#personally I just don’t see it going away

[theliliesofthevalleies]

The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[gpcwsl]

Alexia and r have a 10 year age gap and alexia’s always acting really sweet and boyfriend to r in private but refuses to acknowledge there’s something between them and being cold in public then being apologetic but happy ending please!

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Invisible in the light - adored in the dark

WC: 969

MasterList

Warnings: age gap, ignored? Kiss?

Song: you were good to me - Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

Maybe Alexia didn’t hear you when you called her name. Maybe the restaurant was too loud, or maybe she was too focused on whatever conversation she was having with her teammates.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

In private, Alexia was everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. She held you so close at night that it felt like she was afraid you would slip through her fingers.

She pressed lazy kisses to your forehead in the mornings, whispered sweet nothings in Spanish that you couldn’t yet understand but still loved the sound of.

She traced shapes onto your bare skin, her fingers moving over your back like an artist painting on a canvas.

But in public?

It was as if you didn’t exist.

Alexia wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t talk to you. Wouldn’t even acknowledge your presence. She was ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warmth she showed you behind closed doors.

You thought you could handle it. You thought it wouldn’t bother you.

You were wrong.

You’re at a team dinner when it happens again.

Alexia sits at the other end of the table, deep in conversation with Mapi and Patri, laughing at some inside joke you aren’t privy to. You, on the other hand, are stuck in an awkward silence between two of the younger players, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw, pretending that it doesn’t hurt.

But it does.

It’s not just that she’s ignoring you. It’s the way she goes out of her way to do it. The way her gaze dances around you, how she shifts her body away when you try to move closer, how she only speaks in clipped, professional tones if she absolutely has to respond.

Like you’re nothing more than a stranger.

Like you’re not the same person she held in her arms just last night, whispering soft te quieros into your hair.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

You try to hold it in, to swallow it down. But when the team finally gets up to leave, Alexia walking right past you like you’re invisible, something inside you snaps.

The apartment door barely clicks shut before you say it.

“Why do you do that?”

Alexia turns to you, mid-way through pulling off her jacket. “¿Qué?”

“You know what.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “Why do you act like I don’t exist in public?”

Alexia freezes. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering in her hazel eyes. “Y/n, I don’t—”

“You do,” you cut her off, stepping forward. “You do, Alexia. You ignore me. You won’t even look at me.” Your voice cracks on the last part, frustration mixing with something more vulnerable.

Alexia exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

There’s a long pause. She looks at you, really looks at you for the first time all night, and her expression softens.

“I—” She hesitates. “I’m scared.”

Your brows furrow. “Scared of what?”

She glances away, lips pressing together. “Scared of what people will think. Scared of how they’ll see me.”

It clicks then. The age gap. The inevitable judgment.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“So what?” Your voice is quieter now, but no less firm. “You’d rather pretend I don’t exist than risk people knowing we’re together?”

Alexia’s eyes snap back to yours, and there’s something raw in them. Guilt. Regret.

“Y/n…” She steps closer, reaching for you, but you don’t move.

“You can’t have it both ways,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t treat me like I’m the most important person in the world when we’re alone and then act like I’m nothing as soon as other people are around.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then Alexia sighs, shoulders dropping. “You’re right.”

You blink. “I am?”

“Yes.” She takes another step forward, closing the space between you. This time, you let her. Her hands find yours, fingers curling around your wrists. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

You swallow. “You were.”

She nods, gaze full of remorse. “Lo siento, mi amor.”

You sigh. “In English, Alexia.”

A small smile tugs at her lips despite the tension in the air. “I’m sorry, my love.”

You hold her gaze for a long moment, searching for any trace of insincerity. You find none.

Then she’s pulling you into her arms, wrapping herself around you like she’s trying to shield you from the world. “I’ll do better,” she murmurs into your hair. “I promise.”

You exhale against her shoulder, the weight on your chest easing just a little. “Okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. She’s said it before, but never like this—never so openly, so unguarded.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

And then she kisses you.

It’s slow, tender, full of unspoken apologies and silent vows. She kisses you like she’s making up for every second she’s ignored you, like she’s trying to prove with her lips what she failed to show in public.

And you let her.

When she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours. “Cuddle with me?” she murmurs.

You can’t help but smile. “Only if you actually acknowledge me tomorrow.”

Alexia chuckles softly. “Deal.”

You curl up together on the couch, her arms around you, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Because in the end, love isn’t about the whispers in the dark.

It’s about the way someone chooses to hold your hand in the light.

[angelfic]

yandere!DAMIAN WAYNE x reader

warnings — yandere themes, jealousy, mentions of violence and murder. unedited! a/n; idek what to say. i felt crazy things writing this

Damian Wayne doesn’t consider himself a jealous person.

Protective? Yes. Possessive…? Fine. But not jealous. He considers jealousy as something only lesser men succumb to — men who allow emotions to cloud their judgement and who lack control. Damian has spent his entire life mastering control and discipline over his mind and body, so no. He doesn’t get jealous.

And yet, here he is, mentally cataloguing every single flaw of the guy working at the concession stand at the movie theatre who was clearly trying to flirt with you. While you were very clearly here with Damian. He’s holding your handbag with the sparkly charms on it, for crying out loud. And he paid for everything (naturally) in front of the guy, so why did this idiot think he had a chance with you?

It wasn’t right. It was bordering offensive. Practically a crime, punishable by….

Well. Damian could get creative.

He doesn’t like what he’s feeling. It’s sharp and hot, like a knife being slowly dragged along the inside of his ribs every time you laugh like this guy is the next great comedic mind of your generation.

And where the hell are the rest of the customers, he’s thinking with a scowl on his face. There’s no line behind the two of you right now, probably why the theatre worker is taking such liberties. Damian makes a mental note to research peak movie theatre times to avoid this in the future.

The movie is what he’s discussing with you — a franchise that you’re a fan of and that Damian has no interest seeing, but he rarely says no to you. He’s such a good friend, a fact you constantly remind him of.

When the guy hands you the popcorn, his fingers brush against yours for a split second.

Damian’s eye twitches.

You don’t react or seem to notice the action, but Damian finds it hard not to stare at his hand, resting on the counter, now inches away from yours. It would take minimal effort to break a few fingers, he thinks. Just as little physical exertion to snap his wrist. Damian could even make it look like an accident — some unfortunate mishap with the popcorn machine.

He takes a deep breath to quell the molten, irrational feeling burning under his skin. He has rules and moral codes to live by, but they're being threatened by something animalistic clawing at the edges of his carefully maintained composure.

“Hey, you okay?”

Your voice pulls him out of his little spiral. He internally reprimands himself for not being less obvious when he notes that you’re looking at him, head tilted, concern evident in your eyes.

He schools his face into a perfectly neutral expression. “Fine. Should we go?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you give him a sheepish smile, mistaking the glassy, faraway look in his eyes for boredom. Better that, he thinks, than you suspecting the mental blueprint he had been drafting on how to stage a minor but effective felony on this moron.

Speaking of, you turn and thank the worker for your drinks and snacks before gesturing for Damian to leave for the movie. You don’t give him a second glance (despite the disappointed look in his eyes) and Damian finds himself relaxing slightly. Fine. It’s fine, just a friendly conversation.

What was he so worked up about again?

“We need to work on your resting face, because I’m pretty sure that guy thought you wanted to kill him,” you say, laughing happily at the thought.

Somewhere beneath the fluttering in his stomach at the way you’re gleefully talking about murder (even if you’re only kidding), he registers a hint of panic. Maybe he was being obvious.

No matter. He’ll be more careful in the future.

Or maybe he won’t. He considers the way you loop your arm through his as you walk and wonders if you sometimes do this on purpose, allowing people to flirt and talk so openly with you.

Were you doing this on purpose? He can’t tell if you’re the most blissfully oblivious or sadistic person he’s ever met.

“He was undeserving of your attention.” The words slip out before Damian realises what he’s saying and when you glance over at him, brows raised, his pulse starts racing, considering his next moves.

He could deflect. He could lie. He could manipulate, he’s definitely good enough at it.

And then you laugh.

“You’re so protective, Damian,” you giggle, nudging his shoulder. “It’s cute. And relax, you’re the only one currently holding the position as my best friend.”

He smiles blandly.

You don’t notice how he clenches his jaw, his breathing coming out a little shallower at the mention of such an offensive word. Friend. You don’t know just how wrong you are about that, but he allows you to continue thinking it for now.

Completely unaware, you sip your drink before offering him the straw and his brain stutters. You’re not even looking at him, too busy balancing the popcorn in your hand, but Damian is staring hard at the mark of your lip gloss painting the straw.

Indirect kiss.

The words slam into his skull like a battering ram. No, it’s fine. He can be normal about this.

Damian swallows. Forces himself to actually move and slowly, deliberately, he reaches for your cup.

His fingers brush yours and a spark shoots through his veins and he berates himself. He can’t freak you out, what if you’re never this casual about these things again? He adores that quality about you.

He lifts the drink, bringing the straw to his lips and finally taking a sip, looking at you as he does it.

The drink is… fine. He barely even tastes it, choosing to look at you as his lips are wrapped around the straw that you were just drinking out of and—

Calm down, he wills his beating heart to not go into cardiac arrest when you finally glance over, your eyes settling on his as he looks up through his lashes before darting to his mouth.

Damian feels his breath leave him immediately.

Your gaze lingers, fingers tightening around the popcorn bag for a moment. It’s barely any time at all, but Damian is observant — more so when it comes to you, of course.

So the way your breath hitches slightly and how you’re refusing to meet his gaze causes his earlier irritation to melt into something completely different.

