#but. ‘manage expectations’ are you KiDDING me

[reiding-writing]

cold!reader used to work with VCAC? the idea that she's good with children despite just hating everyone is so funny to me

would you consider writing a fic where the BAUs main witness is a kid and cold reader is the only person to get through to them? and then the kid becomes like super attached and the rest of the team is just like 'hm, strange' because they never expected her to be good with kids? thank you!

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

A family annihilator who's killed three families in two months makes a fatal mistake. He leaves behind a witness, a child, and she's the only one that can help solve the case.

cold!reader ❅ 10.0k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against children, mentions of trauma and ptsd, you do not know how tempted i was to kill this child but i didn’t

The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the air conditioning.

The conference room is dim, the overhead lights casting a dull glow against the crime scene photos spread across the table. Three families, their faces smiling in old photographs, juxtaposed with the horror of their final moments.

You sit stiffly in your chair, arms crossed, watching as Hotch stands at the head of the table. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders speaks for itself.

The team is silent as he clicks to the next slide on the projector, displaying the most recent crime scene. Blood splatters across beige carpet. A broken picture frame. A child's shoe, left in the doorway.

“This is our unsub's third family in six weeks,” Hotch says, his voice steady but heavy. “All killed in their own homes, in the middle of the night. No signs of forced entry, no clear connection between the families. Each time, he’s managed to evade security cameras and forensic evidence. He’s methodical, careful, and fast.”

“Spree killer tendencies, but controlled,” Spencer interjects from across the table. His fingers drum against the tabletop as he speaks. “He escalates quickly, but there’s no erratic behaviour at the scenes. He’s not disorganised—he knows exactly what he’s doing,”

“Until now,” JJ murmurs. She leans forward, her brows drawn together, eyes fixed on the next image—a little girl. The survivor.

She’s small, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, pressed into the corner of what looks like a hospital bed. A police officer stands nearby, talking to her, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. She looks… empty.

“She got away,” Emily says, glancing at Hotch. “How?”

“The unsub killed her parents and older brother before she managed to escape through a back door,” he explains. “The neighbours called 911 when they heard screaming. By the time officers arrived, the house was quiet, and the suspect was gone. She was found hiding in their backyard shed.”

“A survivor,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “That changes things. This guy has a pattern—he wipes out the entire family unit. That means she wasn’t supposed to make it out alive,”

“Which means he might try again,” Rossi adds grimly.

A beat of silence. The weight of the statement settles over the room like thick fog.

“Local PD has had no luck getting her to talk,” Hotch continues. “She hasn’t said a word about what happened. Refuses to answer questions. She’s traumatised, barely verbal, and right now, she’s under police protection until we can confirm if she has any extended family who can take her in.”

You shift in your seat, already sensing where this is going. A slow dread creeps up your spine as Hotch’s gaze flickers toward you.

“We need to get through to her,” he says. “She’s the only witness we have, and if the unsub left anything behind—a name, a face, a detail—she’s the only one who can give it to us.”

His words hang in the air for a second too long. You feel everyone’s eyes move toward you.

And then Hotch says it.

“I want you to talk to her.”

You inhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Hotch—"

“You have a PhD in Psychology,” he cuts in smoothly, as if he already anticipated your pushback. “And your time in VCAC makes you the most qualified person here to work with child victims.”

The mention of VCAC makes your stomach twist. You fight the urge to grimace.

“I moved to the BAU for a reason,” you remind him, keeping your voice measured. “Children can be… difficult. Especially ones dealing with trauma this severe. She’s not just going to start talking because I ask her to.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “But if anyone can get her to open up, it’s you.”

Silence stretches between you.

You don’t want to do this.

You hate working with kids. Not because you don’t care, but because they feel too much.

They cry, they panic, they cling, and their emotions are messy—unpredictable in ways adults rarely are.

You spent years in VCAC, watching helpless children break apart under the weight of their own trauma, and it wore you down in ways you never admitted.

That’s why you left.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t coddle, you don’t reassure with empty promises, and you don’t have the patience for endless sobs and incomprehensible explanations.

And yet.

You glance at the image of the little girl again. She looks so small. So completely alone.

No one else in this room is going to be able to reach her. And if she doesn’t talk, if she doesn’t tell you what she saw—

The unsub will keep killing.

You exhale slowly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Fine,” you say finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Hotch nods. “Wheels up in 30.”

