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earthtooz · 4 months ago

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phainon x gn!scholar reader, phainon is so in love and reader is oblivious

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

The moment Phainon’s eyes first met yours, there was a stutter in his heart, an indescribable feeling of reverence coupled with curiosity creeped into his being when he first met you.

Beautiful. That was the only word he knew at the time.

Your beauty was unparalleled, unmatched as you saunter into his view, mind not exactly present in the moment as your clothes swayed with your every hurried step. Your eyes were foggy, a testament to your dedication and work, evidenced by the tablet you held snug to your side.

He decides in that moment that he wants to know you, so he purposefully sets himself in your line of movement and waits for the moment when you bump into him, far too focused in a world that wasn’t the one you were presently in. Fate decided to be kind to him when you fall right into his schemes, allowing him to catch you with an arm secured around your waist, your tablet falling to the stone pavement with a dull smack.

“Oh my!” you exclaim. “My utmost apologies, I was not aware of where I was going-”

He smiles, for the last thing he was thinking of was your apology. Even your voice is beautiful, the words flowing into his ears like warm ichor.

“It’s alright,” he reassures with that smile of his, almost faltering when his heart skips another beat the moment your eyes flit to look at his. Phainon thinks he’s going to collapse to his knees if you glance away. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me your name.”

Unaware of his flirtatious intentions, you sound out the syllables of your name and he repeats it with much wonder. “What a lovely name. I’m Phainon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s been two years since he first met you, and you are still just as enchanting.

He learns you are a widely renowned scholar and author, which explains the tablet you held that day. Of course, you were shocked the moment he uttered his name, for the titles of the Chrysos Heirs were well known, essentially common knowledge for those that flourished in the world of academia. Phainon still cherishes the memory of your expression, keeping it in the back of his mind and musing over it in private.

If you had known he was holding that over you, you would have thrown a slew of unpretty words at him with that pretty voice of yours, and he would have cherished them the same way he does with all of your works.

Whenever Phainon hears that your most recent novel has been released, he is one of the first to scour for it, reading it from start to finish within days. Even your publications from years before have a place on his shelves, there is no book of yours that he has not purchased and proceeded to read from front to back.

He insists on meeting you whenever he can, and while you answer a question he asked, he’s trying to keep his marvelling to a minimum, trying to keep these feelings from spilling all over you as he lets you know that his undivided attention is on you.

You’re skeptical of him. You wonder why he seeks your companionship specifically, what about you entertained him enough to invite you on market walks, buy your favourite drink from your favourite stall, and then sit on a marble bench in a quiet park underneath falling leaves.

As you’re busy pondering, he jolts whenever your thigh brushes against his.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

His favourite time to admire you is when you’re deep in thought and unaware of the world around you, too focused on the wax tablet that sits on your desk.

Despite the practicality of papers, you tell him you like the sensation of writing on wax, how your pen glides along, all of your bursts of inspiration occur like this, so they hold a dear place in your heart. Soft chatter is exchanged, he tells you about his day, you share some idle musings about yours, then you let him know of the most recent developments of your work before he lets you write in peace.

Phainon tries not to stare too much, knows it’s unbecoming to do so, but he can’t help letting his eyes linger on you as your hand scrawls, occasionally taking a break here and there but never letting the train of thought end without it being recorded.

He could watch forever. He could be here forever, sitting in a comfortable chaise in the corner of your study, rendering himself invisible in your periphery as he just gets to exist with you.

The Chrysos Heir is in love.

It’s not widely known, perhaps less than a handful of people know, and it’s not because he has confessed it to them outright, but because they have caught on to the subtleties.

The company he surrounds himself with knows well enough about the scholar that has caught his heart, and how he refuses to run away. They give him teasing looks now and then whenever the prospect of romance and love is raised, and glance specifically at the light-haired when your name is mentioned in passing, not wanting to miss the softening of his bright gaze.

It’s even more entertaining because you are not aware of it.

You are not aware of Phainon’s awestruck eyes whenever he looks at you, how he leans closer whenever you speak, desperate to close the gap however he can. You are not aware of how he speaks your name so gently, as if wanting the wind to take the words away and to you so that no one else may hear. You are not aware of the little world Phainon lives in where it’s just you and him, existing together.

The rest of the Chrysos Heir hound after him relentlessly when they first discovered of your ignorance to his feelings, and now they make it their life mission to make fun of him for it, especially before you.

Phainon does not mind, well- tries not to, because he is in love.

As infuriating it is that you haven’t caught on, despite your immense intelligence, he waits patiently for the day you will.

Even though he yearns to declare it from the highest point of Amphoreus, that his very being has been seized by you, he is content with the quiet moments you share now, and he will happily take all that you give him, even if he wants more.

Phainon is in love.

#earthtooz: hsr !!#phainon x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #phainon x you #phainon fluff

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velvetvisionsaurora · 18 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Author’s Note: okay so this fic has received so much love! I’m opening the Taglist back up!! Let me know if you want added! 💜

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 7: Ripple Effect

The day had passed in a blur of activity, each hour packed with tasks from your meticulously reworked schedule. The morning vocal recording had stretched into early afternoon, followed immediately by dance practice where you'd watched from the corner, tablet in hand, coordinating with the production team via text while the members perfected their formations. The concept meeting had run later than planned, necessitating quick rearrangements for tomorrow's photoshoot.

By the time you all returned to the house, exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Dinner had been a quiet affair—takeout ordered on the way home, everyone too tired for much conversation. Even Wooyoung's usual animated energy had been subdued, his head occasionally nodding as he fought to stay awake at the table.

"Early night for everyone," Hongjoong had announced, his leader voice brooking no argument. "We need to be fresh for tomorrow."

You'd retreated to the guesthouse after helping clear away the takeout containers, intending to review the next day's schedule before sleep. But after thirty minutes of staring at your tablet, the words blurring together as fatigue weighed on your eyelids, you'd made a decision.

What you needed wasn't more work. What you needed was to clear your head.

The pool that connected the main house to your guesthouse had been tempting you for weeks now. You'd admired it daily but never found the time to actually use it, despite San's occasional reminders that it was there for everyone, including you. Tonight, with your muscles aching from tension and your mind still racing despite your exhaustion, a swim seemed like the perfect solution.

You put on the waterproof tape over your blocker an changed into the black bikini you'd brought from your old apartment but hadn't yet had occasion to wear. The simple two-piece was modest by most standards but still revealed more skin than any of the members had seen from you before. For a brief moment, you hesitated, wondering if you should opt for more coverage given the complex dynamics that had emerged recently.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered to yourself, dismissing the thought. "It's just swimming. They're professionals."

Besides, the house lights had been dimmed when you'd left, most of the members presumably already retreating to their rooms for the night. Chances were good you'd have the pool to yourself.

With a towel draped over your arm, you stepped out of the guesthouse into the warm evening air. The pool area was illuminated by soft underwater lights that cast rippling blue patterns across the stone deck. The sight of the still water, glowing invitingly in the darkness, confirmed you'd made the right decision.

You dropped your towel onto one of the loungers and approached the pool's edge, unaware that your solitary moment was about to be interrupted.