Interesting. The realisation settles in his chest, slow and warm.

After a long, agonising pause, he pulls the drink away, licking a stray drop of soda from his lip.

Your eyes follow the motion.

Ohhh, this is fun.

He’s practically giddy when he speaks next. “Ready to go in?”

“Hm,” you say, blinking out of your distracted state and taking the drink back to sip at it again.

Damian follows you into the theatre, fingers twitching at his sides. Heat crawls up his spine, spreading to his ears, his neck — everywhere, all at once.

He was barely going to be able to concentrate on the movie before, but it would be an impossible feat with you next to him now.

He simply has too much to think about.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[fairyhaos]

❖ kiss your heart // xu minghao

minghao x f!reader, 1.1k+ words

tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg

warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)

notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me

“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”

you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.” 

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten. 

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

[kathaelipwse]

If Only You Could See Yourself | Bang chan

Synopsis: You’ve never seen yourself the way Chan does—where he sees beauty, you see flaws. Every time he calls you beautiful, you dismiss it, unable to believe. But one night, as your doubts consume you, Chan refuses to let you fade into them. With gentle words and unwavering patience, he holds you together, determined to make you see what he’s always seen. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll start to believe him.

Warnings: self-hate, honestly just angst, comfort

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: This might trigger a few readers. I am going through a turmoil and honestly chan is my comfort person so yeah..

It was a day off, you and chan have been dating since 4 years now, though he was busy he never really failed to make time for you and compliment you every now and then.

The first time Chan called you beautiful, you laughed. Not out of joy, but because the word felt foreign—misplaced, even. You thought he was joking. Maybe being playful, the way he always was. But when you turned to see the sincerity in his eyes, something inside you twisted. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. You brushed it off.

The second time, you just shook your head. A soft, almost involuntary reaction, like swatting away a fly. You didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to make it a thing. But Chan noticed. He always did. He let it go that time, but the way his brows furrowed told you he was thinking about it.

The third time, you flinched.

That was when Chan really started paying attention.

Tonight, the weight in your chest is heavier than usual. You don’t know why—maybe you do, but it’s easier to pretend you don’t. It’s just another night, another round of existing in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, in a mind that never stops whispering cruel things.

Chan sits on the couch beside you, his arm draped lazily over the backrest. The room is warm, cozy, filled with the soft hum of background noise from the TV. You should feel safe here. But that voice in your head is louder than the comfort of his presence.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice is soft, careful.

You nod automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. You don’t look at him when you say it. Instead, you focus on the way your fingers pick at the hem of your sleeves.

Chan shifts, turning to face you more fully. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all night.”

You shrug. “Just one of those days.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching. You know he wants to press, but he doesn’t. Instead, he offers you a small smile and says, “You’re still beautiful, you know.”

You freeze. The air in the room changes. The words hang between you, heavy and unbearable.

Your stomach twists violently. Your throat tightens. Something inside you snaps, raw and unfiltered. Before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper.

Chan blinks. “What?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

He tilts his head, brows knitting together. “Because they’re true.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “No, they’re not. You just—” You take a shaky breath. “You see me through rose-colored glasses, Chan. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Chan stares at you, something unreadable flashing in his expression. “You think I’m lying?”

You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I think… I think you’re wrong.”

His voice is quieter now, more careful. “Wrong about what?”

“About me,” you say, finally looking at him. “About everything you think I am.”

Chan’s jaw tightens. He shifts forward, closing the distance between you. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a moment before cupping your face, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. His touch is warm, grounding.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do. And it’s a mistake, because the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most precious thing in the world—makes your chest ache.

“I don’t see you through rose-colored glasses,” he says, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I see you exactly as you are.”

Your lip trembles. “Then you must be looking at the wrong person.”

Chan exhales sharply, shaking his head. “No,” he says firmly. “No, I see you. The real you. I see the way you care about people more than yourself. I see the way you laugh when you think no one’s listening. I see the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. I see every little thing that makes you you—and you have no idea how fucking beautiful that is.”

Tears blur your vision. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” he says, voice cracking. “Because I wish—God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Your breath catches. The words hit something deep, something you didn’t know was still soft inside you. A sob escapes before you can swallow it down, and then the dam breaks.

Chan pulls you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong, unshakable, as if he’s trying to hold together all the pieces of you that are falling apart. He strokes your hair, whispering soothing things you can’t make out over the sound of your own broken cries.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

You clutch onto him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

For the first time, you let yourself believe him.

Later, when your breathing evens out and the tears have dried, you’re still curled against him. He hasn’t let go, hasn’t loosened his grip even once.

Chan presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” he says quietly. “But let me prove it to you. Let me remind you every day until you do.”

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

And for now, that’s enough.

That night, Chan doesn’t let you sleep alone. When you hesitate, standing by your bedroom door as he prepares to leave, he simply tilts his head. “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t answer right away, but the way you tug at your sleeves gives you away.

Chan sighs softly, stepping forward. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

So he does.

You lie in bed, facing away from him at first, trying to keep space between you. But the storm in your head doesn’t quiet, even with him near. After a while, your body moves on its own, shifting closer, until your back is pressed lightly against his chest.

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, securing you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re safe,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re enough. Always.”

You don’t know if you believe him yet, but you let his warmth chase away the cold. Just for tonight.

The next morning, you wake up to soft sunlight filtering through your curtains. Chan is still there, one arm draped protectively over your waist. His slow, even breaths brush against the back of your neck.

You shift slightly, and he stirs. “Morning,” he murmurs sleepily.

You swallow thickly. “Morning.”

Chan tightens his hold just a little. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t have an answer. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

So you settle for the truth.

“I think… I think I’m okay.”

Chan smiles against your skin, kissing your forehead and says. “Good.”

---

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! First of all, I love your work so much, you have me crying and kicking my feet at the same time.

I'd like to put in a request for a plus-sized reader? If that's something you can do. Something about yearning from afar? She's so sweet and Sev's so not. She's worried she'd taint the pure soul she watches from across the bar only to find out the lamb wants the wolf just as bad.

(I low-key just want some plus-sized rep :/)

SUCH A CUTE REQ AAA also, “the lamb wants the wolf just as bad” WHAT A LINE HELLO??? i hope i did it justice 🙏

i wish i found love

content warning(s): none! just fluff, mutual pining, useless lesbians, mild suggestive content, happy ending

"sometimes i wonder if you'll ever let me in i wonder if i'm ever gonna find somebody i cry and i cry and i cry and i cry out to the heavens why won't you just send me somebody?"

Sevika is sure she is going insane. 

She’d be lying if she said you didn’t catch her eye the moment you walked into the Last Drop that one night. There was something about the way you moved, the ringing song of your laughter that found its way across the room to her ears—a sound she desperately tried to ignore as she scowled down at her card game, puffing away at her third cigarette. She had lost two rounds in a row because she was straining for scraps of the conversation you were in. Trying every possible subtle tactic to find out who you were, where you came from. Cursing the noises of a late night bar that drowned out what you were saying. 

Tonight is like most—there you are, sitting with a new companion on the other side of the bar, perfectly manicured nails tapping idly on the side of your glass as you give the other person a winning smile. When you stand up to order a second drink, Sevika watches your movements and swallows hard. You’re wearing a blouse and pants that hug your figure, showing off every curve in the shifting neon lights of the Last Drop. Making the very air around you look expensive. 

And your eyes. Fathomless yet bright. The innocent curl of your lips when you give the lucky bastard across the table one of those smiles. The secrets sitting in the corners of your mouth. 

Who is she?

“Hey chief,” says Grems, one of her gambling mates. “You’re showin’ all your cards.” 

She glances at him. “Round’s over.” 

“Huh?” 

“You heard me. Clear out.” 

The men exchange glances with one another, but they obey, grabbing up their winnings. Sevika sits back in her chair and lights another cigarette. 

✨—✨

At the bar, you lean closer and beckon to Chuck. He comes over, glancing nervously in Sevika’s direction. Everyone can already see that Sevika has claimed you as hers—they can see the way she watches you, the way she raises her head to attention when she sees you come into the bar. But when he looks over at Sevika, she turns her head away. 

“Chuck,” you say. “Don’t look so scared. She’s staring at me again, isn’t she?” 

“Uh…” 

You give him the irresistible smile you throw at strangers from whom you need information. He falls for it. 

“C’mon, tell me. Who is she?” 

“She…she’s Silco’s right hand,” he stammers. “You know. The Brute.” 

You sigh impatiently. “Gotta give me better than that. What’s her name.” 

“Sevika.” 

“Sevika,” you muse. “Thanks, Chuck.” You pat him on the shoulder and take your drink. You make sure to walk the long way round back to your table, and you can feel Sevika’s grey eyes burn in front of you. Just as you pass her, you tilt your head and let your eyes make contact with hers. Time seems to slow down. She looks at you cooly through the cigarette smoke, but her surprise shows in the way her brows lift slightly. 

Then the moment passes, you sit back down at your table. 

Your companion continues the conversation, but you barely hear a third of what they’re saying. Your thoughts keep wandering over to Sevika, who has left her tab on her table and now disappeared up the stairs. You know for sure she’s interested—she’s been watching you since you first began to frequent the Last Drop—why hasn’t she made a move? 

✨—✨

The truth is that Sevika is scared to approach you. 

That’s right, she thinks to herself, a wry smile on her face as she leans back into the couch in her empty apartment, slightly sweaty after touching herself to you, heart racing in her chest. Sevika of the fucking fissures, scared to talk to a woman as if she's some adolescent. 

