fans are both shocked and delighted. You’re not what they expected, but in the best way.

y/n_y/l/n just posted a story!

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by drewstarkey and 2,937 others

this months dump!

view all comments

yourfriendsusername: 😍😍

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: ily!!

yourfriendsusername: uh oh, ur getting famous…. remember me pls!

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: sorry, who are you 😂

user1: omg so this is Drew’s gf? SHES GORGEOUS

user2: damn she’s hella smart huh?

↘️ user3: DUH SHES IN YALE STUDYING LAW

user4: eh she’s mid

↘️ user5: studying law at one of the ivy league’s is far from being mid lol 😭

user6: she’s been posting him for so long now, how have we only just found this out 😂

user7: so she’s pretty, she’s smart, and she’s bagged Drew Starkey? Damn girl.

user8: now how has she done that

~

drewstarkey

Liked by y/n_y/l/n, madelyncline, jonathandavissofficial and 9,208,102 others

yeah my gf is cooler than me.

view all comments

y/n_y/l/n: Alexa, play Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey 😄

↘️ drewstarkey: volume up, Alexa!

madelyncline: she’s such a smart cookie 😝

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: come see me again gf 😔

↘️ madelyncline: yes ma’am!

jonathandavissofficial: ya’ll cute

↘️ drewstarkey: ur cute

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: what’s going on here?

user1: HE FINALLY POSTED HER!

user2: can’t wait for more gf appreciation posts 😆

user3: how has a uni student bagged Drew Starkey

user4: first pic. sleeping on the road tn.

↘️ y/n_y/l/n: pls don’t 🙏

↘️ user5: AHH SHE REPLIED TO U

↘️ user6: ur so lucky to call Drew ur man

↘️user7: nah, he’s acc my man

user8: as if we acc thought this majestic man was single 😭

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely. 

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[yukioos]

BED CHEM

SUMMARY: viktor x reader // you and mel walk down the hallways of piltover university when suddenly, you encounter two men trying to break into a professor’s laboratory.

AUTHORS NOTE: hiii!! so sorry i haven’t posted in a while. season 2 of arcane broke my heart, but it was so cool. anyway, im working on an ashley and ada writing atm, but pls be patient. this is 1.2k words and something i randomly thought of because of a pinterest comment under a photo of viktor

WARNINGS: trying to break into a room, reader is interpreted as feminine because of a long dress and heels, reader is a councilor, not proofread

as a new member of the piltover council, you’ve been the busiest you’d been in your life. constant laws to vote on and tedious, frequent meetings could make you feel annoyed at times. however, you made a new friend, who you’ve become extremely close with in the past couple of years.

you and mel knew each other when you were younger, just never hung out as much as you do now. despite not having strong connections to one another at a young age, it opposes how you are now. she’s invited you to her nightly scouting at piltover university.

it isn’t an interesting activity to do, but you love hanging out with mel. during these times when you explore the large university for hours, you find much time to converse with the noblewoman. sometimes you and she hold your giggles after telling the other a joke, not wanting to alert a trespasser.

this night doesn’t seem to be unlike all the others. you walk down the decorated halls of piltover university with a flashlight in hand. your flowy black dress hangs low to your ankles, and your and mel’s heels clack against the tile floor.

you and mel whisper amongst one another, she asks, “have you had your eye on anyone lately?” smirking softly and side-eyeing you.

you gasp and your cheeks flush, “‘course not, mel! i just… have not found the right person yet, i guess.” your smile diminishes.

your heels continue to clack against the ground, and you feel a cold breeze on your bare arms and leg, exposed due to the slit dress. you shiver and rub your hand on your arm, keeping the flashlight in front of you.

there’s a moment of silence between you two when mel hesitatingly speaks up, “maybe jayce has a friend you will feel… attracted to.”

“eh, i’ll just not do much. maybe let the universe pull me to the right person instead, yeah? i would hate to waste my time on the wrong person—“

she places her arm in front of you, squinting and giving you a look. you tilt your head before you begin to hear voices, and you quietly turn your flashlight off. mel keeps hers on, and the two of you tip-toe closer to the noise. it seems to be close to heimerdinger’s office, if you remember the university layout correctly.