The meeting disperses, chairs scraping against the floor as the team gathers their things. You stay seated for a moment, staring at the blurred-out image of the girl on the screen.

A hand brushes against your arm.

You look up to see Spencer standing beside you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You almost say yes, but stop yourself. Instead, you shrug.

“It’s just… not my favourite thing to do,” you admit, voice quieter than usual.

He nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does.

“You’ll be good at it,” he says. No hesitation. No doubt. Just quiet certainty.

For some reason, that makes your chest tighten.

You swallow, push back your chair, and stand.

“Let’s hope so,” you mutter, grabbing your case file.

And then you follow the team out the door.

—

The jet touches down in Minnesota under a dull, overcast sky, the kind that promises rain but never quite delivers. The air outside is biting, cold enough that you pull your coat tighter around you as the team steps off the plane.

The local PD is already waiting for you on the tarmac, their unmarked cars idling, exhaust curling into the frigid air. Hotch exchanges quick introductions, then splits the team without hesitation.

“Rossi—you’re with me at the latest crime scene. JJ, you’ll work with the department’s media liaison to handle the press. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re going to the ME’s office to go over autopsy findings.”

His gaze lands on you. “You’re going to the station to talk to the girl.”

You nod, ignoring the way your stomach tightens at the assignment.

“I’ll go with her,” Spencer says, stepping forward.

Hotch gives him a brief look, then nods. “Keep me updated.”

You don’t say anything as you and Spencer break off from the group, climbing into the backseat of a waiting squad car. The officer driving doesn’t speak much, just gives you a curt nod before pulling out onto the highway.

You spend the drive flipping through the case file, rereading the details you already know.

The survivor’s name is Madelyn Carter. Eight years old. No prior history of abuse or neglect. No suspicious activity leading up to the night of the murders. A completely normal kid—until the night she lost everything.

The police reports are frustratingly sparse. Non-verbal. Unresponsive to questioning. Won’t engage.

You tap your fingers against the file, jaw tight. She’s just a child, but already, you can feel the weight of the challenge ahead of you.

The police station is small, tucked into a sleepy suburban district, the kind of place that probably never sees much worse than drunk and disorderly charges.

But today, it’s buzzing with quiet tension.

You and Spencer are led to a small interview room at the end of the hallway. The walls are a washed-out shade of blue, meant to be calming, but the effect is ruined by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

And there, curled up on a chair too big for her, is Madelyn.

She’s impossibly small, arms wrapped around herself, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair is tangled at the ends, her clothes a size too big, probably donated by someone at the station. A stuffed rabbit sits limply in her lap, its fur worn and patchy.

She doesn’t look up when you walk in.

The officer standing in the corner—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes—gives you a look that’s equal parts sympathy and frustration.

“She hasn’t said a word since we brought her in,” she murmurs.

You nod, but your focus is on the girl.

You know better than to overwhelm her right away, so you take your time settling into the chair across from her. No sudden movements. No clipped, authoritative tone. Just careful, deliberate quiet.

“Hi, Madelyn,” you say gently.

She doesn’t acknowledge you.

That’s fine. You expected this.

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your posture relaxed as you introduce yourself to her. “I’m a Doctor, I’m going to try and help you,”

Still nothing.

You glance at Spencer, who watches the interaction closely, hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan.

“That’s a nice bunny,” you say, nodding toward the stuffed animal in her lap.

Madelyn doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flick her eyes toward you. She just tightens her grip on the rabbit, her small fingers curling into its worn fur.

You exhale slowly, adjusting your approach.

“I used to have one kind of like that when I was little,” you continue, keeping your voice soft, conversational. “Mine was a bear, though. His name was Theo. I took him everywhere.”

Nothing.

Not surprising, but frustrating nonetheless.

You lean back slightly in your chair, glancing at Spencer, who watches the exchange with quiet patience.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs under his breath, just for you to hear. “Just be patient,”

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “She hasn’t said a word, Spencer.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not listening,”

You don’t respond, but his words linger in your mind as you turn back to Madelyn.

She’s still curled up, still silent, but you notice the way her fingers twitch slightly against the rabbit’s ear. It’s a small movement, but it tells you one thing, she’s aware of you.

That’s something.

You decide to change tactics. Instead of talking, you lean forward, resting your arms on the table between you. Then you take out your notepad and a pen, clicking it open.