She has borne the title Brute of the Underground like an afterthought, something she took for granted, a kind of placard to frame over the blood on her hands. But now it feels like a curse or a jinx, because she can’t think of your soft skin without thinking of the roughness of her own. She wants to feel your body against hers, she wants to kneel and drown in your sweet scent. But then she thinks of your laugh. The way you smile, nose wrinkling. 

How could she ever deserve to receive a smile like that? 

She imagines you recoiling from her, disgust clouding your pretty features. She imagines herself, massive and clumsy—nothing but muscle and scars and callused skin. She compares herself to you in a fantasized mirror and she can’t see a possibility of you ever wanting her the way she wants you. 

One night she is at her usual table, alone for once, making adjustments to her mechanical arm. A glass of whiskey sits among the tools and ashtray. She looks up listlessly as she takes a sip, returns to her work. When she looks up again you’re standing in front of her. 

Sevika nearly chokes. You’ve caught her off-guard, and you can see it. You can’t help but smile at her obvious embarrassment. 

“Mind me sitting here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, you sit down across from her.  

“I work nearby,” you say matter-of-factly. “I was thinking since you come here often as well, maybe we could have a drink together every now and then.” 

“Uh,” says Sevika. 

“Name’s Sevika, right? I’ve gotta run now, but can I claim you tomorrow night?” 

“Um.” 

You take that as a yes. As you walk by her, she can smell the sweet scent of your hair. She doesn’t see the triumphant smile on your face as you leave the bar. She also realizes too late that she never got your name. 

✨—✨

-> thank you @practicalgauntlet for the request! -> dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out??

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[sematarygirls]

meanpogue!reader visiting Barry cuz duh that’s her home girl and then sees rafe and then boom they’re at each others throats and Barry have to get them to stop fighting?

♯┆Barry Stops Mean!Pogue!Reader &&. Rafe's Fight.ㅤ  ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎barry is sick and tiredddddd of them ‎‎ ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎WARNINGS . . . drugs, suggestive content.   ̼ ₊

THE MUSK OF weed and sweat hung heavy in the air of Barry's trailer, surrounding the two of you like a perfume as you sat on his couch with your legs slung over his lap. A joint was settled between his lips as you two mindlessly watched a comedy movie, occasionally passing the joint back and forth.

“You hear what went down at the bonfire?” you asked, glancing over at him as he took a drag before passing it over to you. You took it, the movement natural. Barry had been your friend—and fuck buddy—for years. He was a dick sometimes, but he gave good advice and was always there to hang out when you were having a bad day. Plus, he was better in bed than one would expect.

Barry grinned lazily, his head rolling to the side to look at you, gold tooth glinting in the dull light. “Yeah, heard you dropped Thornton on his ass. ‘Bout time someone did.”

“Your little kook boyfriend was there," you teased, blowing out a puff of smoke as Barry ran his hands along your bare legs, trailing upwards.

Barry scoffed, shaking his head and reaching over to snatch the joint back. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

You smirked, watching him as he placed the joint back between his lips. “You and Rafe Cameron spend a whole lotta time together for two people who don’t fuck.”

Barry rolled his eyes, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Only person I’m fuckin’ is sittin’ in my lap runnin’ her mouth.”

You laughed, your head falling back against the pillow behind you. The warmth on your thigh was familiar, comforting even. Your high was making you feel more relaxed, your body heating up as his hand ran slightly higher in a way that was extremely welcome.

Just as Barry's fingertips grazed the edge of your shorts, the sound of a purring engine rolling up outside cut through the air. Barry groaned, head lolling back. “Fuckin’ hell. Who the fuck?”

“Your customers are real cock blockers,” you huffed, rolling your head to the side to see who would come barging in. Your relaxation seemed to completely evaporate as the door swung open and Rafe Cameron walked in, wearing that same entitled demeanor.

Your eyes narrowed as you sat up, pulling your legs from Barry's lap, so you could properly glare at him. “The fuck you doing here, Cameron?" You scowled.

“I wasn't aware you were fucking the local drug dealer,” Rafe snorted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Don't let me stop you," he smirked.

Barry's eyes flickered to you, a warning in his gaze. You weren't supposed to interfere with business, then Barry wouldn't be so kind, but when it came to Rafe, you couldn't help yourself. “Like you don’t come crawling to him every time you need your next fix,” you shot back, tilting your head, daring him to deny it.

That hit a nerve. His smirk fathered, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Watch your mouth, pogue.” That word. That fucking word. Like it meant you were beneath him. Like he wasn’t standing here, in the Cut, doing some shady shit with a shady dealer.

You stood up from the couch in one smooth motion, your body coiled with tension, every nerve in your system screaming at you to put Rafe in his place. You felt the heat of the high mixing with the anger rising in your chest, and you weren't going to let him get away with talking down to you, not in your friend's home.

Before you could take a step forward, Barry's hand closed around your wrist, tugging you back onto the couch. “That's enough,” he warned you, his voice sharp—a tone he hardly ever took with you.

“Yeah, call off your bitch, Barry," Rafe sneered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Alright, get the fuck out,” Barry told him, standing up. Your eyes widened. Barry had defended you to nosey and leering customers before, but he never dared kick them out. It made your panties damp as you watched it unfold. “Come back when you've cooled the fuck down, but you're not gonna disrespect my girl in my house.”

Rafe's jaw clench, clearly not having expected Barry to take your side. He took a breath, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Look, just give me my shit, Barry. I need it,” he said, fishing some hundred dollar bills from his back pocket.

Barry's eyes narrowed as he watched Rafe, his stance tense, but his voice remained calm. “You think I’m just gonna give it to you after you come in here talkin’ like that?” He took a step forward, towering over Rafe, his presence demanding authority. “Nah, man, you need to learn some fuckin' respect.”

“Fuck you, man,” Rafe scoffed, his hands balling into fists at his side. You half-thought he might push it, maybe start a fight, but everyone in the room knew that Barry would pull a gun on his country club ass faster than he could throw a punch. “Whatever,” he mumbled, turning and storming out, letting the door slam behind him.

“Fuckin' junkie," you muttered, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms, your mood obviously soured.

                                ୭ৎ

tags .ᐟ   @cometmultiverse / @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @ltristessedureratoujours / @ethanthequeefqueen /

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  marry me : various.

♦ request: drafted request ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: none

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

The morning is soft and golden, a lazy warmth curling between you like something that belongs here. The city hums beyond the window, the muffled sounds of Gotham waking, but neither of you are in a hurry to move. Dick is half-asleep, one arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a quiet comfort. His fingers skim slow, absentminded circles against your back, the kind of casual, easy touch that only comes from years of knowing someone by heart.

You’re not thinking when you say it. It isn’t planned, isn’t something heavy or serious, just a thought spoken aloud in the quiet. "We should get married."

For a moment, he doesn’t react. There’s a slight hitch in his breathing, a fraction of stillness in the way his hand stills against you. And then, carefully, deliberately, he opens his eyes. They are softer in the morning, deep blue and a little dazed from sleep, but there’s something else there now, something awake, something searching.

"You think so?" His voice is quiet, hoarse from sleep, but not teasing.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to look at him properly, brushing the edge of his jaw with your fingertips. "Yeah," you murmur. "It just makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Something in his expression cracks. Because it does. Because of course it does. Because there is no version of his future where you are not in it, no reality he would ever want where you are not the person he wakes up beside.

For all his life, Dick has been good at keeping people at arm’s length, at making things light and easy, never too serious. But this? This is real. And he wants it. He has always wanted it. And now, you’re giving it to him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

The night is still clinging to him - bruised knuckles, adrenaline still lingering in his bloodstream, the sharp scent of leather and gunpowder thick in the air. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, methodically wrapping a fresh bandage around his wrist, the movements sharp and precise, muscle memory at this point. He doesn’t look up when you step in, doesn’t acknowledge your presence, but he doesn’t have to. He knows you’re there.

You kneel in front of him, settle between his legs with careful ease, reaching for his hands before he can pull them away. Your fingers ghost over raw skin, over the places that have been broken and healed more times than you can count. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension in him, coiled tight beneath the surface.

"If I ask, will you run?" Your voice is quiet, but there is no hesitation in it.

Jason stills.

His breath goes uneven, his pulse kicking sharp beneath your fingertips, but he doesn’t move. His eyes flicker over your face, searching for something - for the joke, for the out, for a reason to pretend that this is not what it is.

"You don’t want that," he says finally, his voice rough, something uneven in the way it lands between you. "Not with me."

You tilt your head, your grip on his hands tightening just slightly. "Says who?"

He exhales, slow and sharp, fingers twitching around yours. "Says me."

You let the silence settle, let him sit in it, feel it, face it. And then, finally, you murmur, "I know it's a surprise, but you aren't always right."

For a moment, Jason doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to hold it, how to believe it. But you don’t let go. And he realizes, maybe for the first time, that you aren’t asking him to prove himself.

You’re just asking him to stay.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

The loft is dim, the only light coming from the pale glow of Tim’s monitors, the familiar hum of a dozen open tabs filling the silence. He’s at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, head buried in another night of chasing something only he can see. You’re curled up on the couch, watching him in quiet amusement, because for all his brilliance, Tim Drake is painfully oblivious to his own needs.

So you say it.

Not seriously. Not carefully. Just casually, tossed out like an afterthought, meant to be nothing.

"We should get married."

Tim freezes.

Completely, utterly freezes.

You glance up from your phone, biting back a laugh at the way he’s suddenly locked in place, fingers hovering mid-typing, his entire system short-circuiting before your eyes.