---

Wooyoung had been rummaging through the refrigerator, searching for the last yogurt drink he was certain he'd hidden behind Seonghwa's vegetable containers. His quest had brought him to the kitchen at precisely the moment you stepped out of the guesthouse and into the pool area visible through the large glass doors.

He froze, yogurt drink forgotten, as he caught sight of you walking toward the pool.

Seonghwa, who had been wiping down the kitchen counters before bed (a nightly ritual that the others teased him about but secretly appreciated), noticed Wooyoung's sudden stillness.

"What's wrong?" he asked, following Wooyoung's gaze toward the glass doors.

Wooyoung's voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper. "Hyung, I'm trying to be respectful, I promise, but Y/n is walking to the pool... in a bikini and—oh my stars, she has a spine tattoo. I think I'm going to pass out!"

The soft landscape lighting illuminated your figure, revealing the black bikini and, more startlingly, a delicate tulip tattoo that ran down your spine, its stem following the gentle curve of your back.

Seonghwa's immediate frown of disapproval quickly dissolved as his own eyes moved to the pool area. He had opened his mouth, presumably to chastise Wooyoung, but whatever reprimand he'd planned died on his lips as he caught sight of you by the poolside. A flush crept up his neck despite his best efforts to maintain his composed facade.

"We shouldn't be watching," he managed after a moment, though he made no immediate move to look away. The elegant line of the tattoo trailing down your spine had caught him by surprise—somehow both delicate and striking against your skin.

"Guys, have you seen my phone charger?" Yunho's voice preceded him into the kitchen, followed closely by San and Mingi. "I thought I left it—" He broke off as he registered Wooyoung and Seonghwa's frozen poses by the window. "What are you looking at?"

Before either could respond, Wooyoung gestured silently toward the pool, his expression a mixture of awe and something more intense. The three newcomers moved to the window as if drawn by magnetic force.

"Oh," Yunho said softly, his tall frame going perfectly still as he caught sight of you.

San let out a low whistle that earned him a sharp look from Seonghwa, though the eldest's reprimand lacked its usual conviction given the flush still evident on his own face.

Mingi said nothing at all, but his sharp intake of breath was audible in the suddenly quiet kitchen. His eyes followed your movements with an almost predatory focus as you tested the water with your toe.

"What is everyone looking at?" Jongho's curious voice joined the group, the youngest appearing in the doorway with Yeosang close behind. Neither waited for an answer before following their gazes outside.

Yeosang's usually impassive face registered genuine surprise, his eyes widening slightly before his natural reserve reasserted itself. Beside him, Jongho's reaction was less guarded—a visible gulp before he quickly averted his eyes, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

"This is inappropriate," Seonghwa finally said, though his voice lacked its usual authority. He looked to Hongjoong for support as the leader entered the kitchen, drawn by the unusual gathering. "We shouldn't be—Hongjoong!"

The sharp call of his name was necessary because even their leader, typically the most disciplined among them, had become momentarily transfixed by the sight of you slowly descending the pool steps, water rising around your waist as the blue lights illuminated your skin.

Hongjoong snapped back to attention at Seonghwa's call, his eyes clearing as if emerging from a trance. "Everyone back to what you were doing," he ordered, his voice low but commanding. "Now."

The alpha authority in his tone was enough to break the spell, sending most of the members reluctantly dispersing—though not without backward glances toward the pool.

"But hyung," Wooyoung protested, "I was just thinking I could use a swim too..."

He took a step toward the door, still fully clothed in his loungewear, but was immediately intercepted by Seonghwa, who grabbed his arm firmly.

"Absolutely not," Seonghwa hissed, pulling him back from the door. "She deserves privacy."

"I wasn't going to—" Wooyoung began indignantly.

"You were," San countered with a knowing smirk. "We all know you were."

Wooyoung deflated slightly, his mischievous grin acknowledging he'd been caught. "Fine. But can you blame me? Did you see that tattoo? A tulip! Right down her—"

"We all saw," Hongjoong interrupted, his voice carrying a warning edge that silenced Wooyoung immediately. "And now we're all going to respect her privacy and go back to our rooms."

"Some of us need to go take very cold showers," Mingi muttered under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Yunho and a suppressed snort of laughter from San.

Seonghwa, having successfully prevented Wooyoung's pool expedition, turned to herd the remaining members out of the kitchen. "Go on, all of you. Early morning tomorrow, remember?"

As the others reluctantly filed out, Hongjoong remained by the window for a moment longer, his expression unreadable as he watched you swim a smooth lap across the pool. There was something almost pained in his gaze—a conflict between desire and restraint that echoed the complexity of the situation they all found themselves in.

"You too, Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa said quietly, returning to find the leader still watching. "Whatever this is between all of us... we need to be careful."

Hongjoong nodded, finally turning away from the window. "I know. It's just—" He paused, struggling to articulate the feeling. "It's getting harder to remember why we're being so careful."

Seonghwa understood the sentiment all too well. What had begun as an inexplicable connection with their new assistant had evolved into something far more profound over these past weeks—a pull that defied professional boundaries and conventional explanation.

"Because she works for us," Seonghwa reminded him gently. "Because we don't fully understand what's happening. Because eight alphas and one beta is a complicated dynamic no matter how you look at it."

Hongjoong gave him a strange look at the word "beta," as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he simply sighed and moved away from the window. "You're right. Goodnight, Seonghwa."

As the kitchen emptied, silence settled over the main house, though the ripples from your simple decision to go for a swim continued to spread through the minds and hearts of eight alpha idols, each trying to process their reactions in the privacy of their own rooms.

---

The water felt heavenly against your skin, cool enough to be refreshing but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. You swam lazy laps, feeling the day's tension gradually melt away with each stroke. The silence of the night, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the pool's edge, was exactly the reset your overstimulated mind had needed.

After fifteen minutes of swimming, you floated on your back, gazing up at the stars visible through the Seoul light pollution. The peaceful moment was interrupted by the distinct sensation of being watched. You tilted your head toward the main house, but the kitchen windows showed only darkness, the lights having been turned off at some point during your swim.

Shaking off the feeling, you decided you'd spent enough time in the pool. Tomorrow would be another full day of comeback preparations, and despite the rejuvenating effects of the swim, you still needed proper rest. You climbed out of the pool, water streaming from your skin as you reached for your towel.

As you dried off, you couldn't shake the lingering sensation that had prickled at the back of your neck—that brief, certain feeling of multiple eyes on you. Had the members seen you in the pool? The thought sent a flush of heat through you that had nothing to do with exertion or temperature.

You wrapped the towel around your waist and gathered your hair over one shoulder, wringing out the excess water. The night air felt cooler now against your damp skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. You hurried back to the guesthouse, suddenly self-conscious in a way you hadn't been before entering the pool.

Inside, you showered quickly to rinse off the chlorine, your mind still caught on the possibility that some—or all—of the members might have seen you swimming. What would they have thought of the tattoo? Most people were surprised to discover you had one, given your typically professional appearance. The delicate tulip that trailed down your spine was a reminder of your mother, whose favorite flower it had been. You'd gotten it on your twentieth birthday, a private symbol of connection to her that was rarely visible to others.

As you changed into your pajamas, your phone chimed with a message. You picked it up, expecting perhaps a schedule update from Minwoo, but instead found a text from.