Madelyn doesn’t look up, but you catch the smallest flicker of movement in her posture—curiosity.

Good.

You start to doodle. Simple things. A flower, a star, little patterns in the margins.

Still nothing from her.

But when you glance up a few minutes later, her eyes are on the notepad.

Just for a second. But she was looking.

You resist the urge to smile. Instead, you gently slide the notepad across the table toward her, placing the pen on top.

“You can draw something, if you want,” you say simply. “You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps.”

Madelyn doesn’t react immediately. But then, slowly—so slowly—her fingers twitch again, and she reaches out.

She doesn’t grab the pen. But she touches it.

Your heart stutters slightly in your chest.

Progress.

You let her take her time. You don’t push, don’t rush. You just watch as her tiny fingers trace the edge of the pen absently.

You glance at Spencer again, and his expression is warm. Encouraging.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice gentle.

“Do you like stories, Madelyn?”

She doesn’t answer.

But after a moment, she nods. Barely. But it’s a nod.

You share a look with Spencer, and for the first time since walking into this room, you feel the smallest spark of hope.

She’s in there.

You just have to find a way to bring her out.

—

You don’t know how long you sit there, watching Madelyn’s fingers trace absent shapes against the edge of the pen. Time moves strangely in moments like this—slow and thick, like wading through molasses.

Spencer stays quiet, offering his presence but not overwhelming the space. You appreciate it more than you’d ever admit.

Madelyn doesn’t speak. But she nods. And she touches the pen.

That’s more than you had ten minutes ago.

So you build on it.

“You like stories,” you say, keeping your voice soft. “What kind of stories?”

No response.

You lean back slightly. “I like mysteries.” A pause. “Not the scary kind, though. More like… puzzles. Things that make you think.”

Nothing at first. But then—so subtle you almost miss it—Madelyn shifts. It’s small, just the faintest movement of her shoulders, but it’s acknowledgment.

Encouraged, you try again.

“I think you might be really good at puzzles,” you say casually. “The way you were looking at my drawings earlier—that was you figuring things out, right?”

She still doesn’t answer, but this time, you catch the way she avoids your gaze, like she’s fighting the urge to react.

She’s engaged. Even if she won’t admit it yet.

So you take another risk.

“Do you want to play a game?”

That gets her attention. Not fully, but her head tilts just slightly—like she’s listening more closely.

You grab the notepad again, flipping to a fresh page.

“It’s really simple,” you tell her. “I draw something, and you guess what it is. If you guess right, it’s your turn to draw something for me.”

You don’t expect an immediate response, so you keep moving. You draw a cat. Just a simple, messy sketch, the kind a kid might do. Then you slide the notepad back toward her and wait.

Silence.

You don’t push.

Then, after an agonising pause—Madelyn reaches for the pen.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you.

But she writes one word in the space beneath your drawing.

Cat.

Something in your chest unclenches.

“Yeah,” you say, voice even softer than before. “It’s a cat.”

Madelyn’s fingers tighten around the pen.

Then—hesitant, almost reluctant—she starts to draw.

It’s shaky, unsure, but after a moment, you recognise it.

A rabbit. Her stuffed animal.

You don’t rush to answer. You let the moment sit, giving her control.

Finally, you say, “Is it your bunny?”

Madelyn nods.

Not small. Not hesitant. A real, full nod.

Your breath catches. Spencer’s posture shifts beside you, like he can feel the significance of it, too.

You’ve got her.

—

It takes another hour before she agrees to talk.

You don’t push her. You keep playing, keep gently pulling her out of the dark space she’s been locked in. She tells you her bunny’s name is Milo, that he’s red because it’s her favourite colour, about things that don’t hurt to answer.

She tells you her friends call her Maddie. You ask if you can. She agrees.

And slowly, carefully, she leans into it.

Finally, when the moment feels right, you set your pen down.

“Maddie,” you say gently. “I need to ask you about what happened that night.”

Immediately, she shrinks in on herself.

You don’t reach for her. Don’t move too fast.

“I know it’s scary,” you continue. “And I know it hurts to think about. But you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.”

Her grip on Milo tightens.

You lean forward slightly. “I want to stop him,” you say. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. But I can’t do that without your help.”

She’s trembling. But she’s listening.

Spencer speaks for the first time in a while, his voice quiet but steady.