"Wait, what?" His voice is flat, stunned, like he just took psychic damage.

"You should have seen your face just now." You grin, stretching lazily. "Classic."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Just stares at you, mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to piece together whether this is real or a glitch in the matrix.

And then -

"Do you mean it?"

And oh.

Because now, he’s thinking about it. Now he’s looking at you like he’s considering it. Like it’s something he could have. Something he wants.

And suddenly, maybe you do mean it.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

You say it to mess with him.

Because Damian is always composed, always measured, always so damn serious. You love to push him, to test the boundaries of that unreadable mask, to see how much he will let you get away with.

So you wait for a moment when he’s distracted—seated at his desk, sketching in his notebook, utterly unaware of you watching him.

"We should get married."

There is a pause.

And then - slowly, carefully - he sets the pencil down.

When he turns to face you, his green eyes are quiet, unreadable.

"I do not jest about such things."

And oh.

Because you were joking.

But he isn’t.

Damian Wayne does not love lightly. He does not give what he is not willing to keep. And now, you have said something that cannot be undone.

Because if you mean this - if you are asking for this - then you are asking for something he will give you completely.

And suddenly-

Maybe you do mean it.

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

It isn’t meant to be a heavy moment. It isn’t planned, isn’t some great declaration, isn’t anything more than an absentminded thought spoken aloud as you lean against the kitchen counter, sipping your coffee in the dim light of early morning.

"You should marry me."

Your voice is light, teasing, barely breaking the quiet between you. It isn’t meant to change anything.

But Bruce stops.

He was flipping through the morning paper, reading one of the latest Gotham articles, already half-distracted by the weight of the day ahead. But now, he isn’t turning the page.

His grip on the paper tightens slightly, jaw locking, but he doesn’t move.

"What did you just say?"

His voice is low, measured, as if he’s giving you a chance to take it back. As if he’s not sure if he heard you right, or if he’s already started imagining what it would be like if you meant it.

You blink at him, sipping your coffee. "I said.. you should marry me."

Silence.

And now he’s looking at you.

Not a passing glance. Not something brief. A full, steady gaze, like you just spoke something into existence that he cannot ignore.

Because Bruce Wayne does not let himself want.

Not like this.

Not out loud.

And now, you’ve given him something to want.

And if you don’t take it back - he will never let you go.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —

Cass has always been careful with words.

Not because she doesn’t feel them - but because she feels too much.

And so, when you say it, when you look at her like it’s the simplest thing in the world, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

"We should get married."

You say it softly, the weight of it sinking between you as you sit together on the rooftop, watching the lights of Gotham flicker below. The wind moves through her hair, strands catching the glow of the neon skyline, and for a long moment, she doesn’t speak.

She just watches you.

Not with shock. Not with hesitation. With something deep and unreadable.

"Forever?"

It isn’t a rejection.

It isn’t fear.

It is a question.

Because Cassandra Cain knows how to be a weapon, how to be a shadow, how to exist in the spaces between people without ever truly belonging.

But she does not know how to be someone’s forever.

And yet - you are offering it to her now.

And if you mean it-

Then maybe she can learn.

𝐃𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 —

You don’t plan it.

You don’t think before you say it.

It’s late, too late, and you’ve both been running on fumes, coming back from a long night in the Narrows, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. Duke is sitting on the fire escape outside his apartment, one foot resting against the metal railing, head tilted back against the brick wall, eyes closed but not asleep.

And you say it before you can stop yourself.

"We should totally get married."

Duke snorts.

Not because he doesn’t care, not because he’s laughing at you, but because he thinks you’re joking.

And then - he realizes you aren’t.

He opens his eyes, head turning slightly, gaze sharp beneath the glow of the streetlights.

"Are you serious?"

The way he says it - it’s not doubtful. Not hesitant. Just quiet, cautious, like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Because Duke Thomas has never been the guy people stay for.

Has never been the person someone chooses in the end.

But now, you are looking at him like he is something worth choosing.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

Because if you’re serious - if you really mean it - then he’s already yours.

𝐑𝐨𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐫 — ( bonus )

It happens like a punch to the gut.

Not a soft moment. Not a sweet, dreamy confession. Not a candlelit dinner with an open velvet box.

It happens because Roy Harper doesn’t know how to accept good things without bracing for the pain that comes after.

It happens because you don’t know how to love him halfway.

"We should get married."

You don’t say it softly. You don’t hesitate, don’t cushion the words with humor or give him an easy way out. You just say it, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s obvious, like it’s already been decided and the only thing left is for him to realize it.

And Roy-

Roy doesn’t know how to breathe.

You had been watching him for a while, watching the way he kept his distance without actually leaving, watching the way he smiled like it didn’t hurt, watching the way he always stood on the edge of something without ever stepping forward.

Because Roy Harper does not let himself want things.

Not things like this.

Not things that last.

Not when everything he has ever held onto has slipped through his fingers, burned to ash, or walked away before he could even start to hope.

But now - you are here.

And you are not leaving.

And now, you have said something he doesn’t know how to hold.

So he does what he always does.

He laughs.

A short, sharp breath, more exhale than amusement, because that’s the only way he knows how to deal with things that make his chest ache. He shakes his head, leans back against the kitchen counter, tries to play it off the way he plays off everything that matters too much.

"You know, most people ease into this kind of thing," he says, smirking like it doesn’t hurt, like it doesn’t feel like you just took a knife and pressed it gently against his ribs. "What, no romantic speech? No getting down on one knee?"

But you don’t let him run.

You step closer.

And Roy - Roy flinches. Not physically, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but inside, deep in his ribs, in the part of himself that always expects love to come with conditions.

"Roy." Your voice is steady, grounding. "You know I don’t need all that."

And that’s the worst part.

Because you don’t.

Because you have never asked him to be anything other than what he is.

Because you don’t want the cleaned-up version of him.

Because you want him, just as he is.

And that terrifies him.

Because if you really mean it - if you really want this — then that means you think he’s someone worth staying for.

And Roy Harper has never been someone people stay for.

His mouth feels dry.

His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body locked in that instinctual urge to move, to step back, to put space between himself and whatever this is before it can sink too deep.

But he doesn’t.

Not this time.

Because you are still looking at him like this isn’t a mistake.

And for the first time in his life - he lets himself think about it.

Not the loss.

Not the inevitable heartbreak he always expects.

Not the way people always leave.

Just this.

Just you.

And maybe - just maybe - that’s enough.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ felled by fear.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Malleus Draconia x gn! reader

𓏵 734 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, angst, hurt/comfort

I missed posting angst aqqq (｡>_<｡) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You weren’t afraid of Malleus Draconia. Not at first.

For as long as you’d known him, he had been gentle—kind, even, in his own distant way. He spoke to you when others fled. He found your presence amusing, interesting, even welcomed. He had never given you a reason to fear him.

Until he did.

It wasn’t directed at you. It wasn’t because of you. But it didn’t matter. The raw, overwhelming power that crackled through the air that night, the sheer force of his rage—it left an imprint on your bones, an instinctual terror you couldn’t shake.

Malleus hadn’t even noticed at first. He had dealt with whatever had offended him, turned to you with the same calm expression he always wore, and spoken your name like nothing had changed.

But something had.

You flinched.

It was slight—barely there—but he caught it. The way your shoulders tensed. The way your breath hitched. The way you hesitated before meeting his gaze.

You had never done that before.

He didn’t say anything. Not then. He only walked you back to your dorm, the silence stretching longer than usual. And in the following days, he observed.

You still greeted him, still smiled, still treated him with the same kindness as always—but there was something different now. A hesitation in your movements. A fraction of a second where you measured your words before speaking. A subtle shift in your posture whenever his magic so much as flickered in the air.

You were afraid.

And Malleus didn’t know how to fix it.

It came to a head one evening, under the familiar comfort of the night sky. He had invited you for a walk—as he often did—but tonight, you were quieter than usual. He watched you, the soft glow of fireflies reflecting in his somber green eyes, and finally, he asked,

“Do you truly fear me now?”

You froze. His voice wasn’t accusing, nor was it sad. It was simply… searching. As if he wanted to understand.

You hesitated, your fingers curling into your sleeves. The answer should have been simple. No, of course not. He was your friend. He had never harmed you. But the words stuck in your throat.

Malleus sighed, looking away. “I see.”

He didn’t. Not really. He had been feared all his life—by strangers, by students, by those who had never even spoken to him. But you had been different. You had never once recoiled at the sound of his name. You had never whispered behind his back or cowered when he entered a room.

And yet, here you were now, struggling to reassure him.

“I don’t—” You stopped, inhaling sharply. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Malleus tilted his head, listening.

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t…” You swallowed. “That night. It was a lot. And I didn’t realize how powerful you were until I saw it firsthand.”

He was silent for a long moment before he let out a quiet hum. “So now you look at me differently.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but that would be a lie. Because you did.

Malleus didn’t say anything else. He only turned his gaze back to the stars, his expression unreadable. He had always been feared. He had thought himself used to it. But somehow, from you, it hurt.

You bit your lip. Your first instinct was to comfort him—to tell him that everything was fine, that things would go back to how they were. But fear wasn’t something you could just switch off. And knowing Malleus, he would never force you to.

So instead, you took a step closer.

Malleus blinked, glancing at you.

Another step. Then another. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his sleeve. A small touch. A quiet reassurance.

“I’m still here, Malleus,” you murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes widened slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“…That is enough,” he murmured. And this time, when he looked at you, there was the faintest trace of a smile.

Not everything was fixed in a single night. But you were still here. And for Malleus, that was what he needed.