Hongjoong: Everyone's meeting at 7:30 tomorrow instead of 7:00. Extra half hour of rest before the photoshoot. Make sure you take advantage of it too.

The thoughtfulness of the message warmed you, but you couldn't help wondering about the timing. Had he seen you at the pool and decided everyone needed more rest? Or was it simply his leader instincts kicking in after a long day?

You typed back a quick response:

I'll let everyone know. Thank you for the consideration.

After a moment's hesitation, you added:

The pool was perfect tonight. I should have been using it all along.

You hit send before you could overthink the addition, then immediately wondered if it was too obvious—if it somehow acknowledged the sensation of being watched that you couldn't quite dismiss.

Hongjoong's reply came faster than you expected:

Glad you enjoyed it. It's there for everyone to use. Sleep well, Y/n.

The neutrality of his response gave nothing away, but something about it still felt charged with unspoken meaning. You set your phone aside, trying to dismiss the overthinking that threatened to undo the relaxation your swim had provided.

As you settled into bed, you couldn't help but imagine how the members might have reacted if they had seen you—Wooyoung's dramatic commentary, Seonghwa's attempt at propriety, Mingi's intense gaze. The thoughts should have embarrassed you, but instead, they sent a flutter of something else entirely through your stomach—something dangerously close to anticipation.

Your hand drifted to the scent blocker behind your ear, the habitual gesture grounding you back in reality. Whatever was developing between you and the eight alphas under your care, it existed within boundaries—professional, practical, and self-protective. The blocker was a physical reminder of those boundaries, of the essential truth you kept hidden from them.

Yet as sleep began to claim you, your last conscious thought was to wonder how much longer those boundaries could hold against the tide of connection that grew stronger with each passing day.

---

The next morning

"Did anyone ever get me a coffee? I feel like I asked for coffee hours ago. Or was that in my dream?" Wooyoung's dramatic complaints filled the kitchen as you entered the main house at precisely 7:30, tablet in hand and ready for the day's packed schedule.

"If you want coffee, the machine is right there," Yeosang replied dryly, not looking up from his own mug.

"But it tastes better when someone else makes it," Wooyoung whined, before his eyes landed on you in the doorway. For a split second, something flashed across his expression—a reminder of whatever he might have seen last night—before his usual playful demeanor reasserted itself. "Y/n! Good morning! Have I mentioned lately that you're my favorite person in this household?"

"Not in the last twelve hours," you replied with a smile, setting your tablet down and moving toward the coffee machine. "Let me guess. One sugar, extra milk?"

"See?" Wooyoung exclaimed to no one in particular. "She remembers! This is why she's the best!"

You felt other eyes on you as you prepared Wooyoung's coffee—subtle glances from the members scattered around the kitchen and dining area. There was a different quality to their attention this morning, a heightened awareness that hadn't been there before. You mentally replayed your swim from the night before, wondering if the pool area was more visible from the house than you'd realized.

"Sleep well?" Hongjoong asked casually as you handed Wooyoung his coffee. The leader was reviewing something on his phone, his posture relaxed, but there was a careful neutrality in his tone that piqued your suspicion.

"Very well, thank you," you replied, equally casual. "The extra half hour was appreciated."

Seonghwa entered from the pantry with an armful of breakfast ingredients, his eyes meeting yours briefly before sliding away, a faint color rising to his cheeks. "Good morning, Y/n. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes."

"Can I help?" you offered, moving toward him.

"No need," he replied quickly—perhaps too quickly. "I've got it under control. You should sit and review the day's schedule with Hongjoong."

You nodded, returning to where you'd left your tablet, but not before catching the subtle glance Seonghwa exchanged with the leader—a look laden with meaning you couldn't quite decipher.

As you took a seat at the island, San sauntered in, his hair still damp from a shower. His eyes lit up when he saw you, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "Good morning! Did you have a nice swim last night?"

The direct question confirmed your suspicions, heat immediately rising to your cheeks. So they had seen you. The question now was: how many of them, and how much had they observed?

"I did, actually," you replied, aiming for nonchalance despite your flushed face. "The pool was perfect after such a long day."

"I bet," San said, his smile widening as he caught Mingi's warning glare from across the room. "Water looked... inviting."

"It was," you confirmed, now certain that at least some of them had definitely watched you swimming. The realization should have mortified you, but instead, you felt a strange thrill at their collective attention—at the knowledge that they had seen a different side of you than the professional assistant they were accustomed to.

Jongho and Yunho entered the kitchen together, both pausing almost imperceptibly when they saw you before continuing to their usual seats. Jongho couldn't quite meet your eyes, a tell-tale blush coloring his cheeks despite his attempt at composure.

"The car for the photoshoot will be here at 8:45," you announced, deliberately changing the subject to safer, professional territory. "The concept team sent over the final wardrobe selections this morning, and they're excited about the underwater theme for the second set of photos."

"Underwater theme?" Wooyoung repeated, his eyes sparkling with barely contained mischief. "How appropriate, considering—"

"Considering the comeback concept focuses on transformation," Hongjoong smoothly interrupted, shooting Wooyoung a pointed look. "Water being a symbol of rebirth and change."

"Right, right," Wooyoung agreed, not looking remotely chastised. "Transformation. That's exactly what I was going to say."

You bit back a smile, focusing intently on your tablet screen. The dynamic in the room was charged with a new energy—playful but intense, like a shared secret hovering just below the surface of normal conversation.

"Before I forget," you said, remembering a detail from your morning emails, "the stylist wanted to know if anyone has a problem with using temporary tattoos? They’ll be featured in the concept photos. Apparently, they've adjusted some of the styling to include more revealed skin than originally planned."

The question landed in the room like a stone dropped in still water, ripples of reaction spreading visibly across eight alpha faces. San choked slightly on his orange juice. Mingi suddenly became intensely interested in the ceiling. Wooyoung's mouth opened and closed without producing sound.

"I don’t believe so," Hongjoong replied after a beat too long, his voice carefully controlled. "I think we’ve all suddenly become a fan of tattoos."

Yunho let out a frustrated groan and sat on the couch, earning a glare from Seonghwa.

"Interesting choice of question," Yeosang observed quietly, his perceptive eyes studying your face. "Any particular reason you're asking about tattoos this morning?"

The deliberate prod confirmed what you'd already suspected—they had all seen you last night, including the tulip tattoo trailing down your spine that was normally hidden beneath your professional attire.

Two could play at this game.

"Just being thorough," you replied with an innocent smile. "After all, sometimes what a person shows to others might be different than what they truly feel. Best to be prepared."

The double meaning hung in the air, acknowledged in the slight widening of Yeosang's eyes and the muffled laugh Yunho tried to disguise as a cough.

Seonghwa, ever the peacekeeper, cleared his throat loudly. "Breakfast is ready. Everyone should eat quickly since we have a tight schedule today."

As the conversation shifted to more mundane topics, you caught Mingi watching you, his dark eyes intense in a way that sent a shiver down your spine—right along the path where your tattoo bloomed against your skin. When your eyes met his, he didn't look away. Instead, he held your gaze with deliberate focus, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

They had seen you. All of you—not just the professional assistant who managed their schedules, but the woman beneath the polished exterior. The woman with a tattoo trailing down her spine and enough confidence to swim alone under the stars.