“We can do it in a way that’s not so scary,” he tells her. “You don’t have to remember everything at once. We can do it piece by piece, and you can stop whenever you want.”

Maddie hesitates.

Then, after a long, agonising pause—she nods.

You take a slow breath.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s do this together.”

—

The cognitive interview is exhausting. For her, for you, for everyone in the room.

You guide her through it carefully—asking her to picture the house, to focus on what she remembers before things got bad.

She whispers about the TV being on. About how her brother was playing a game on his tablet. About how her dad was in the kitchen, and her mom was upstairs.

Then—the noise.

Something breaking.

Screaming.

Maddie shakes violently, curling in on herself, and you immediately pull back.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

She nods, but her breath is coming too fast, her body trembling too much.

Spencer places a gentle hand on your arm, meeting your gaze. You understand what he’s asking. Back off. Give her a moment.

So you do.

You wait.

Finally, she whispers, “He—he was big,”

You go still.

She’s talking about him.

You nod encouragingly. “Okay. Big. Can you tell me anything else?”

A shaky breath.

“H-he had a… a hat.”

You glance at Spencer, who’s already jotting this down in the case file.

Maddie’s voice is barely audible.

“I think it was red.”

Your heart pounds.

Piece by piece, she tells you more. His height. His clothes. A scar on his arm.

By the time she stops, she’s crying.

You reach forward, gently—so gently—and brush a piece of hair from her face.

“You did so good, Maddie,” you tell her. “So, so good.”

She hiccups, her tiny body wracked with exhaustion.

And then—before you can react—she throws herself into your arms.

You freeze.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t know how to do this.

But right now, this kid trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust anyone else.

So you let her cling.

You let her cry.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t pull away.

—

The interview is over, but somehow, it feels like the work is just beginning.

Maddie doesn’t leave your side.

Not even for a second.

You’d thought that once the interview was done, you’d be able to hand her over to someone else—maybe the police, or someone from her extended family who was supposed to arrive soon. But instead, Maddie just… clings.

After the interview, she refuses to let go of your hand. You try to tell her she can go with one of the officers to get something to eat, but her grip tightens.

When you tell her it’s time for you to go back to work, she just looks up at you, her eyes wide with that quiet, vulnerable desperation that makes you want to soften, but you can’t.

Her tiny fingers dig into your sleeve when you stand, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You can’t blame her.

You’ve been the one who’s been there for her, the one who’s gotten her to speak, the one who’s made her feel safe for the first time in days.

But the child is persistent.

Everywhere you go, she follows. To the small break room where the team is gathering, to the bathroom when you briefly step away, back to the conference room where they’ve gathered for a case update.

She’s your shadow now.

And the team notices.

You try not to make it awkward, but it's impossible when she insists on sitting at your side, her tiny body almost engulfed by the chair next to you. Her stuffed bunny sits in her lap, its fur nearly as frayed as her nerves, but she holds it tightly. It’s like her last link to some semblance of safety.

Morgan raises an eyebrow as he walks in. “I thought we were done with the interview?”

“We are,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “She just… she doesn’t want to leave me.”

No one teases you��at least, not directly—but there’s a quiet amusement in the air as they all take in the sight of Madelyn curled up in her oversized chair, the edges of her blanket practically touching the floor, with you sitting across from her.

Hotch is the only one who doesn’t seem particularly surprised. He’s worked with children before—he knows how attachment works, especially after trauma.

But the others? They’re bemused.

JJ glances over at you as she sips her coffee, a smile pulling at her lips. “She seems to have taken quite a liking to you,”

You tilt your head, barely acknowledging her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Maddie, of course, doesn’t let go of you, even as the case discussion begins. She stays glued to your side, her small hand clutching the sleeve of your jacket, her eyes darting from one agent to the next as they go over the details of the unsub’s pattern.

You keep your voice even, answering questions when necessary, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to focus when you feel the weight of her gaze fixed on you, like she’s waiting for something.

Spencer notices.

He’s been watching the whole scene unfold with quiet fascination, his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted, like he’s trying to puzzle out the situation. Finally, when the meeting breaks up, he sidles up next to you as you get ready to leave the conference room.

“She’s really latched onto you, huh?” he says, his voice low, but the smile tugging at his lips is evident.

You glance at him, your expression unreadable. “It’s nothing. Just transference.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push.