[neeeooon]

Hey Elle!!! 😚🫶May I request bllk boys (Nagi, Rin, Sae, Bachira, Shidou) with s/o who's rlly into anime, cosplay, spends all their money on figurines, merch etc and makes them go to conventions with them!!! 🤸🏼‍♀️ love your writing!

yesssss LMAO okay i had fun w thiss thank you sm for the request!!! 💛💛

when you’re an anime fan ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

nagi seishiro

-> he doesn’t like the fact that he has to share you with your dozens and dozens of anime plushies

-> “nagi! you’re crushing mr. sakamoto!!” “what’s that?” “?! please move so he can breathe :)” he decides not to fight you on this. “.. okay.”

-> though nagi doesn’t quite understand your obsession with spending money on little figures and plushies of cartoon characters, he works around it. it’s easier to spend a little time looking for a clear spot than upset you after moving something he wasn’t supposed to

-> until he comes over one day to find a large snorlax plush in his usually empty spot on your bed

-> “.. is this your way of telling me to move?” “what? no, it’s for you! your room is like a prison cell, babe. you need something to make it more personal. plus, he looks just like you!”

-> nagi doesn’t see it, but he sleeps with that damn snorlax plush every night he spends away from you <3

itoshi rin

-> “y/n? put the phone down…” “just one click, rin. one click and it’s all mine.” “y/n, so you really need twenty-six figures of the same four characters..?” “yes.” “really?” “… maybe?”

-> he manages to convince you to give him the phone so you don’t spend your entire paycheck on anime merchandise

-> he’ll stay up late watching the shows with you, and he actually follows along with and likes quite a bit of them. not enough to blow his entire paycheck, but enough

-> “i think we should be meruem and komugi from hxh for halloween.” “… but don’t they d—“ “DONT FINISH THAT SENTENCE.”

-> once you promise to stop crippling your bank account, he agrees to dress up with you <3

itoshi sae

-> bro is not impressed

-> he can’t even pretend to enjoy himself as you drag him around the merch store, grumbling about how ugly and expensive everything is

-> you ignore him and fill your little basket with mangas and posters for your room, but when it comes down to it, sae hands over his card at checkout before you have the chance

-> “?? i thought you said everything here is ugly and expensive?” “oh, it is. i don’t want you spending your money on ugly things, y/n.” you smile at his excuse and kiss his cheek

-> he’s not ecstatic at the cost of everything, but sae doesn’t complain about it to you, either. he even helps you hand your posters at home (those, he does insult)

-> “why does that guy have such big ears?” “be nice to geto!! those are his earrings.” “he looks like a weirdo.” “leave him be 😭”

bachira meguru

-> you better believe he’s feeding your addiction

-> “ooh, y/n, look at this one!! do you have this one?” “i’ve been looking everywhere for that character! how did you find it?” “my monster told me to check the back shelf..”

-> keeps a full, detailed list of every anime you mention starting or liking so he can surprise you with merch

-> “y/n, look! i made a hakura sakura keychain for you!!” “you made it?! i love it!! but what’s the occasion..?” “i just felt like making something for you ☺️” you may have teared up a bit

shidou ryusei

-> you were planning to cosplay one of your favorite anime characters, and the costume was going on sale at a convention. thankfully, shidou didn’t fight when you asked him to join you

-> “so, we’re gonna stand in this line for how long again?” “depends on how quickly they wave us through. could be a few hours.” “… let’s fucking do this.”

-> shidou has to body a few people, and you do get escorted out by security, but you get the costume! so you consider the trip a win

-> “you didn’t have to punch that guy for me,” you hum as you dab at your boyfriend’s scabbing knuckles. “he was going to push you out of the way. you wanted it more than he did, and he shouldn’t put hands on someone for a dress.” “you did, though..” “for you. not the costume… it is a cool costume, though.” “i know, right?!”

-> you post photos and videos of yourself all dressed up online, making sure to tag shidou for helping you complete your look <3

[midnightsnyx]

come back home - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x reader warnings: angst with a hint of fluff word count: 879 requested: yes / no author note: i have like a million other projects i need to write but i just need to get my sad feelings out so yeah, sorry lol masterlist requests are open

It’s quiet when you step in to the apartment you and Jack shared which wasn’t unusual in the past few months. Quiet was how the two of you lived lately. Tip toeing around each other as if you were walking on egg shells.

Part of you was tired of it and asked yourself if it was really worth it. But the other part of you wasn’t sure if you knew how to live without him anymore and that thought alone scared you. It made you realize how much you had grown to depend on him.

You hear his voice before you see him.

“You’re home.”

His voice is hoarse and you know that he just woke up from a nap. His ruffled appearance confirms it when he meets you in the living room.

“Yeah,” you whisper, staring at the floorboards. You hadn’t been home for days - not since the fight the two of you had. Your best friend let you crash at her house after you told him you needed space which explains his next question.

“Why?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what made you decide to come home. Your friend had told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed and had even put her two cents in on the whole situation.

Her words stuck with you since you broke down and told her everything that had been going on.

“He may love you. He probably does… or at least he maybe thinks he does. But that’s not what matters, sweetie. What matters is what he is doing to show you that he does and right now… he isn’t doing anything.” She squeezed your hand and smiled gently. “You deserve someone who goes out of their way to show you how much they care about you.”

The worst part was that she was right. When was the last time he had went out of his way to do something for you? It made you think back to the beginning of your relationship when he treated you like you were the most important thing in his life. But you suppose that all new relationships begin like that.

You realize that he’s still staring at you intently and you try to come up with some reason you came back rather than the truth, which was that you were too dependant on him and you felt like you needed him as much as you needed air to breathe.

“Can you at least tell me one thing?” he asks after you’ve been silent for so long and all you can do is nod.

“Why did you leave?”

You don’t have to think about the answer to this question because it was something that had been haunting you for quite some time.

“I guess I started to feel like I needed you more than you needed me,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

“Look at me,” he says and you let your eyes meet his. “I love you.”

You want to believe him but your friends words keep coming back to haunt you. Did he love you or was he drunk on the idea of it? Something your mom told you a long time ago was that there is a distinct difference between loving someone and being in love with them. It’s easy to lie to yourself about loving someone but you can’t lie to yourself about being in love with them.

“How are you so sure?” you ask him.

“How could I not?” he says and you’re about to tell him that his answer isn’t good enough but he doesn’t stop there. “Baby, you’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of when I’m falling asleep at night.” He slowly walks over to you and reaches out with one hand, letting his thumb run across your cheek. “I think about your smile and your laugh and about how you are the only person I want to come home to.” You watch as he looks away from you and stares at a picture of the two of you. It’s from a trip the two of you took last summer during break. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit. You’re scared that if you let things go back to how they were before, you’ll end up back here in this exact situation. “I’m afraid that this will become a cycle and I can’t do it, Jack. I physically can’t handle that.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just looks at you as if you’re the only thing in the world, his world, that matters. It makes you weak in the knees and this is the Jack you fell in love with. 

“Just come home,” he whispers. “We can figure everything out. Together.”

It’s a risk, deciding to give everything another shot. To put your heart on the line. But you remember something else your mom told you once.

“The right people are worth staying for”, she had told you.

You take a deep breath and nod, hoping that you’re making the right decision.

“All right,” you tell him and he grins, kissing you for the first time in months and it feels like coming home.

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.3

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 - PART 2 ⤳ PART 4 (coming soon)

words count: 3.2k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

That night, you make the call.

You slip away from the crew, knowing that tonight’s the night you have to act. The alliance is too close to the finish line. You can’t afford to wait any longer.

And if you have to use your powers… Well, you’ll use them.

You know exactly where the Poneglyphs are kept. You’ve been studying them for months now. And just as you’re about to make your move, you hear a voice behind you.

It’s Law again.

“Y/N…” His voice is soft, but the tension in it is unmistakable “Don’t do this.”

You freeze, your hand already on the door to the storage room. You turn slowly, your heart pounding. You knew he's way too smart to get played like this and this easily.

“You don’t have to go through with it” he continues, taking a step closer “I can help you. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

You feel the pull of his words.

You want to believe him, but you can’t. You can’t stay. You can’t let them get too close.

“I’m sorry, Law” you whisper, and then you do what you’ve been avoiding for so long.

With a single flick of your wrist, you reach into his mind, just enough to disorient him, to make him forget what he’s about to see.

In the blink of an eye, you twist his perception of reality, shifting the air around him, clouding his thoughts. His eyes glaze over as he loses track of time, lost in your manipulation.

You step through the door, your power still simmering beneath the surface, but just for a moment, you give in.

Just this once.

You’ve never used your power on Law before. Not once. But tonight, you had no choice.

You watch as his sharp golden eyes glaze over, his body momentarily swaying. It’s unnatural—seeing him like this. Trafalgar Law, the man who always sees through everything, the one person who should be immune to deception.

Yet here he stands, caught in the delicate strings of your ability.

“I’m sorry, Captain” you murmur, stepping through the door and leaving him behind.

You don’t look back. You can’t afford to.

You move fast.

Your real crew is waiting for you. Not physically, not here, but they’re watching from the shadows, tracking your every move. They know you’re close. They know you’re almost done.

You just need the final piece. Steal the Poneglyph copies.

That’s why you joined the Heart Pirates. That’s why you stayed, why you fought beside them, why you let yourself get close to Law. It was never about them. It was never about him.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Your hands move on autopilot, reaching for the hidden compartment in Law’s office. You’ve seen him open it before. You know exactly where the safe is, where he keeps the things he doesn’t want others to find.

Click.

The lock releases.