“so far, so good—“ a man with a thick accent whispers, as if trying to hide his actions.

mel turns the flashlight on, and you cross your arms. the two men shield their eyes, and you recognize one as jayce talis. you tilt your head at the sight of the other man with brown hair and a defined jawline, who is turning a key into the door labeled ‘pf. heimdinger.’

mel taunts, “hmm. willing to risk exile for your endeavor. that’s quite the conviction.”

“councilor!” jayce interrupts, “what a surprise to see you, huh?”

then, the mysterious man comes up with an excuse, “wait a minute, this isn’t my bedroom. how could i have…”

jayce stands up from his knees and pleads with you and mel, “please. we can prove that it works.”

mel comes up with a contradiction as fast as lightning, she hums, “hmm. you couldn’t do so earlier today, how is tonight any different?”

“we figured out how to stabilize it.” the pale man replies.

he eyes are sharp toward the noblewoman until his gaze travels to you. his eyes widen and his cheeks flush, he can feel himself becoming warmer and warmer. you can tell he’s observing you and your actions, as well as your attire.

god, you’re beautiful.

he doesn’t say many words over the next couple of seconds, but you smile at him, warming his heart quickly. he’s knocked out of his mind when mel speaks.

“you’re the professor’s assistant,” she refers to the man with the keys.

jayce disagrees, “no, he’s my new partner.”

you nervously chime in, sticking close to mel, “even if you manage to prove your theory, the other council members would destroy it.”

“heimerdinger will recognize the potential, miss l/n,” the handsome man says.

he knows your name!

mel scoffs, and she’s not having any of their crap, “he already does. it scares him. it scares them all.”

“what about you, miss l/n? you are on the council, correct?” jayce’s partner asks. his eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and your heart melts at his eyebrows twitching upwards.

you ponder for a few seconds, staring at him and slickly moving closer to the man. you respond, taking a few moments to think of how to form a sentence in front of such an attractive guy, “i think any worthwhile venture includes risk. and please, call me y/n.”

you hear whistling from the hallway, and you give mel a glance that makes her infer, ‘we need to make a decision quickly.’

“councilors, this technology, it’s real. and no matter what happens here, it’s going to change our world. we should be the ones to lead it. piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation. i know it sounds impossible, but when have we ever let that stop us? please, just give us a chance.” jayce explains.

you glance at mel, and you assume she’s left the decision to you. you reply with a sigh, “one night, you two. i want to see in the morning how you have progressed your technology.”

“thank you, councilor l/n,” the one in the white tie thanks.

you quietly nod and smile, waving to them as mel gently pulls your arm and turns the flashlight off. she goes on to distract and talk to harold, the enforcer. as you step down the hall, you glance behind you to hardly see the nameless man staring at you back. he then gets pulled into the room by jayce, who seems urgent to work on the high-end technology.

as councilor medarda’s flashlight flicks off, and you and mel walk away, viktor’s still standing near the entrance of the laboratory. he sees a shine in your eyes even through the dark hallway, however, he doesn’t know if you can see him as well.

he doesn’t even notice jayce has unlocked the door until he gets pulled in by the taller man.

“you were ogling at councilor l/n.” jayce grins, teasing his partner.

“i was not. that would be unprofessional and inappropriate. plus, we are here to work on hextech,” he attempts to change the subject, “we should get working on it.”

“i’ll work with mel to set you two up.” jayce objects, rolling his eyes and chuckling at the slender figure.

viktor couldn’t pass up that opportunity.

“who’s the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?” you ask mel, walking away from the enforcer.

she grins at you, showing her perfect teeth, “that was viktor. and from what i can tell, he’s interested in you.”

as you continue to walk down the hallway, leaving the university to travel toward your bedroom, you go to sleep with a happy feeling in your chest.

[chithereader]

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk. 

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs. 

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

[hannyoontify]

the way you said hello - kim mingyu

member | executive chef!mingyu x reader (ft. jeonghan & seungkwan)

genre | (implied) soulmates!au, meet cute, strangers to lovers au, fluff, (angst if you rlly rlly rlly squint)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | after a disastrous blind date, the night takes an unexpected turn when the restaurant’s handsome owner, mingyu, steps in. what starts as an act of kindness quickly becomes something more as sparks fly over a chance meeting

warnings | cursing, lowk kinda suggestive if you squint, kissing, one (1) mention of a knife, mentions of mingyu having previous injuries sustained from his occupation, there is a SIGNIFICANT time skip at the end but i don't specify how much LMAO that's up to ygs discretion

notes | requested by anon! i'm so sorry if this wasn't the direction you wanted it to go in 😭 i swear i tried my best! lowk don't know if i like this or not but i really liked the bickering between oc n seunghan NOT PROOFREAD

this can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to this mingyu fic!