Maddie hasn’t let go of you once during the discussion, and now that it’s over, she’s still following you around, pressing close to your side as you move toward the exit.

“Are you hungry, Maddie?” you ask her gently, glancing down at her with a touch of exasperation. “You haven’t eaten, and I’m pretty sure there’s a café close to here.”

Her head nods almost imperceptibly.

Spencer watches, his eyes softening slightly as he observes the quiet bond that’s developed between the two of you. It’s not obvious at first—just the way the girl clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering her to some kind of reality.

“Maybe we can grab lunch,” he suggests, his tone more teasing than anything. “I mean, you’ve earned it. Getting the kid to open up like that? Not easy.”

You roll your eyes, though there's no malice behind it. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“You’re good at it.”

You mutter something under your breath about it not being a permanent situation, but Spencer just chuckles.

He walks with you as you lead Maddie toward the small café a few blocks away. As you cross the threshold of the restaurant, you notice the oddity of the whole situation.

It’s strange to have someone at your side like this. A small, vulnerable child who insists on being with you despite everything that happened.

The waitress gives you an odd look when you request a secluded booth, but she doesn’t say anything. You slide in, Maddie immediately beside you, her fingers still clutching your sleeve.

Spencer orders for everyone, giving Maddie a soft smile as he does. You can’t help but notice the way his expression softens around her.

“She seems to like you,” Spencer comments as you sit, his voice light but carrying a certain warmth.

You cross your arms and shoot him a glance. “What can I say? I’m just a magnet for clingy children.”

Spencer laughs quietly, but it’s warm. “You’re good with her. I think she feels safe around you. And you are good at what you do.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, but there’s something unsettlingly genuine in your voice.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press you. Instead, he changes the subject, discussing the case with you as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.

As you eat, Maddie picks at her food, her gaze flickering from you to Spencer and back again. She looks at you with a certain familiarity, like she trusts you completely, like you’re the one person who’s made her feel safe in the whirlwind of everything that happened.

After a while, she speaks.

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your fork stops halfway to your mouth. Spencer looks at you from across the table, just as surprised.

You freeze. How do you explain the whole weird mess that is your and Spencer’s relationship to an eight-year-old? How do you explain the not-together-but-kinda-together situation that doesn’t even make sense to you half the time?

So you side-step the question.

“No, sweetie,” you say, “Not quite.”

Maddie doesn’t seem disappointed by that answer. She just nods, although a little confused.

You glance at Spencer, who’s trying to hide a smile behind his cup of water.

“It’s okay to be curious,” he tells her gently.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your food. “It's just complicated,”

Maddie shrugs, her focus shifting back to her plate. She doesn't press any further, and for a brief moment, you almost feel normal again—just two adults eating lunch with a kid. Like a proxy family.

But normal doesn’t last long. The reality is that she’s still attached to you, and you're still the one she turns to. For now, at least.

And despite all your reservations, there’s a part of you that’s starting to understand why.

—

The evening sets in with an oppressive stillness that mirrors the tension in the air.

Maddie has been tucked into a small cot, an officer stationed outside her door to ensure her safety. She’s asleep now, her face still flushed from the day’s events, her small form curled tightly under the blankets. The moment she closed her eyes, a quiet kind of peace settled in the room, but the unease in your chest hasn’t subsided.

The case isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The team has reconvened, sitting around the large conference table in the BAU’s temporary Minnesota office. The maps, photos, and notes are all spread out before you, the room filled with the usual quiet hum of focus.

They’re all working with urgency now—calculating, piecing together information, and drawing conclusions. But none of them, not even Hotch, seem willing to speak the one truth you’re certain of.

Madelyn is in danger.

It’s only a matter of time before the unsub comes back for her.

“Based on the pattern,” Hotch begins, his voice steady, “we can assume the unsub is going to strike again. He’s methodical. The way he works suggests he’s already been planning this next move. We have a window.”

You listen, but you’re not really hearing him. Your eyes are fixed on the girl’s picture—the innocent smile frozen in time, the eyes full of unspoken fear. She’s just a little girl.

“And our best bet,” Morgan continues, leaning forward as he studies the information in front of him, “is to get her back into her old house. Lure the unsub out with a setup that looks weak—something that’ll convince him to make his move.”

Your stomach churns.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Hotch affirms, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “We need to make sure he’s brought to justice, and we’re running out of time.”