Your fingers close around the scrolls, and just like that—it’s over. You have what you came for. So why does your chest feel tight?

You shove the feeling down and turn on your heel, heading for the exit. But the moment you step into the hallway—

A shift.

A presence.

And your stomach drops.

He’s already after you.

Standing at the end of the corridor, his back straight, golden eyes locked onto yours. His sword is at his side, his expression unreadable.

You freeze.

No.

He shouldn’t be awake. Your ability should have kept him under long enough for you to be gone.

Law tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp as ever “So… that’s your real ability.”

He remembers. Your heart pounds. This is bad. Worse than bad.

You take a step back, fingers twitching at your sides, ready to manipulate the space between you, to push into his mind again if necessary.

But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you hesitate.

Not anger.

Not even betrayal.

Just… disappointment.

That’s worse.

“You were planning this the whole time” he states. It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

You swallow hard, trying to find an escape “Law, I...”

He takes a step forward.

And suddenly, you feel it... A sharp, pulsing tug in the air.

Your body jerks. The space around you shifts. And before you can react, you’re somewhere else—teleported, thrown against the wall by his ability.

Your breath catches. He used Shambles on you.

“You used your power on me” His voice is eerily calm, but you can feel the storm brewing beneath it “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because there’s nothing left to say.

You’re caught.

And for the first time since you started this mission—

You don’t know how to get out of it.

You’re trapped.

Law has you pinned against the wall, golden eyes burning with unreadable emotion. His Shambles forced you here in an instant, disorienting you just long enough to throw off your next move.

Your instincts scream at you to act—twist his mind again, erase this moment, make him forget like you did before.

But something stops you... His expression.

You were expecting rage. You were prepared for it—anger, betrayal, anything. But this? This is different.

Law isn’t furious. He isn’t even yelling. He just looks… tired. Tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You used me” His voice is too calm, too controlled.

You don’t reply. What can you even say? He already knows the answer.

Law takes a slow step toward you, closing the distance between you both “How long?”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. He’s too close. If he gets any nearer, you’ll have to make a choice—fight, run, or lie.

You wet your lips “Does it matter?”

His jaw tightens “It does to me.”

Something in your gut twists at his words, but you force yourself to stay focused. You can’t afford emotions right now.

Your escape window is closing. You need to get out of here.

Your mind races, calculating your next move. You could use your ability again—push into his thoughts, force him to let you go. But Law isn’t stupid. He’s already seen what you can do, and now he’s watching you closely.

If you make one wrong move, you won’t get another chance.

So instead, you try the only other option left.

Words.

You tilt your head, forcing a smirk despite the tension “What? Did you think this was real?”

Law doesn’t move.

You step forward, leaning in slightly, your voice dropping to something softer “Come on, Captain. You’re too smart to have actually believed me.”

His breath hitches—so faint you almost miss it.

Good. You press further, tilting your head as if amused “You thought I cared about you?” A scoff leaves your lips “I was only using you.”

There... You say it. The words cut through the air like a blade, slicing into the space between you.

You expect anger. You expect him to lash out, to yell, to hate you. But he doesn’t.

Law just stares at you, silent. His golden eyes don’t waver, don’t even flicker with emotion.

And that’s somehow worse.

You swallow, suddenly feeling… uneasy.

Why isn’t he reacting?

Why does it feel like you just lost this fight?

“…Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Law finally speaks, his voice quiet, but edged with something unreadable.

Your breath catches.

“What?”

Law takes another step closer... too close now, dangerously close, until you can see every shift in his expression, every flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

“You’re lying.”

Your pulse jumps.

He can’t know that. He can’t.

Law tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to solve “I’ve seen you fight for this crew. I’ve seen the way you look at us... at me.” His voice drops, softer now, but firm “If this was just a mission, why didn’t you leave sooner?”

You clench your fists “Because I needed the Poneglyph copies.”

He shakes his head “That’s not the only reason.”

Damn him.

Damn him for being too smart.

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your mask up “Believe whatever you want... Captain” you say, voice cold “It doesn’t change the truth.”

Law studies you for a long moment. You hate how much he’s looking at you, how much he’s seeing.

Then he exhales, taking a small step back. And just like that, you get your opening. You move... fast.

Before Law can react, your mind reaches out, power snapping into place. The corridor distorts, reality bending around him as you twist his perception for just a second—long enough to slip past him.

Law curses, reaching for his sword, but you’re already gone.

You sprint through the halls of the Polar Tang, heart hammering, your stolen prize tucked beneath your coat. Your only thought is escape.

You need to get off this ship, and fast.

The moment you hit the deck, chaos erupts with the alarm sound.

The crew is now awake.

Lights flash, voices shout, and you realize—Law must have set off an alert the second he saw you.

Shit.

“Y/N?! What the hell?!” Penguin’s voice echoes from the other side of the ship.

You don’t stop. You don’t even look at them.

You leap onto the railing, preparing to jump, to disappear into the ocean where your real crew is waiting—

“ROOM.”

Your body locks in place mid-air, frozen as the space around you twists.

And then— You’re back on the deck, slammed onto your knees, trapped in a sphere of Law’s ability.

Your breath shudders as you glance up.

Law stands before you, katana drawn, eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

He’s done playing.

“Don’t move” he orders, voice dangerously low.

The crew is gathering behind him, watching in confusion and shock. Shachi, Penguin, Bepo—they’re all looking at you like they don’t even know who you are anymore.

Because they don’t.

Because the person they trusted never really existed.

You clench your fists, forcing yourself to keep your expression blank.

This is bad... worse than bad.

You were supposed to escape by now. You were never supposed to get caught.

And yet—here you are. Trapped... cornered, with no way out.

Law’s voice cuts through the night, sharp and cold.

“Start talking.”

You meet his gaze.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

You have no idea what to say.

The deck is silent.

No one moves.

Not Bepo. Not Penguin. Not Shachi. And certainly not Law.

You kneel on the cold metal surface, frozen inside the boundaries of his Room, every breath feeling heavier than the last. The stolen Poneglyph copies are still tucked beneath your coat.

Law keeps his katana pointed at you, the tip gleaming under the dim lights of the submarine. His golden eyes, usually sharp with calculation, are unreadable.

“I said start talking” he orders, voice controlled, but edged with something darker.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Think. There’s still a way out of this. There has to be.

But the way the crew is looking at you... Shachi, arms crossed, face hard with disbelief. Penguin, shifting uncomfortably, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Bepo, ears drooped, expression heart-wrenchingly confused.

They trusted you, and now, they don’t even know who you are.

Law tilts his head slightly, waiting “I won’t ask again.”

You look at him, really look at him.

You were never supposed to let it get this far. You were never supposed to care. But now, kneeling here, trapped under his gaze, you realize something— You don’t want to lie to him. Not anymore. But you have to.

“…What do you want me to say?” you murmur, keeping your tone neutral “That I played you? That I fooled all of you?” You exhale a short laugh, empty and sharp “Fine. You already figured it out, didn’t you?”

Law’s expression doesn’t change “Why?”

Simple. Direct.

The question lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.

You shift slightly, testing the invisible hold of his Room. The second you make a real move, he’ll react. You know that. But maybe—just maybe—you can still turn this around.

You meet his gaze, tilting your head “You already know why, Captain.”

He watches you carefully “Tell me anyway.”

You exhale through your nose. Fine.

“I was after the Poneglyphs,” you admit, tapping your coat where the stolen scrolls are hidden “That’s all this ever was. You were a means to an end. The Heart Pirates, this alliance—” You force a smirk “None of it was real.”

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Law says nothing for a moment.

Then—

“That’s bullshit.”

Your smirk falters.

“What?”

Law steps closer, his sword still steady, but his voice quieter now “If it wasn’t real, you would’ve left sooner. You had plenty of chances.” His gaze sharpens “And you wouldn’t have hesitated just now.”

You freeze.

Shit. He caught that?

You recover quickly, rolling your eyes “Believe whatever you want, Captain. It doesn’t change anything.”

Law’s jaw tightens “Then say it again.”

You blink “What?”

“Look me in the eyes,” he says, stepping even closer, until he’s towering over you, “and say it again.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. The words stick in your throat, because deep down, you know... if you say it again, if you really try to convince him, it won’t just be a lie to him.

It’ll be a lie to yourself.

And that scares you more than getting caught ever did.

The crew watches in tense silence, waiting for your next move.

Law’s grip on his sword tightens “You can’t, can you?”

Damn him for knowing you too well.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. If you don’t act now, you won’t get another chance. So you make your choice.

In one swift motion, you shove your power outward—

A sudden wave of energy ripples through the Room, distorting reality just enough to catch Law off guard.

“Shit—!”

The moment his control slips, you move.

Your body vanishes, slipping between perception and space, a trick you’ve mastered over years of training. For a split second, you’re everywhere and nowhere, dodging the grasp of reality itself.

And when you reappear... behind him. Law spins too late. You don’t hesitate.

With a flick of your fingers, you snap his mind just enough to throw him into a moment of disorientation. His breath catches. His sword falters. His focus breaks. And you run.

Voices shout behind you.

“Get her!”

“She’s heading for the water!”

“Stop her before—”

Too late.

You reach the edge of the Polar Tang, heart pounding, pulse screaming in your ears. The cold night air whips against your face as you take one last look back.

Law has already recovered. He’s glaring at you from across the deck, eyes sharp, fury crackling just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t let yourself hesitate and with a final breath, you jump.

The ocean swallows you whole until someone from your crew brings you to the ship, hidden in the darkness.

You pull yourself onto the deck, dripping and breathless, heart still hammering from the escape.