And judging by the charged atmosphere in the kitchen this morning, none of them would be forgetting the sight anytime soon.

As the meal progressed, Wooyoung cleared his throat dramatically, drawing everyone's attention. "I've been thinking," he announced, as if sharing profound wisdom.

"Dangerous," Yeosang muttered, earning a glare from Wooyoung.

"As I was saying," Wooyoung continued pointedly, "I think our Y/n needs a nickname."

Your eyebrows rose, immediately suspicious of where this might be heading. "A nickname? I think my name works just fine."

"No, no," Wooyoung insisted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We all have nicknames for each other. It's part of being in the group."

"I wasn't aware I was 'in the group,'" you countered, though the idea sent a pleasant warmth through your chest despite your wariness.

"Of course you are," San chimed in, clearly catching on to whatever Wooyoung was planning. "You've been with us for weeks now. You're practically family."

Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! And I've thought of the perfect nickname for you." He paused dramatically, his eyes locked with yours. "Tulip."

The simple word hung in the air, its implications immediately clear to everyone at the table. Heat rushed to your cheeks as several members suddenly became very interested in their breakfast. Hongjoong shot Wooyoung a warning look that went completely ignored.

"Tulip?" you repeated, your voice impressively steady despite the flush spreading across your face. "Any particular reason for that choice?"

Wooyoung's smile widened, the picture of false innocence. "They're elegant flowers. Delicate but strong. They have... interesting stems." His gaze flicked momentarily to your back, making his meaning unmistakable. "It suits you."

You could see his satisfaction at having flustered you—at the blush you couldn't control and the awkward silence that had fallen over the table. He thought he'd won this little game, pushing the boundaries of your professional relationship with his playful teasing.

But two could play at this game.

Something shifted in your demeanor as you made a split-second decision. Leaning forward slightly, you rested your chin on your hand and fixed Wooyoung with a gaze you knew was far from your usual professional look.

"Tulip," you repeated softly, letting the word roll off your tongue in a way that was almost a purr. "I like it. Especially coming from your lips, oppa."

The deliberate honorific coupled with your sudden shift in tone had exactly the effect you'd hoped for. Wooyoung's triumphant smile froze, his eyes widening as the tables turned. Around the table, you heard a few sharp intakes of breath.

Not stopping while you had the advantage, you continued, your voice dropping to a tone that walked the line between playful and seductive. "Are you saying you liked what you saw last night? My... interesting stem?"

Wooyoung's mouth opened but no sound emerged. The flush you'd been sporting moments ago was now mirrored on his face, spreading rapidly down his neck. From the corner of your eye, you could see Mingi gripping his chopsticks so tightly his knuckles had whitened, while Jongho seemed to have forgotten how to breathe entirely.

With a soft laugh, you broke the spell, rising gracefully from your seat and gathering your tablet. "Tulip it is, then. I think it has a nice ring to it." You glanced around the table, enjoying the collection of stunned expressions. "We should leave in twenty minutes if we want to arrive on time for the photoshoot. Don't be late."

As you walked out of the kitchen, you couldn't resist glancing back over your shoulder. Wooyoung remained frozen in place, his breakfast forgotten as he stared after you, looking like he'd been struck by lightning. San was doubled over in silent laughter beside him, while Seonghwa appeared torn between disapproval and reluctant amusement.

Hongjoong's eyes met yours across the room, something dark and appreciative in his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine—right along the path of the tattoo that had started this whole episode.

You left the kitchen with a smile playing on your lips, oddly invigorated by the exchange. Every time they thought they had you figured out, you found a way to surprise them. Professional assistant? Yes. But perhaps a bit more complex than they'd initially assumed.

Behind you, you heard Yunho's voice break the silence: "I think Wooyoung just short-circuited."

"Worth it," came San's delighted reply. "Totally worth it to see his face."

"Tulip is officially the most dangerous person in this house," Mingi added, his deep voice carrying an unmistakable note of admiration.

The new nickname—and what it represented—marked another shift in your evolving relationship with the eight alphas. Whatever game you were all playing, the rules were changing by the day, boundaries blurring even as the connection between you deepened.

Today's schedule would be demanding, the comeback preparations intensifying as the deadline approached. But beneath the professional responsibilities and practical tasks lay something deeper—a current of connection that continued to pull you all toward some unknown destination, one revealed truth at a time.

Next>>

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asukiess · 2 months ago

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nathalie attending fashion shows and line premieres with gabriel and she's usually a silent observer next to him, so stone-faced and stoic that he sometimes wonders if, at anytime in the past fifteen years, she's actually learned anything about fashion. she knows fibers and industry numbers and marketing, but she's never shown an interest in the artistry of it all. if, out of the corner of his eyes, he catches her lips flattening into a line, or a crease forming between her brows, he considers her actively engaged in the whole ordeal.

.... until one show, out of the blue, her lips part. she holds a breath, and then, without looking at him but tilting her head over, asks him bluntly if this line is a trite rip-off of alexander mcqueen's s/s 1999? isn't this designer's choice of neutrals, even if an ironic statement on society, absolutely boring? didn't this other designer do a similar line not even two seasons ago? the theme, she actually scoffs, is completely missed.

he's stunned. he stumbles through explanations and agrees with what she's saying---but where did she learn that?

she blinks. adjusts her glasses. you see enough of them, you start to notice things. she makes a few notes on her tablet before hastily shutting it off and tucking it in her briefcase.

anyway. she holds the highest score on dress to impress.

#ml

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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago

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Sea Cryptic! Danny- pt. 10

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9]

“This you?”

Danny glanced at the stone tablet in Spoiler’s hands and groaned, Phantom form flickering with embarrassment as his face got even more neon green. It was indeed him.

——

The first Atlantean and Ghost King encounter went something like this:

Imagine Danny, sleep deprived. Easy enough. Now, imagine Danny, trying to corral a ghost that had a penchant for sea life.

“Alabastor, I swear to Ancients, if you don’t get back here, I’m gonna make you into ghost sea-food boil!” Danny yelled as he chased Alabastor through the ghost zone. The crustacean shaped ghost cackled, skittering along the Zone.

"Make me, Phantom! You have not seen the might of the sea!"

"That's it, soup-time, crabby!"

Danny dove after Alabastor, chasing him face first into a temporal portal and right into the sea.

"BEHOLD!" Alabastor rumbled, claws raised and sea churning around him. Danny flew at him, noticing the screaming people below. He quickly raised a dome of clear ice to protect their entire city before returning his attention back to the giant crustacean. The distraction cost him, as Alabastor blasted him with a beam of his power. "THE MIGHT OF THE SEA!"

"SOUP!" Danny bellowed back, Alabastor's power forcing him into a giant crab form, aside from, hilariously, his head. Danny, always quick to adapt, slammed a massive claw straight into one of Alabastor's eyes and popped open the Fenton Thermos with a feral grin. In but moments, Danny manages to soup Alabastor but not before slamming him down onto the unbreakable ice Danny had just made.

Carefully turning by skittering sideways, he unmelted his ice.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly to the gawking civilians below.

"Suh-ree? What is suh-ree?" A brave woman asked.