You can feel it—the tension rising in your chest, suffocating you. It’s not just the decision they’re making. It’s the plan. It’s the idea that they’re considering putting Madelyn in danger again.

You can’t stay silent.

“Are you serious?” Your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife. “We’re going to use her as bait?”

There’s an edge in your tone, one you rarely let genuinely show. The room goes still, and all eyes turn toward you.

Hotch looks at you with that ever-steady gaze of his, the kind that’s usually so impenetrable, but you can see the frustration beneath it. “We don’t have many options here. If we can’t draw him out, we risk losing him completely.”

“By using a child?” You repeat the word like it’s a poison, something that doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the word justice. You stand, unable to keep still, the anger making your pulse quicken. “This isn’t some game, Hotch. This is a real little girl. She’s already been through enough. We can’t just—”

“You’re overreacting,” Morgan interjects, his voice quieter now but firm. “We’re not putting her at direct risk. The setup will be controlled, and we’ll have backup in place,”

You shake your head, the words slipping from you before you can stop them. “Controlled? How do you control something like that? How do you control what he does to her when he finds out she’s there?”

Spencer speaks up from across the room, his voice calm but carrying an underlying note of empathy. “We’re not doing this blindly. There’s a risk, yes. But we’re also talking about a chance to stop him, once and for all. This is what we do,”

You turn to him, frustration boiling in your chest. “This is not our mission. She’s not just some tool to help us find a solution to our problems. She’s a child!”

Spencer’s eyes flash for a moment, but he softens his tone, lowering his voice. “I know, but we’re doing this to protect her. We can’t just sit back and wait for him to come to her. That’s not an option anymore,”

The conversation swirls around you, their voices growing distant in your ears as the weight of the decision begins to settle over you.

The plan, the baiting, the manipulation of this little girl’s already broken world—none of it feels right. The thought of putting her in harm’s way, even with all the precautions in place, is enough to make your stomach turn.

But no one is listening to you.

And you know, in the back of your mind, that it’s already decided. They’re going to go through with it.

Hotch gives you one last look, his gaze unreadable but firm. “I understand your concern, but this is the best option we have.”

You hold his gaze for a beat, the frustration still burning in your chest, but you can’t push it anymore.

Instead, you take a breath and step back, your voice tight. “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

The rest of the team doesn’t speak up—no one challenges the decision. They all know what needs to be done, even if it isn’t easy. Even if it feels wrong.

And in that moment, you realise just how far this has gone. You’re not just part of the team anymore. You’re now complicit in something that you can’t reconcile with the woman you thought you were.

—

That night, you sit at your desk, staring at the case file in front of you, though you’re not really looking at it. Your thoughts drift back to Madelyn—her fragile, trusting eyes, the way she’s clung to you all day.

You didn’t sign up for this.

Spencer walks past your desk, pausing when he sees the way you’re hunched over the case files.

“You’re really not okay with this, are you?” he asks quietly, his voice soft but knowing.

You don’t answer at first, focusing on the photo of Madelyn. Her smile, her bunny clutched tight in her hands, all of it makes you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I just—I can’t believe we’re doing this to her.”

Spencer’s silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and you don’t expect him to. Finally, he leans in, his tone steady but sympathetic.

“Sometimes, we have to make hard choices,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we forget who we’re doing it for,”

You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze—a quiet understanding, a recognition of the struggle.

“You’ll be okay,” He hesitates before setting a hand against your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “And so will she,”

—

The silence in the room is almost oppressive. Madelyn has been tucked into her cot for the night, her small body curled into the covers as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

You’ve been avoiding looking at her, because every time you do, the weight of what you’re about to ask her presses down harder on your chest.

You know that this is necessary. You know that this is the only way to stop the unsub and give her a chance at safety. But that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.

The plan is set. Tomorrow, they’ll use her as bait. And you, the one person she trusts in the world, are expected to stand by and watch.

It doesn’t matter that you’ll be there to protect her. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be the one closest to her. The thought of her being used like this leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of logic can cleanse.

But there’s no getting around it. The team has made their decision.

So you sit at the edge of her cot, trying to steady the storm of conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You’re the one who has to make her understand, and that terrifies you.

Maddie is lying on her side, her bunny tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks so small in the dim light, so fragile, and it hurts to see her like this.