Your captain—your real captain—leans against the railing, arms crossed “Took you long enough.”

You toss the stolen scrolls onto the deck “I got what we came for.”

He picks them up, examining them briefly before smirking “Not bad.” Then his gaze flickers to you “And the Heart Pirates?”

You force a smirk, shaking off the lingering weight in your chest. “What about them?”

Your captain watches you for a moment before chuckling “You always were a good liar.”

You don’t respond, because for the first time in your life— You’re not sure if that’s true anymore.

You should feel victorious. You got what you came for. You won.

So why does it feel like you lost?

The stolen Poneglyph copies sit untouched on the table in front of you. You can hear the muffled sounds of your real crew moving about the ship, celebrating the success of your mission. You should be out there with them.

But instead, you’re here.

Sitting alone in the captain’s quarters, staring at the very thing you sacrificed everything for.

Your fingers drum against the wood, restless. You don’t even flinch when the door swings open, and your captain strides in.

“Still brooding?” His voice is amused, but there’s an edge to it. He steps closer, arms crossed “Don’t tell me you actually feel bad.”

You scoff, forcing a smirk “Why would I?”

He tilts his head, studying you “That’s what I’d like to know.”

You roll your eyes “I did what I had to do.”

“Did you?”

His tone is too casual, too knowing.

You tense “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, glancing at the scrolls “You had multiple chances to finish the job earlier. Yet you hesitated. A lot.” His gaze flickers back to you, sharp and calculating “Tell me… was it really just a mission to you?”

A dangerous question.

One you don’t want to answer.

So you don’t.

Instead, you stand, brushing past him toward the door “What does it matter? We got what we wanted.”

He lets you go—but not before chuckling under his breath “If you say so.”

You don’t look back, because if you do, you might start doubting yourself all over again.

Meanwhile, On the Polar Tang

“I still don’t believe it.”

Shachi slams his hands onto the table in the mess hall, shaking his head furiously “There’s just no way y/n betrayed us! Maybe she was brainwashed! Maybe she was forced into it!”

“She used her powers against us...” Penguin mutters, arms crossed, his usual easygoing demeanor completely gone “That wasn’t an accident.”

Bepo looks between them, ears drooping “But… she was our friend.”

No one knows what to say to that. Silence lingers between them—until the door swings open and Law steps inside. Every head turns to him.

He looks… exhausted. Dark circles shadow his golden eyes, and his expression is unreadable as he walks past them to the table.

Shachi is the first to break the silence “Captain—”

“She was a spy,” Law says simply, cutting straight to the point “She infiltrated us for informations and the Poneglyph copies.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

Bepo shifts uncomfortably “Then… that means everything was a lie?”

Shachi grits his teeth “I still don’t buy it. Come on, Captain, you know her. She fought for us. She laughed with us. She—”

“She lied.”

Law’s voice is firm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. Something almost… reluctant.

Penguin frowns “Did you talk to her before she escaped?”

A pause.

Then—

“Yes.”

“And?”

Law exhales slowly, fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. His usual sharpness is dulled, like his mind is elsewhere.

“…She said it was all an act.”

The room is silent again.

Then Shachi scoffs “And you actually believe that?”

Law finally looks up, his golden eyes locking onto Shachi’s.

“I don’t know.”

That admission—that uncertainty—hits harder than anything else.

Because Law always knows.

Always.

Back on Your Ship

Days pass.

You don’t reach for the stolen scrolls again. You don’t even look at them.

But you do think about golden eyes. About a crew that trusted you. About the way Law looked at you before you left.

You should be moving forward. This is what you chose.

So why does it feel like something is pulling you back?

And why do you have the terrible, sinking feeling that this isn’t over yet?

Tag List: @dana-nite - @osakis-gf - @crmnic

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One? (Chapter 2)

This is kind of a filler chapter to set up the rest of the story. Next chapter is going to be Azzi's POV.

Thanks so much to everyone who read chapter one!!

-------------------------------------------------------—

Chapter 2-Paige POV

It’s been a few weeks since they went shopping and generally, things have gone back to normal. If you consider it normal for Paige and Azzi to be lingering touches, cuddling in bed, and light flirting, then, yeah, it's back to normal. 

They’re driving to the wedding and will spend a week at the hotel with Azzi’s family leading up to the wedding. This might be one of the most extra weddings Paige has been to with a week-long itinerary, but she’s just going along with whatever Azzi needs. 

“I already know my aunts and grandma are just going to keep asking me if I’m dating anyone yet. I don’t get why they’re always so pushy about it.”

“I don’t know, Az. Family is just weird.”

“At least my parents leave me alone about it. They get basketball is the priority.”

“I feel you, dude.” Paige was distinctly not feeling it.

They fell into a comfortable silence and Paige turned up the music. 

“Paige do you need to play the music so loud? This might be my last chance for beauty sleep.”

Without thinking, Paige slips out a compliment. “You definitely don’t need sleep for that.”

“Okay charmer, well then, if you don’t want me to be grumpy you’ll let me nap. Please?” Azzi juts out her bottom lip, offering the biggest pout possible. Aka, Paige’s weakness. 

Paige dramatically turns down the music. “Oh, anything for you, Passenger Princess. I’ll just sit here in silence. Alone. Driving you to your family wedding. You know, in silence.”

“Amazing, thanks P!” Azzi says sarcastically with a big smile on her face. She has this uncanny ability to fall asleep within seconds anywhere, so now Paige really is left to her own thoughts for the next 2 hours. 

------------------

They’ve entered the countryside, leading to the villa they’ll be staying at. Paige turned off the main road onto a long gravel driveway until she saw the property. “Holy shit” she whispers. The mansion is enormous, the trees are lucious, and the land is endless. There doesn’t seem to be a clear place to park, so Paige pulls into the front loop where two men in suits are waiting. “Hi Ma’am, welcome to the Miller wedding. What are your names?”

“The one sleeping is Azzi Fudd, and I’m her plus one, Paige Bueckers. I'm not sure if my name will be on there.”

“Ah yes! We got so excited when we saw your names on the list. It’s so cool to meet you in person.” 

“Thanks, man! Uh, by the way, where do I park?”

“No need! We will valet your car and take your bags to your room. We will go ahead and get your bags first while she wakes up. You are in room 355. ” The two men laugh at the sleeping girl as they head to the trunk. 

Paige smiles down at her best friend, not wanting to wake her up from such a peaceful sleep. She gently moves the hair out of her face and rubs her shoulder. “Hey, sleepy girl, we’re here.”

“Mmm, Paigey, can we cuddle a little longer?” Azzi mumbles as she shoves herself into Paige’s hands. 

“Sorry, Princess, we gotta go. They’re gonna park the car for us. We can cuddle in the room if you want.”

Azzi grumpily rubs her eyes and sighs before looking around. “Holy shit this place is legit.”

Paige laughs and walks around to the other side of the car to open Azzi’s door while she took in the property. “Alright, Az, let’s get you settled.” Paige offers her hand out to pull Azzi out. Whenever Azzi is sleepy, she is especially clingy, so when Paige goes to move her hand away, Azzi grabs her hand tighter and slips her fingers into Paige’s, having no idea of the effect she is having on the older girl. 

As they enter the mansion, an older woman with a clipboard invites them in and lights up when she sees Azzi. “Hello, ladies, welcome to the Miller wedding! It’s been so long, Azzi, you’ve grown up so beautifully!” 

“Hey, Mrs. Miller! Good to see you, too. This is Paige!” Azzi is still holding Paige’s hand tightly and the older woman looks down quickly. Paige smiles kindly and offers out her other hand to shake the older woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.” 

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. I’m so happy to see Azzi brought someone special with her.”

Wait. Does she think they’re together? There’s no way. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller. We are going to get settled in our room before the events of the day start.” Azzi lets go of Paige’s hand. To anyone else, it would seem like Azzi isn’t fazed, but now she’s wondering if Azzi had the same thought. As they head up to the room, there’s a bit of an awkward silence. Paige opens the door for them and starts unpacking their bags. “You go ahead and nap some more. I’ll put our stuff away.” 

Azzi seems to hesitate for a second as she lays on the bed. “You okay, Az?”

Suddenly, her voice makes her seem so small. “You said we could cuddle when we got up here.” 

Paige let out a sigh of relief. “Of course, Az.” Paige got under the covers, and Azzi cuddled in, laying her head on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around Paige’s stomach. 

After a bit, Azzi’s breathing gets heavier before suddenly speaking.“Thanks for coming with me, P. It really means a lot.”

“Anything for you, Az.”

------------------

Paige wakes up to Azzi hovering over her with a big smile. “Paigeyyyyy! It’s time to wake up. C’mon, we need to hurry up and get ready. I let you sleep too long.”

“Ugh what do we have to do now?” Paige covers her face with the blanket, trying to avoid the bright light coming from the window. 

“We have a welcome dinner to see the family. My brothers keep texting me, upset that they haven’t seen you yet.” 

Paige checks her phone to see a bunch of missed texts, including from Azzi’s brother.

Jose Fudd: dude you’re with azzi all the time come down and hang before dinner

KK: yo can i use your nike bag

aight you takin too long imma take it

bruh where are you what is azzi making you do i need my father to answer me

Nika: how’s your knee

Paige chuckles at her phone and starts to get ready. When she turns around, Azzi is in nothing but a bralette and underwear. Fuck. Paige is frozen. She’s seen Azzi change before, but usually they’re in a locker room, or Paige distracts herself on purpose. 

“See something you like?” Azzi smirks at her and laughs at Paige as she trips over herself.