"Oh," Danny uttered as he realized that he should probably switch languages. His giant crab body and small itty bitty human head swayed in an unsure motion. "Sorry means "my apologies." I had not meant to involve you. I am Phantom."

"It is alright... thank you for protecting us... God Phantom?"

He grimaced. "Not a god."

"King, then." She stepped forward. "May I ask of the ice?"

——

Spoiler, sensing weakness like the Riddler to a riddle, leaned in. "Did you know they have a traditional dance to honor the god that gave them the unbreakable ice that protects Atlantis to this day? It goes like this," Spoiler stepped back and did the dance, complete with exaggerated arm movements and, embarrassingly, the scuttle walk Crab!Danny was forced to learn with his new crab form.

"We shall never speak of this again," Danny huffed.

"But King Phantom, the God of Eternal Ice and Protection, how could we not celebrate your iciness?" Spoiler simpered, Black Bat not too far away and shaking with laughter. The purple donning vigilante did the scuttle dance once more, picking up bottles as she went a small circle around one of Bludhaven's rock beaches.

Danny scowled and plucked the tablet away from her, hair flowing an a more agitated direction. His jumpsuit burned brighter. "Why are you two menaces in Bludhaven? I thought your territory was in Gotham."

"Nightwing asked for back up and we were in the area." Spoiler, blessedly, stopped the walk to answer him. "By the way, are you and Danny dating?"

"Pardon?" He asked, insulted but highly amused.

"Oh, you know, he has your number, and you only ever talk to him outside of us, and how you guys have a high level of communication." Spoiler said leadingly.

Oh, Danny knew what this was about now. He found out their identities and now these two are interrogating him because he liked them best. They thought they were so clever. Well, they clearly haven't gotten to know Danny at all if they thought he was going to make good decisions.

Danny tilted his head, making sure his face gets as eerie as possible, shadows elongating and eyes burning just that much brighter. The neon green of his face shone even brighter against the suddenly dark landscape of the place. Black Bat stood up, laughter seizing immediately. Spoiler tensed.

"I have a riddle for you. You are good at those, are you not?"

Spoiler blinked but gamely said, "Bring it."

"What do these things have in common? An arguing couple, papers on a stranger's desk, and Star City's robbers."

"..." Spoiler slipped into her solving mode. "Stolen goods. Stolen hearts?" She guessed.

"No. The answer is that they're all none of your business," Danny snarled. His form flickered. "Keep your questing away from Danny- Daniel, vigilante. Your duty is to protect your city and help her," Danny swept an arm out. "Stick to that instead of inserting yourself into places you are not wanted."

Then, with a toss of an ecto-crossed recorder that held the verbal report he'd promised Nightwing towards Black Bat, Danny blinked out of the visible spectrum and flew above the two.

"... Shit, I think I pissed him off."

Black Bat nodded. "He was defensive."

"Yeah... did you hear that slip? Oh, they are so dating."

Danny grinned. He couldn't wait for Tim to interrogate him soon.

——

"You're kidding."

Danny shook his head, maniacal grin still on his face hours later. He'd taken the liberty to call his best friends before classes started for the day.

Tucker groaned. "Danny, I can't believe you're messing with Batman. Why are you like this."

"Look, I need your help."

"Oh no, keep me out of your dumbass plans, Fenton," Sam pointed at him through the screen, immaculately painted black nails threatening.

"Okay, if you go along with my plan, I'll give you Dr. Isley's number."

"Deal," Sam said immediately, changing her tune at a drop of a hat. Or, at a drop of a number.

"What about me?" Tucker asked, offended. "I deserve compensation for my work too, dammit!"

"I'll give you Tim Drake's number and persuade him to let you have a crack at Wayne Industry's tech basement."

"Deal, what are we doing?"

Danny's grin spread even wider. "We're dating. And, you two? You're Phantom's exes. Tucker, you say good stuff about me. Sam? You make up terrible things about me. But we're all dating each other and I'm dating Phantom on the side."

"I hate you," Sam deadpanned. "But fine, it's not that hard. I've got tons of embarrassing stories about Phantom. You better get me that number, Danny, because you know Dr. Isley was my gay awakening."

"For Tim Drake, I'd be willing to puff up your ego." Tucker said solemnly.

"Perfect. I'm cleaning his brother of ectoplasm today. so expect a call later! Love you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, boyfriend." Sam clicked off the call.

"Think Tim Drake would be interested in a date?" Tucker asked Danny.

"Nah, I think he's got his heart on Benard."

"Damn," Tucker sighed. "Guess I'll have to mend my broken heart with the tools of a state-of-the-art lab, right, Danny?"

"Yep, see ya!" Danny hung up. Today was going to be a good day.

#batman #danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #sea cryptid danny phantom #danny: am i dating myself idk #the bats are good at conclusions #they tend to be right #so when they're wrong they're *wrong*#sea cryptic! danny au

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Luddites didn’t hate looms. They smashed looms because their bosses wanted to fire skilled workers, ship kidnapped Napoleonic War orphans north from London, and lock them inside factories for a decade of indenture, to be starved, beaten, maimed and killed. Designing industrial machinery that’s “so easy a child can use it,” isn’t necessarily a prelude to child-slavery, but it’s not not a prelude to child-slavery, either. The Luddites weren’t mad about what the machines did — they were mad at who the machines did it for and whom they did it to. The child-kidnapping millionaires of the Industrial Revolution said, “There is no alternative,” and the Luddites roared, “The hell you say there isn’t!” Today’s tech millionaires are no different. Mark Zuckerberg used to insist that there was no way to talk to your friends without being comprehensively spied upon, so every intimate and compromising fact of your life could be gathered, processed, and mobilised against you. He said this was inevitable, as though some bearded prophet staggered down off a mountain, bearing two stone tablets, intoning, “Zuck, thou shalt stop rotating thine logfiles, and lo, thou shalt mine them for actionable market intelligence.”

-There Is Always An Alternative: Remarks presented to York University’s Faculty of Liberal Arts and Professional Studies Graduating Class of 2023

#Science Fiction #Inevitabalism #Against Prediction #Go Luddites Go #Polycrisis #The Swerve

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hrrtshape · 1 month ago

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a partial schedule. palace log. 536 bc. my dr experience.

wake up before the sun finishes stretching. the sky's barely light, pinkish and soft, kind of like clay left too long in the river. you hear the servants whispering about fish rot, and temple gossip, and someone's daughter who hasn't bled yet. a priest is already sweeping the steps somewhere with a palm broom.

you lie still, listening, sheets half-kicked off, the stone under you holding last night's heat. your girl, lilu, arrives with water and a strip of date cake. she says it's your favourite. it isn't, it's just whatever was left from yesterday, but you smile anyway. she tucks your hair behind your ear.

she opens the shutters. the sky yawns wider. you sit up slow. someone left lilies in a clay jar by the window, still fragrant, barely wilted. there's a streak of something red on the handle. not blood. probably dye. you don't ask.

you're bathed in the courtyard, sun warming the edge of the pool. rose oil in the water. your skin smells nice. someone hums a song from the lower quarter and it gets stuck in your head.