The trauma she’s endured is still written on her face, though the interview was a step forward. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready for what’s about to happen. None of you are.

“Maddie?” you say softly, your voice quieter than usual. She doesn’t respond at first, her wide eyes flicking from her bunny to you. She’s so still, almost as though she’s bracing herself for something worse.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” you coax gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, but then she turns, her face a mask of anxiety and exhaustion.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold her gaze. “I need to tell you something important. Do you remember what I told you earlier, about keeping you safe?”

She nods, her lips trembling. “You’re gonna stay with me?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, like she’s afraid of hearing the wrong answer.

Your heart aches. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But you can’t lie to her. Not now. She deserves the truth. Even if it breaks you to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you promise, trying to keep your voice steady. “But tomorrow… tomorrow’s going to be a little different.”

She furrows her brow, her small hands twisting the edges of her blanket. “How?”

You take a slow breath, carefully choosing your words. “Tomorrow, we’re going to do something to make sure that bad man never comes back. Something that will keep you safe. But it’s going to be a little scary, and I need you to trust me, okay?”

She looks up at you, eyes wide with apprehension. You can see her processing, the fear bubbling under the surface, trying to break through. But she doesn’t pull away. She stays there, watching you, waiting for the rest of it.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you continue. “We’re going to go to your old house, the place where all this happened, and we’re going to make it look like it did before. We’re going to have people watching from close by, and I’ll be right outside. The whole time, okay?”

Her lips tremble again, and you can see that she’s struggling to understand. The idea of going back to that house—where so much horror happened—is almost too much for her to process. You don’t blame her. You’d feel the same way.

“I won’t leave you,” you say again, making sure she hears the sincerity in your voice. “You’ll be safe, Maddie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The trust in her eyes is palpable, but the fear is too. Her small body stiffens for a moment, and she looks down at her bunny like it’s the only thing holding her together. “What if… what if I’m scared?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

You lean in, your heart breaking just a little more. “It’s okay to be scared, But we’ll make all the scary things go away.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you almost feel like you’re breaking. The responsibility is too much, the pressure too great. You want so badly to pull her out of this situation, to find another way. But you can’t. You have to do this, not just for her, but for everyone who’s been affected by this unsub.

Madelyn bites her lip, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “You promise?”

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

She looks at you for a long moment, as if weighing your words, trying to decide if she can trust you. And then, just as you’re starting to doubt yourself, she nods, barely perceptible. “Okay. I trust you.”

The words settle between you both, and for a moment, you feel the quiet weight of the promise you just made. This isn’t just a case anymore. It’s her. It’s her safety, her future, and you’re the one who has to make sure she’s protected.

“Good girl,” you say softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re so brave, Maddie. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes flicker up to you again, and this time, there’s a faint smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I’m not scared if you’re with me.”

That’s the moment you realise: she’s not just trusting you to keep her safe. She’s trusting you to give her back a sense of control over her own life, something she hasn’t had since the night her family was taken from her. And you can’t let her down. Not now, not ever.

“I’ll be with you,” you repeat. “Every step of the way.”

And as you watch her settle back into the covers, her bunny tucked tightly under her arm, you make a silent vow to yourself that no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what you have to do, you will keep that promise.

Because no one else is going to.

Not like you will.

—

The air inside the old house is heavy with tension, each creak of the floorboards under the team’s feet amplified in the stillness.

The plan is simple. Madelyn is placed in the house, under the guise of a minimal police presence, to lure the unsub into taking the bait.

Everything has been carefully orchestrated, right down to the smallest detail. Outside, the team is positioned in hidden locations, all eyes on the house. They’re watching for any signs that the unsub is approaching, but you know they’re all thinking the same thing—you hope this works.

You’ve spent the entire day getting Maddie ready, talking her through the steps again, reassuring her that this is the right thing to do, that she’ll be okay. And, despite your own misgivings, you’re trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

You’ve promised her that you would stay by her side, and you have to see that promise through.

The door to the house is left slightly ajar, a weak police presence positioned just inside. You take your position on the floor below Maddie’s bedroom, staying close, but not so close as to be obvious. Your heartbeat is a loud thrum in your ears as the time ticks by, every minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The silence inside the house feels like a storm waiting to break.

Then, it happens.

The motion sensor outside the house triggers, and you hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone breaching the perimeter. Your stomach lurches. The unsub is here.