A knock at the door saved Paige from further embarrassing herself. “I’ll get it!” 

Azzi’s mom, Katie, stands on the other side. “Hey, kid! Just came by to check on you both and see if you need anything before dinner.”

“Nah, we’re good. Just getting ready and will head right down.” Paige smiles at Katie and they finish saying goodbye. She was always like a second mom to Paige, especially with how much time she spent at her house. Katie and Tim came to every game and are constant supports in both their lives. 

“I’m really happy Azzi invited you, Paige.”

“Uh, yeah, me too.” That was weirdly affectionate for the woman who usually teases Paige relentlessly, but who knows, weddings tend to bring out the best and worst of people.

[chelseacult]

False Hope

Niamh Charles x Reader

Summary: off at an away game, you and Niamh ditch the team dinner for a night in at your hotel.

Word Count: 1.8k

The thickening tension in your joint hotel room could be cut with a knife. The look of concentration on Niamh’s face as she eyes down the chessboard considering her next move intimidates you. You struggle to predict where she’s planning on placing the knight that her fingers rest on. She picks it up, and that’s when you see her game plan. She’s got you hook, line, and sinker with one move. You’re about to lose.

You let out a defeated sigh upon realizing that she’s going to beat you again. At the noise, she glances up at you. She hesitates for a second before reversing her path and placing the piece back where it was. Her hand leaves the knight, switching over to her last standing bishop, and she slides it down the board. 

“Your turn,” she urges as she leans back in her chair, looking up at you with an encouraging smile. 

You look down at the board, noticing that her move has left her king vulnerable. You look back at her, shooting her an unimpressed look. “Babe, come on.”

“What?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head.

“There’s literally no way you missed that,” you gesture to the chessboard. 

“Missed what?” she pretends to be confused, leaning forward to inspect the board. You reach forward, moving one of your pieces and capturing her king, signaling your win.

“You won!” Niamh gasps, theatrical enough to let you know she’s not actually surprised. The way she’s smiling at you is usually enough to make you melt, but you’re more focused on the fact that she just let you win.

“I know you saw that! Stop letting me win,” you say exasperatedly, your voice laced with more annoyance than you’re really feeling. 

“I’m not! You’re getting better! I’m so proud of you,” she says excitedly. She abruptly rises from her seat and rushes over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The angle’s a little awkward with you still sitting, but the warmth of her lips against your temple and the soft whisper of “good job, baby” against your skin distracts you from the straining of your neck.

The minuscule amount of annoyance you’re still feeling dissipates when you see the look on her face as she pulls back. She’s the most competitive person you know, but she looks over the moon at your win.

“Rematch?” she asks, sliding back into her seat. You nod.

The two of you get back into action, tension once again rising as you take turns stealing each other’s pieces and attempting to keep the other on their toes. As it always starts, Niamh is outplaying you, and you’d bet money that your loss is impending. As you’re waiting for the inevitable checkmate, she switches up her attack. Almost identical to her ploy earlier, Niamh moves her pawn forward, freeing up a direct path for you to capture her king for the second time tonight. 

“Really?” you exasperrate, staring at the board in disbelief. 

She brushes off your complaint with a smirk. “You should think about going pro. Beating the team’s resident chess champ isn’t a simple feat, you know.”

“I’ve never seen you make a move that stupid.” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, eyebrows raised as you stare her down.

“Honest mistake, love. I’m off my game today,” she chuckles, giving a slight shrug.

“I see right through you.” Despite your words, you mirror the smile on her face. 

“If you don’t want to admit you’ve beaten me fair and square, we can call it a draw.” Her gaze flickers to the board momentarily, then back to you, amusement present in her eyes. “I’d savor the moment if I were you, though. Probably won’t happen again,” she adds with a smirk.

You scoff. “You’re taking your supposed losses too well. If you really want to sell it, you need to act more upset.”

“I could start crying if you want,” she jokes, the knowing glint in her eyes still present. 

“I mean, yeah, that’d be in character for you.”

She laughs. Your laughter follows.

“But, seriously. The pawn out of all pieces to-” you start, but she raises a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. “Don’t ruin this for yourself. Enjoy the win,” she urges.

“Round three, then? Maybe we can get you on a winning streak,” she asks, pointedly ignoring the glare you shoot in her direction. The underlying message in her words is clear: I’m going to keep letting you win.

“A pity win streak, thank you so much,” you deadpan, unable to stop the hint of a smile threatening to break through. She must notice your failed attempt to keep your smile at bay because her grin widens the longer she looks at you. 

A rush of feelings hits you then, and you’re overcome with love for the woman seated across from you. She just let you win again, and she’s happy about it. It’s almost subconscious when you stand and walk over to where she’s sitting. Her smirk softens as you lean down, and she tilts her head to meet you. Your lips meet hers, pressing a brief kiss against them. 

“I love you. Even when you lie to me,” you whisper, feeling her smiling against your lips.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. 

You turn to walk back to your chair, but she grasps your wrist and tugs you back in. Her hands reach either side of your face, warm as she pulls you down to her level. She presses a series of sloppy kisses against your lips, and the laugh you muffle between the kisses causes her smile to widen.

She watches as you retake your seat, her face a bit redder than before. It’d be impossible to miss the adoration in her eyes. You’re positive that both her growing blush and look of adoration are reflected on your own face.

The two of you begin resetting the board, preparing it for another round. The silence is comfortable as you put the pieces back in their respective positions. 

“I don’t let just anyone beat me, by the way,” Niamh eventually states.

Your attention shifts back to her, noting the small smile on her face. “Oh, you’re admitting it already?”

The smile on her face shifts to a look of feigned confusion as she glances up at you. “Admitting what?”

“I give up,” you huff.

“Good. Your start,” she smiles, nodding to the board and gently nudging your foot with hers.

As you go to move one of your pieces, there’s a loud series of knocks at the door, causing you both to flinch. 

“Room service!” Niamh shouts. 

You send a confused look her way. “You ordered room service?”

“Nah, joking. I don’t know who it is,” she laughs. You let out a sound that mixes a scoff and a laugh as you stand up and head to the door. You’ve barely undone the lock before Sam comes barreling into the room. 

“What are you guys doing? Come on, team dinner! We’re all going,” she yells. You and Niamh let out matching groans at the reminder of the event you were both hoping to avoid. 

“How’d you know our room number? Creep,” you ask with a teasing lilt.

“I have my ways.” Sam stops in her tracks as she notes the chessboard on the table. “You guys are seriously hiding away to play chess? Nerds.”

“Rude!” Niamh utters under her breath. Sam waves a dismissive hand in her direction. “Who won though?” she asks.

Niamh gestures in your direction, and her proud smile almost makes you believe her false narrative of your success.

“What? No way. She let you win?” Sam shifts her attention to you.

“Ye-” you start.

“No! She just has a good teacher. Best on the team, I reckon,” Niamh says smugly, subtly winking in your direction.

Shifting her attention back to Niamh, Sam gives her a skeptical look. You turn to Niamh and mirror the look on Sam’s face.

“Don’t gang up on me!” Niamh exclaims.

“Niamh, you hate losing,” Sam says pointedly. 

“It’s not preferred, but I don’t hate it,” she argues.

Sam raises one eyebrow. “Yes, you do,” she counters.

Niamh sighs, then shrugs. “She just gets really happy when she wins,” Niamh admits almost sheepishly, making an effort to avoid eye contact with you.

Sam’s exaggerated fake gagging cuts off the teasing remark on the tip of your tongue. 

“Stop, I’m disgusted. And we need to go! Niamh, get up,” Sam gestures for Niamh to get out of her chair, prompting another groan to leave her lips. You shuffle over to her, holding out a hand to help pull her from the chair. 

“You’re also late, if you failed to notice,” Niamh remarks to Sam as she takes your hand, giving it a grateful squeeze as she stands.  

Sam shrugs. “I have an excuse. You guys are here being losers.”

“You’d die if you saw the puzzles we brought,” you laugh, the laughter of the other two following shortly after. 

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. And don’t get me started on how you bribed Sonia to assign you guys the same room.”

“We’ll give you some tips!” Niamh playfully remarks as Sam walks back to the door.

“Lobby. Five minutes,” Sam says sternly, pointing back and forth between the two of you. “If you’re not there, I’ll come back up and drag you both out of the room.” She exits before either of you can respond.

You turn to Niamh with a smug grin on your face. If the bashful look on her face tells you anything, she knows exactly what you’re about to say.

“You admitted it.” You punctuate your statement with a gentle tug of her hand, urging her to meet your gaze. She obliges, her fingers momentarily tightening around yours as she sighs and turns toward you.

“Alright,” she drawls. “I let you win. I thought you’d let it go by now.”

“You know better than that.”

She huffs out a laugh. “I know. Ever the persistent one, aren’t you?” she teases, leaning forehead to kiss your forehead. The warmth of her lips on your skin spreads like wildfire through you.

“Come on,” she mumbles against you before pulling away. “Sam will kill us if we make her wait any longer.”

“Fine,” you relent, extending a hand towards her. “But we’re having a rematch when we get back. And you’re not going easy on me this time.” 

“Deal,” she agrees, smiling as she firmly shakes your hand. 

Her grip lingers a little longer than necessary. As she lets go, you catch a flash of something unreadable in her eyes. It’s enough to have you wondering if she intends to keep her word. When she leans in to kiss you one last time before you exit the room, you realize it doesn’t really matter. 

a/n: this idea popped into my head while I was watching an old lionesses YT vid where chess was brought up. sorry if the chess lingo is confusing, hope you enjoyed!