you don't believe in the gods but you mouth the morning blessing out of habit. just in case. the oil slicks on the surface of the bath akin to a skin. you watch it swirl when they pour a bucket over your shoulders. one of the younger girls hands you a lotus petal. you press it flat and let it drift.

they dress you in linen light enough to float. gold cuffs, obsidian ring, sandals you don't lace yourself. your hair's done in twists that took an hour. you catch your reflection in the water basin and don't hate it. that's rare. that's enough. lilu holds up a polished bronze mirror. you squint. one eyebrow's off. she fixes it without a word.

breakfast is barley bread still warm, a soft white cheese, olives, figs. everything tastes like sun. you eat with your fingers. lilu laughs when you reach for a second fig. someone brings sugared almonds in a tiny bronze bowl. you don't love them but you eat three out of politeness. you send the rest to the kitchen boys.

the temple stairs are warm when you sit. vendors shout over each other, selling beads, fish, dyed cloth, half-truths. one claims his donkey can sense omens. another offers you a bird's heart for protection. someone has little carved lions for sale. you buy two. you wear the blue-glazed beads right away. they click softly when you move.

midmorning is too hot. you slip into the archives, where it's cool and shadowed. you pick up a clay tablet on sea trade and pretend to read it. someone brings honey-water. someone else says there was a fight near the canal. another scribe mutters something about a debt gone wrong and a missing bracelet. it's always something.

you draw nonsense on a wax board until your tutor arrives. he asks if you know the word for fortress in susian. you don't, but you make one up. he smiles as if it's a real answer. you both know it isn't, but no one cares. he reads from a scroll about northern stars and lost cities. although you like the names more than the facts.

lunch is melon, grapes, tiny flat cakes with sesame. they stick to your fingers. you drink something fermented and fizzy. it makes you giddy. your cousin joins. she has opinions about court girls and what they're wearing now. you nod a lot. she likes to hear herself talk. her nails are painted in crushed saffron. she touches your wrist when she laughs.

afternoon's for appearances. you walk the length of the palace gardens, which are actually quite serene today. the palms are trimmed, the flowers are opened wide. you stop to smell one and get yellow pollen on your nose. you leave it there.

children run past chasing a hoop made from willow. one trips. you help him up.

a boy from tyre plays the lyre. badly. you clap anyway. it's not about the sound, more so the gesture. someone gifts you a dyed scarf shaped like river waves. you tie it around your arm. you start to like it. the gardener waves at you from the other side of the courtyard. you wave back.

evening comes with incense smoke and lazy wind. your cousin returns. this time she brings a real rumour. something about a priest, a lockbox, and a missing girl. you say, "oh?" and nothing else. she keeps talking. the sun slides behind the ziggurat and the sky goes purple at the edges.

dinner is roasted lamb, onions, lentils, wine. you eat too much. someone plays the flute and nails it this time. someone tells a joke about the king's advisor and a sacred goose. you don't get it.

when they undress you, you're too full to move. they oil your back with lavender and brush your hair until it shines. you ask for mint leaves under your pillow. they bring them.

you lie in the courtyard under the stars, which are finally visible. one shoots across the sky. you make a wish, like a child. you won't tell anyone. that's how it works. the stone floor is still warm. someone drapes a thin cloth over you. you leave your arm out.

you sleep before the chanting starts. finally. it's not a deep sleep, but it's yours.

repeat tomorrow.

just maybe with different earrings. maybe with more laughing. maybe with pomegranate juice instead of wine.

#emmas vampire dr #reality shifting #shifting #desired reality #reality shift #realityshifting #shifting realities #shifting motivation #shifting community

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strawberryforks · 3 months ago

Note

Tim Bradford x reader where he comforts his gf while she has a panic attack on patrol??

panicking in secret // tim bradford x reader

warnings: panic attack, swearing, domestic violence, violence, mentions of alcohol

a/n: i might have gotten a little carried away

You were having a shit day and couldn’t put your finger on why. As someone used to figuring things out (you were a puzzle fanatic and your next door neighbour Mr Keller was sweet enough to give you his newspaper after a read-through so you could crack down, lock-in, and solve the latest crossword) this frustrated you. You woke up and did your normal pre-work routine. You got ready, did some minimal makeup, made breakfast for you and your boyfriend (Mondays were your domain), and you headed into the station where all of your friends were and before heading out on patrol with your partner (in life and law enforcement), you joined in a few good natured conversations.

“Drinks on friday? Of course Luce,”

“Great!” she squealed, reaching out and clapping Aaron on the back, “Thorsen’s paying!”

Aaron laughed and shrugged. “Guess so!”

“Count me and Bailey in!” said Nolan.

“I’ll make sure Tim’s there too!” you promised.

So, there. You had plans for your off day. Fun, free, plans, thanks to your nepo-baby/influencer colleague. You were smiling like usual, bantering with your buddies in the briefing room, like normal, and hiding the tightness in your chest behind a trademarked smile.

“Night shift did their jobs for once—likely because Harper was with them but regardless of the reason, that means I don’t have anything else to tell you all! Get out in the streets and patrol! Dismissed,” said Sergeant Grey.

You meet Tim on the way out of the briefing room again. You two are at the end of the line of officers trickling out of the doors, he lets you walk ahead of him (forever the gentleman) but what he won’t let you do is: drive the shop—even though you had been working together for years, you were his rookie once upon a time (so long ago it was probably recorded somewhere on a stone tablet) and that translated to… Tim still occasionally treating you like his boot. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was Tim and his inconvenient overprotective tendencies but he still insisted on driving everywhere.

You liked to blame his grumpy behaviour and paid no mind to the legitimate reasons he had for not wanting you to drive. Once upon a time, you had wrote off a shop or two and Tim would rather that not happen while you were riding together.

Anyways, you don’t even like to drive.

And being passenger princess was far from the worst thing in the world.

“You alright?”

“Hm?” you return, startling and fastening your seatbelt, the very same one Tim was staring at like it could bite. You shake your head, “yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“I know you too well to buy that, babe. Do you want to talk? Grey mentioned today might be a slow one—jinxed us, if you ask me—but we’ve got time. What’s bugging you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”

He squeezes your thigh, “If you figure it out, let me know. I’m here,”

He always was.

Dispatch radios and you and Tim head to a domestic dispute. These calls are always tough and though you’ve never told your boyfriend why he knows you act a little strange sometimes afterwards—good thing, you always thought, that Bradford wasn’t angling for detective because by not connecting the dots after all this time, you didn’t think he’d make a very good one. Angela Lopez had caught on and guessed your past the first time you and her rode together, confirming it for herself when you two went out to party and you shied away from all the men with drinks in their hands or the smell of alcohol on their breath. These calls hit home for you. They reminded you of times you didn’t want to be reminded of.

Of times when you had been just like the lady who hid behind the man that answered the door Tim knocked on. Tim flashes his badge, you hold out yours as well. These types of calls are ones that need to be handled just-so. Escalation is never the intention. “Would you mind stepping into the hallway so we can talk? While my partner speaks with your wife?” asks Tim.