You anxiously bounced your leg under the table, gently gnawing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the fancy restaurant. Across from you, the chair in front of you had now been empty for an awfully long time now and something told you that your blind date had ditched, leaving you with the incredibly overwhelming and taxing bill.

Fuck.

You rested your head in your hands and let out a tired sigh. There was no way this was happening.

As you reached for your wallet, you flagged down a nearby waiter to ask for the bill. He nodded at your request and you let out what seemed to the umpteenth sigh of that night. While waiting for the bill to reach your table, you began rearranging the leftover peas on your porcelain plate.

“Didn’t know we had a Picasso in the house.” An unfamiliar voice remarked next to you. 

You yelped in surprise and whipped around to see a tall, handsome young man peering over your shoulder with an amused smile. He was in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his prominent forearm muscles, tucked into a pair of dark trousers. “That’s very impressive… is that a self-portrait?”

You snorted in disbelief, your shoulders shaking as you let out a quiet laugh. “No, it’s supposed to be my date. Too bad they left before I could remember what they looked like.”

The mysterious man scrunched up his handsome face, as if to say ‘Ouch’. “Do you mind if I—?” He gestured towards the empty seat in front of you and you nodded.

“Go ahead. That seat’s going to be empty for the rest of the night anyways.” You let out a bitter laugh. He gave you a sympathetic smile and situated himself in front of you with an arm outstretched reaching over the table.

“Kim Mingyu. I’m the owner and executive chef of this restaurant. I received a report that there was an attractive young person who was left on their lonesome after their date mysteriously disappeared.” The man, Mingyu, tilted his head. “Didn’t think said person was going to be this attractive though.”

You blushed at his compliment as you shook his hand. “[Name]. Not sure who snitched on me, though I’m glad to have new company.”

“Are you… on your way out now? Since your date is gone?”

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the bill.”

Mingyu waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

After spilling coffee on your blouse this morning and running 30 minutes late for work, you were more than positive that the day was going to end in disaster. The disappearance of your blind date following a very long, tiring day at work only confirmed those suspicions. However, it seemed like that the goddess of luck was no longer hellbent on making your life a living disaster with the way the stranger sitting across from you managed to douse out the fire that had been burning within you for the past few hours with a single smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not. But if you feel pressured or aren’t comfortable with it, no worries!” Mingyu said lightheartedly. 

“Oh my God,” You ran a tired hand through your face and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “You literally just saved me from having the worst day ever. I was preparing myself to break down into tears once I received the check. Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

He smiled at your words. “Of course, just doing my daily random act of kindness for a stranger. Although…” He trailed off and you quirked an inquisitive brow at him.

“Although?” You asked.

“Although… would it appall you if I said it was my way of shooting my shot?” Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. His eyes nervously darted back and forth between your face and the half-eaten plate in front of him, left by your crappy blind date who was honestly, no longer in your realm of attention. Not when Mingyu was in front of you. 

Shooting his shot? You felt your cheeks burn at a temperature similar to the candle perched on a candelabra on your table at his words and you coughed before fumbling to find the right words.

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Since you’re my savior tonight and all…” Your voice faltered and Mingyu beamed.

“That’s great! Here’s my business card, if you ever want to contact me.” He pulled out a crisp card and handed it to you as he got up from the chair. “Well, I must be getting on my way now. I’d love to stay and chat but I have big boss duties to do.”

Mingyu tipped an imaginary top hat towards your direction. You smiled. “It was nice meeting you, [Name].”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mingyu. I’ll contact you,” You waved his business card and he nodded.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Bye, [Name].”

And with that he was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his perfume and the fluttering of your heart.

“Just call him!!” Your best friend urged you. He was sitting on the other end of the sofa, munching on a bag of chips as he watched you metaphorically rip your hair out over the business card you received from Mingyu a week ago.