The man is reluctant but after shooting his wife a withering look he nodded and follows Tim out of the doorway and down the hallway in the apartment complex a bit. You know your boyfriend—partner, first, can handle himself but the man is big. Really big. You can’t help the knot that plants itself in your throat. It’s hard to swallow around, and you look after him until he’s gone from your sight. He can handle it, you assure yourself. He can. Then, you slip into the sitting room and approach the woman—it was her who called. A purple swatch sticks out from underneath an ivory line painted onto her jaw. It’s a poor coverup, but one you recognize. The swelling on her right eye is pretty obvious too, if you know what you’re looking for. You do. You can see the powder that covers it. “You say the word and I’ll have him cuffed,” you say—unable to stop yourself but definitely coming on too strong. “I’m sorry he hit you. You don’t need to—“

“He didn’t,” she defends, and oh no, because you’ve seen this before. Lived it, before, too. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t do that. He loves me.”

“Miss, you called us. On the phone you sounded terrified.”

“It wasn’t me,” she rushes out. “I didn’t call. You have the wrong place and the wrong house and you should leave,” a little boy comes out and crowds behind her legs, holding onto the fabric of her shirt. Your heart breaks. Cleaves in two and absentmindedly, just slightly, you rub your chest. “My husband would never do anything like that and this is not something to talk about in front of my son. Who he’s a great dad to,”

“You have a bruise on your jaw,” you tell her, bluntly. The time for subtleness is gone and the little boy has a faraway look in his eyes—he looks older than he is and you know that what you’re saying is no news to him either. You know he knows. You know he’s seen his dad get angry, real angry, and smack his mom around.

“You need to colour correct before putting foundation on if you want to cover that deep of a bruise,” you tell her, and for the first time during that call she looks at you like you’re something more than a cop—in your eyes, she sees herself and she nods. She knows. You know. You know as well as anyone, better probably, that this won’t go anywhere. Not today at least. You grab one of your cards and press it into her hand. “My cell number is at the bottom. If you call I’ll be here. Promise,”

She tells you she won’t call. Even still, she slips the card into the back of her phone case and that, it gives you a small bit of hope. Tim finishes talking to the man and with no evidence other than the bruises on the woman’s face (the stairs, she said, she fell down them) you both leave. You walk behind Tim, all the way to the shop. Your movements are robotic, your spine and muscles all incredibly stiff until you reach the door, swinging it open and slumping down into the seat. You don’t plug your seatbelt in. You can’t. Your lungs, they’re already constricting painfully and you can’t bear to put something over your chest—something that will squeeze you tighter and let less air in—air, that you don’t know if you’re taking in at the moment. You’re having a panic attack you realize. Tim is still outside of the shop. Getittogether, getittogether, you plead with yourself. You open your mouth, trying to vaccum oxygen into your lungs but they’re so tight, so unwelcoming. So closed off. You can push air out—how, when it feels like there’s none left? But that’s all. You turn towards the window, press your forehead against it and try to focus on the cold when a door slams. “Officer L/n,” Tim looks over at you, you know he is because of the seconds of silence that follow—because of the shift. Softer then, he breathes your name on an exhale reaching across the console, leaning over towards you, moving you to him. “Baby,” he tries, the hardass that is Tim Bradford, phenomenal cop and badass veteran, is nowhere to be seen. First his hands fly to your shoulders and he massages gently, trying to calm your muscles before he tries to calm your mind. “You’re—“ he stops, knowing better than to announce what’s happening. You know. Youknowyouknowyouknow. “It won’t last,” he tells you instead, rotating you, turning you towards him. Your cheeks are wet and then so are the pads of his thumbs as they swipe across your face, wiping the salty tracks away. You hiccup, choking on another breath and Tim grimaces. He hates seeing you like this. He’d rather be put on desk duty, he’d rather be shot in the line of duty—he has been before and it certainly hurt him less. “Breathe with me, okay? In and out, come on.” Your face scrunches up and you shake your head. “Cant,” you rasp. Concern floods his eyes but you watch your boyfriend disappear. He steels his expression, “Officer L/n, I need you to match my breaths. That’s an order,”

Anorderanorder—that’sanorder.

You try, you try so hard. Tim pulls you against his chest and you attempt to copy his exaggerated breaths. In and out. In and out. Your inhales are greedy, your exhales are shaky. Against his chest, you feel the steady rhythmic beating of his heart—if there’s one thing Tim is, it’s steady. He’s an anchor, you’re lucky enough that he’s yours. Your anchor, always giving you strength to stay in place when the waves are crashing over you. Your breathing evens out and the two fingers he has pressed against your pulse point travel to your jaw. He tilts your head so he can see your eyes. “Better?”

You nod and he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Want me to drop you off at home? I can call Grey,”

You feel stupid going home, digging into precious vacation time that you and Tim plan to use to go in an anniversary trip so you shake your head. “That’s not—not necessary, but thank you.”

“You’re not doing good, Y/n/n,” he tells you.

“It was a panic attack. I have anxiety—it happens sometimes. I held it together until we were off the scene, I didn’t let it get in the way of my work. We’re halfway through shift, Tim. I’ve got this.”

“It wasn’t just the panic attack. It’s like you forget sometimes, how well I know you. There’s four things in my life that matter. You, my job, my sister, Kojo. I have four things that I care about and I pay very close attention to those things. My list is work and family—you’re my family, my future wife, the future mother of my children. I know you, what makes you tick, when you’re having a bad day. I don’t think you should be working right now.”

“I’m fine, Tim.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“Then maybe you should go home,”

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I mean. I can’t focus on doing the job the right way if I’m this worried about you.”

“I can work with… Thorsen.”

“Not Harper or Lopez? Not anyone that knows about our relationship and—“

“I don’t see why it’s important that I ride with someone who knows everything,” you laugh a little, “I don’t.”

“I’m wounded.”

“Your ego, maybe.”

“But seriously babe, I’m calling Grey, and I’m driving you home.”

“This is my job,” you argue, getting frustrated. Tim and Wade are friends just as you and Luna are—going out for the occasional double date together, and hanging out individually. God knows what Tim and Wade do (watch the game and shout ar the TV, probably) but you and Luna text all the time, you’ve gone to yoga classes, book clubs, and protests. It’s not fair that Tim’s using your relations with the sergeant for time off. Time off that you really don’t need.

“And you’re good at it. Nothing will happen and no one will blame you if you need a break.”

A day to a break. What the hell? You scowl at your boyfriend and climb back into your own seat. “A day,” you say, settling. You click your seatbelt in place and Tim drives you home.

“Do you want me to take the rest of the day off too? We can talk, figure out what’s going on in that head of yours and watch some movies.”

“And take two of LAPD’s best cops off the street?” you gasp, “I couldn’t.”

Tim smiles, planting a chaste kiss on your lips before you climb out of the shop. “We can have a movie night,” you tell him. He smiles, nodding in agreeance, and you say your goodbyes and your ‘I love yous’.

Kojo bounds over to you and you drop to your knees, giving him all of your attention, petting his head and neck and scratching behind your ears. He licks your face and just as excitedly, bounds away. You walk to the back door and let him outside, following the monotonous routine of putting your gear away and hanging up your uniform. In the kitchen, you stand looking at the kettle, debating coffee which you eventually decide is not a good idea–seeing as your next action should probably be sleeping. Sometimes you can fake it until you make it. Other times, sleep can replace the fake feelings and just give you a break–you think that maybe you do need one despite not knowing from what. You love Tim, your job, your friends, Kojo. You love life just… sometimes not the brain you were saddled with. It twists things and no matter how hard you try to be happy sometimes it’s not possible. You settle on herbal tea, grabbing a festive Santa mug you insisted was a necessity.

“If you want this house to be a home we need some silly ceramics,” you said. An Eeyore mug, the Santa one in your hand, a dozen others Tim has brought home for you since then, are piled in the cupboard. You pour in the hot water, then the tea bag, and wrapping your palms around the mug, you enjoy the warmth as you peer into the fridge.

Nothing looks appetizing so it’s bedtime–must be. You draw the blinds, set your tea on the nightstand and climb under the heavy cream coloured comforter. With the blankets tucked under your chin you pull out your phone and begin to peruse your various social medias. You start with some instagram doomscrolling and then move to tiktok where a few 60 second skits manage to make you smile a bit. It’s dark in the room and you yawn—that’s your cue. Phone plugged in, sleep mask over your eyes, and… ringing? You rip the mask off, tug your phone from the charger and hit the green button, answering. A scared, small voic, greets you. “It’s Mary. I… You… you were here earlier and said to call if… if it got bad—“

The covers are on the ground, you’re out of bed and throwing a long trench coat overtop the pajamas you changed into. On the other end of the phone you hear charged screaming and things smashing. “You did the right thing calling. I’m on my way. Where are you and where is he, Mary?”

She lets out a terrified sob, “I should’ve listened earlier, I should’ve told.”

“Anyone whose been in your shoes knows why you didn’t.” One of your off duty weapons is in your hand as you rush out of the front door. “What’s going on Mary, talk to me.”

“I’m in the bathroom with Johnny. The door… I locked it. He’s just so angry. He…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes—no,” she amends, wailing, sounding hopeless.

You’re in the car, switching it into drive, and speeding (you’re a cop it’s fine) down the street. The speedometer on ticks a few above the speed you should be at and despite going fast, you’re not moving fast enough that you’ll be pulled over. You aren’t even thinking about radioing in, duh, you can’t, you don’t have a fucking radio and there’s no way you’re hanging up on Mary, leaving her alone. No, no you wouldn’t do it. “Keep talking,” you urge, “I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon. As many details as you have I need, okay? Where’s the bathroom, which room is he in?” you pause, waiting for her answer because you don’t need to add to the overwhelm she’s feeling right now.

“He’s in the living room or kitchen. He’s… drinking and really mad. Really mad at me—I didn’t, I didn’t have supper done and I was on my phone. He thought I was cheating. I’m not, I would never.”

“None of this is your fault,” you tell her, cutting the steering wheel and changing lanes. “It wouldn’t have mattered if supper was ready, if you hadn’t touched an electronic in days. He would’ve found something. The door, will it be unlocked.”

“N-no, he locked it when this all started,”

“Want to invite me in Mary?”

“Wha—“

“Permission to break your door down is what I’m hoping for. I’m not on the clock and doing this out of uniform is sometimes frowned upon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, yes, break it.”

You pull into the parking lot, and go to unbuckle your seatbelt—it wasn’t on. In your haste you had forgotten and you’d beat yourself up about it later. That, or you’d pretend it never happened. The latter was infinitely more likely. You shut the car off and hopped out of it, entering into the apartment foyer and rushing up the carpeted staircase. On the second level you follow the hallway, listening to the shouting and crashing. Two girls who must be in their teens peer out of their respective apartments, heads stacked over each other. “What’s going on?” they whisper-hiss as you run over to the door and slam your shoulder against it until it flies open. “LAPD,” you shout, despite having no credentials with you. Then the man grabs a butchers knife and… holds it the right way. Goddamn it.

A knife fight. You were not expecting a knife fight. To go from being in bed, barely awake, to this? It was jarring to say the least. “Get out of my house!” hollers the husband. “Mary!” You shout into the phone, “call 911! Tell them officer L/n is—“ the husband lunges and in your haste to dodge, your phone flies to the ground, gun clattering along with it. Shit—shitshitshit. You hope Mary’s heard you as the man in front of you zeroed in on your weapon. You duck under another slice of his and dive for your gun. He kicks it out of the way and then, kicks you. You blame your reflexes—you blame the off day you’ve been having. Stupid mistake after stupid mistake and god, you’ve made a lot. For the first time in ever, you wish you were Nolan, with his never ending stream of all the right words. Instead you’re just you. Just Y/n L/n, anxious as hell and so, so screwed.

You scramble back, your—shit, no. Mary’s abuser nicks you with his knife. It slices your palm, the hand that reaches for your gun now blood covered. The man is large. He’s massive and you finally get your gun. You tell him you’ll shoot but the safety isn’t off. The safety isn’t off because you don’t want to kill anyone and he slams you into a wall. Your head rings. You aren’t quite sure what you’re hesring as the man tosses away his knife and decides to use his hands. To get up close and personal. They wrap around your throat, they pin you, and then your hand is slamming into a pressure point and your knee is simultaneously slamming into his crotch. He grunts and you roll him off of you. You roll him onto his stomach and your hand threads through his greasy hair—you slam his head into the floor. Once, twice for good measure, and he finally stops moving. You check for a pulse and sag in relief when you find out he has one. Thats when the bsthroom door eases open. You stand quick and fill the doorway. “Don’t let your son come out here,” you pant. “You might not even want to.”

Mary tucks her little one into his bedroom and joins you in the kitchen. Your gun is in your waistband—if anyone asks, it never left, and the man lying face down on the floor has his hands tied behind his back with tea towls.

Mary hands you a bag of frozen peas and you press it to your aching head, feeling bad for the blood you’re smearing all over her grocery. That can’t be sanitary, “I’ll replace it,” you tell her.

She shakes her head. “That’s not necessary. You… thank you. I don’t know what would’ve—“

“Don’t think about that,” you tell her, and 20 minutes later when the cavalry arrives, you’re grateful to see Lopez and not your boyfriend. Less grateful when she pulls out her phone and— “please don’t call him. I’m fine, I’m—“

You’re not fine but,

“I’m not calling Tim, I’m calling Bailey. You won’t go to the hospital but you need to be seen and—“

“Thank you, Angela.”

“Of course. But, just because I’m not telling Tim doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

After Bailey is done, patching you up, you head home. You’re about to pull into the driveway when your phone starts ringing and a specific ringtone let you know that it’s Tim. You sigh and because you can see his car in the driveway, because you’re pulling into said driveway, you let it go to voicemail.

Inside, Tim meets you as you open the door. He draws you into his chest and holds you firmly but gently. “Jesus, Y/n/n, what happened?” He knows, of course, he already knows. “What the hell were you thinking. You were supposed to be at home! You were supposed to be resting, taking a break.”

“ I know. I’m sorry. The lady from earlier called and—“

“And you should’ve called me!”

Yeah. Yeah, probably.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking. I just panicked.”

Tim looks like he’s about to scold you more, but then his eyes meet yours. “I just… God, I’m so glad you’re okay. You scared the shit out of me. Please, never do that again.”

“Okay,” you squeak. And that’s how you stay, in his arms, for the rest of the night.

#the rookie fanfic #tim bradford x reader #the rookie x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you

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