“It’s not that simple, Seungkwan! What if he hates me now because it took me so long to contact him? I bet he’s forgotten about me at this point.” You pouted and continued to stare at the worn, but still elaborate cardstock in your hands.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re overthinking this entire thing. Listen to me,” He paused to fix his posture to face you. “He gave you the business card, right?”

You nodded.

“Did he ask for your number?”

You shook your head.

“Did he receive any kind of contact information from you?”

You shook your head again.

“But he gave you his business card? [Name], he literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!” 

Seungkwan let out a frustrated yell and shoved another handful of chips into his mouth. “I swear, you have the IQ of Jeonghan’s pet rock sometimes.”

“Hey! Doljjong is very intelligent!” Your other best friend yelled from the kitchen. “He has really good hearing too, so don’t insult him like that or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and you laughed as Jeonghan came out into the living room to give his own two cents.

“But Seungkwan’s right. The entire fate of a whole new possible relationship with this mythical Kim Mingyu—”

“HE’S REAL. I SHOOK HIS HAND.”

“—is in your hands. Don’t blow it. Or else me and Seungkwan—”

“Seungkwan and I.” You corrected him.

“—will be—Okay, fuck you, grammar police—Will be taking this matter into our own hands so we no longer have to hear your bitching and whining.”

You let out a frustrated groan and threw down the business card that’s been putting you through pain and misery through the past week.

“God, he was literally perfect. I don’t wanna blow it and—”

“That’s what they said.”

“Jeonghan, I’m going to literally throw Doljjong into the bottom of Han River and you’re going to be joining him soon after if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Seungkwan burst into laughter and watched you and Jeonghan continue to argue back and forth.

“Forget it, it’s useless talking to a person who believes that a rock can be a pet.” You got up from your spot on the couch and reached for your phone. “I’m stepping out for some air. Lock the door if you leave before I come back.”

“See ya, don’t wanna be ya!” Jeonghan yelled from the living room as you left the house and you loudly groaned.

You loved both your best friends but they sometimes drove you absolutely insane.

The sky was dark but the countless lights from the skyscrapers and streetlights illuminated the Han River, making the surface twinkle and shine under the pale moonlight.

You were sitting on a lone bench, facing the river as you mindlessly fidgeted with Mingyu’s business card. The edges were fraying from the countless amount of times you’ve handled it between your fingertips, and you traced the black lettering of Mingyu’s name with your index finger as you silently sounded out every vowel and consonant of his name.

Seungkwan’s words rang in your head. ‘He literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!’

Like a switch was suddenly flipped inside you, you reached for your phone. The screen lit up and you pulled up a new message to type in the phone number that was written on the card in your hand. 

Without a single thought, you sent,

hey! it’s [name]!

Before you could even type the first letter of your follow-up text, the status of your message changed from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read 21:24’ and you let out a gasp.

And then the loud, shrill ringing of your ringtone cut through the peaceful night air.

You gasped louder than before after seeing the caller ID, reaching to frantically turn off the ringer before answering the phone.

“He–hello?”

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu’s voice sounded crisp and clear on the other end of the line. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “You almost had me thinking that you were ghosting me or something.”

You let out an apologetic groan. “I’m so sorry, Mingyu. I got in my head and kept putting it off. I swear it wasn’t personal…” 

Mingyu’s laugh was bright. “No worries! I assumed you had your hands full. Although, I did jump a little every time I received a text from anyone from the past week.” 

“Oh, man… I feel horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about it! Better late than never, right?” There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke again. “What are you up to right now?”

You hummed and looked out at the tranquil water of the Han River reflecting the bright lights of the city. “Nothing much. I stepped out for a minute for some air. What about you?”

“Oh, really? I’m actually out for a walk too.” You swore you heard a second voice near you, echoing the words Mingyu was saying in your phone. “Turn around for me?”

You whipped around with the phone still pressed to your ear to see Mingyu standing behind the bench, a small smile playing on his lips. You ended the phone call.

“Mingyu?”

“‘Morning, sunshine,” He slid into the empty spot next to you and you scooched over to make more room for him. “What a way to run into the guy you’ve been ghosting, huh?”

You snorted at his greeting, ignoring the slight burn you felt in your cheeks from the nickname he had addressed you by. “I told you, it wasn’t intentional.”

Mingyu grinned. “I know. Just felt like teasing you.” 

“What are- what are you doing here though? Do you live in this area?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. I moved into that apartment complex not too long ago,” He pointed to a tall building on the other side of the river. “Has a killer night view. You should come over to check it out sometime.”

You choked on your spit, resulting in you barking out a short, panicked laugh. “Do you—-do you usually say these… these things to people?”

“No, not really. I’m not usually like this,” Mingyu looked over at you with a slight tilt in his head. The night breeze brushed his bangs across his forehead and you felt your breath falter at the way the closest streetlight illuminated his honey-like, gorgeous skin.There was a particular glint in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Pardon me if this is too brazen, but I’m only like this when I feel like I’ve met the one. My soulmate.”

Your breath was caught in your throat.

“Does it… usually work?” You choked out. Your face felt incredibly hot and your clammy hands were sticking to the bench.

Mingyu turned back to face the river and your stomach did an odd flip. “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

Oh God. You thought you were melting on the spot with the way he was looking at you. Mingyu was holding eye contact with such intensity, you physically couldn’t look away. Your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage and you decided you were going to sign yourself up for the upcoming Olympics, with the way your stomach was doing flips like an Olympic gymnast. Simone Biles had nothing on whatever routine was going on inside you right now.

“… I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10.” You gave him the most nonchalant shrug you could afford, knowing that there were enough butterflies in your stomach to start a butterfly conservatory. Mingyu looked at you as if he was surprised by the score.

“Really? What would I have to do to win back the last two points?”

You gave him a pointed look, and the next words to leave your mouth almost sent you into cardiac arrest. “Hmm… live up to your words? I guess?”

And the smile Mingyu gave you in that moment was the brightest one of all. His entire being seemed to glow in ecstasy, glowing brighter than the streetlights as he looked at you with a suggestive glint in his eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Mingyu?” You called from the living room. Mingyu didn’t respond and the only thing you heard from the kitchen was the clattering of plates and silverware. “Babe?”

Pushing yourself off the couch with a quiet groan, you padded over to the kitchen where your fiancé was busying himself with preparing dinner. He was hunched over the counter, his hands and trusty knife busy at work as he chopped away on his chopping block. Careful not to startle him when he had a knife in his hand, you snuck your arms around Mingyu’s torso and peered over his shoulder to watch him work his magic.

“Watcha doing?” You asked sweetly. Mingyu acknowledged your presence with a short peck on your forehead.

“Hi, baby.” His voice was rough and the sound sent shivers down your spine. “Preparing to feed you. Why?”

You hummed and nuzzled your face into Mingyu’s back. He smelled like a mix of spices, sweat, and his faint woody cologne permeated your senses. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu set down his knife and turned around to face you, his back resting against the marble counter with his hands resting comfortably at your waist.

“What’s with the sudden question?” He quirked a well-groomed brow at you and you smiled.

“Nothing… I just read a blog about soulmates and I was curious about whether you thought they were real,” Your fingers danced along Mingyu’s strong, muscular forearms, your fingertips lightly tracing all the old scars and burn marks that signified his experience and years spent working to master his craft. You repeated your original question again. “So… do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I don’t think so, love. I know so.”

“Really?” Your eyes brightened at his words and he nodded.

“Mhm. I knew from the moment I saw you playing with those leftover peas on your plate that I was going to marry you,” Mingyu leaned in again, nuzzling his nose against yours. You giggled. “Sometimes, I have dreams where I knew you in another life. But those dreams felt so… real. Like they’re fragments of memories from a past I can’t recall.”

“Are we married in those dreams too?” 

“Mhm. We were happily married, just like we’re going to be.” Mingyu captured your lips with his, sighing gently as your fingers combed through his dark hair. 

“I love you, Mingyu.” You whispered against his lips, like a secret only meant for the two of you to know. Something to be taken and hidden away, kept a secret in the deepest depths of the earth. A secret so sacred, it can only be cherished in the deepest, darkest places so that no one else can know.

“I love you too, [Name],” Mingyu’s love confession was more bold. Something he uttered with purpose and intention. He wanted the entire universe to know that he was yours. His heart belonged to you. He was going to love you loudly and boldly. “I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

a/n: this is a big personal FUCK YOU to writer's block AHGJSJD i somehow managed to push through and finish this 😭 (it was at 300 words when i started today) albeit it was on my phone, in the dark, at 1 in the morning BUT I FINISHED IT. n now my insomnia's back LMAOO