It’s go-time.

The team moves in quickly, and in that same instant, you spring into action, your focus singular. Your only thought is Maddie. The unsub can be handled by the others. They’ve got it covered. But you can’t take your eyes off the one person you promised to protect. You know exactly where she is, and you don’t even hesitate to run toward her.

—

You burst into her room, your heart pounding. The light is dim, casting long shadows across the space. Maddie is standing by the window, looking outside with wide, fearful eyes. The moment she hears the door open, she turns to you, her face a mixture of confusion and terror.

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see the fear etched into her small features, the tremor in her hands as she holds the bunny close.

Without thinking, you move towards her in two quick steps. You scoop her up in your arms, holding her tight to your chest, pressing her small form into you as though you can shield her from all the horrors in the world. The weight of her trust feels heavier than ever.

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice as steady as you can make it, though it cracks just a little. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m right here. See? I told you you’d be okay.”

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shirt. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. In this moment, she’s not just the scared little girl caught in a nightmare. She’s the child who trusted you with her safety—and that trust is all that matters.

You stroke her hair gently, trying to soothe her with the rhythm of your hand.

Your heart is racing, but you can’t afford to let that show. She’s looking up at you now, her wide eyes full of questions, full of fear that you can’t quite banish. But she trusts you. That’s enough.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you say again, even though you can’t promise it. You hold her tighter, wanting to shield her from everything outside this room, from the danger lurking just beyond the walls. You’re not thinking of the unsub anymore—only of Maddie. She’s the only thing that matters.

For a moment, everything else fades away. The outside world is a blur of movement and sound, but you are anchored in this small, dimly lit room with this little girl in your arms.

You don’t hear the team’s voices anymore, don’t hear the chase or the shouting, don’t hear anything except Maddie’s breathing against your chest. She’s calm now, her body still trembling but no longer with fear—more from the shock, the exhaustion of the night.

It’s a strange thing, the weight of her small body in your arms. There’s something deeply instinctive about it, something that stirs in you like an echo from a past you thought you’d finally buried alongside your Professor.

In this moment, holding her like this, you can’t help but think of what might have been. If you’d had that child, if you’d stayed.

What would it have been like? To raise a child of your own? To care for someone who needed you as much as she does?

The thought catches you off guard. It’s a brief moment of reflection, one that passes as quickly as it comes, but the weight of it lingers, like the fading scent of something once held close. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, but it’s the first time it’s felt so… real.

You quickly push the thought aside, focusing again on Maddie’s presence. Not now.

This isn’t about you. It’s about her. Always her.

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling her back slightly to look into her eyes. “You did great. You were so brave. You’re okay. It’s over now.”

Her eyes are wide, still searching your face for reassurance, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. You know that she’s still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the danger, of the chaos, of everything she’s been through in the past few days. But she’s safe now. She’s in your arms, and you’ll keep her safe for as long as it takes.

“Do you trust me?” you ask softly, even though you already know the answer.

Maddie nods, her small hand clutching tighter onto her bunny.

“Good,” you say, giving her a small but sincere smile. “Then we’ll get through this together.”

—

The storm has passed. The danger is over. Madelyn is safe. The unsub is in custody, and the team is in the clear. You’ve done your job. You’ve kept her safe, just as you promised.

But now comes the hardest part.

Her grandparents are here, having arrived just after the house was secured, the paperwork signed, and the chaos of the operation settled.

They’re older, frail but warm, and there’s a visible relief on their faces when they see their granddaughter—safe, unharmed, and sound, despite everything she’s been through.

They approach her cautiously, with a tenderness that is obvious in their every move, but it’s clear that Madelyn isn’t ready to leave yet.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to you, staring down at her hands, her bunny still clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyes flicker toward the door every now and then, but she doesn’t look up.

She can hear the voices outside—her grandparents—her family—but she’s frozen. The transition from being with you, the one person she’s come to rely on, to a completely new environment is more than she’s ready for.

You move closer, kneeling beside her. Her head doesn’t turn, but you can tell she knows you’re there. The silence between you is comfortable, not awkward, but weighted with the realisation that this is the end of the road for you both. This is where you have to let her go.

“Maddie,” you say softly, your voice a little hoarse from the long hours. “Your grandparents are here. They’re going to take you home. You’ll be safe with them.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see her shoulders tense, just a little. Her fingers flex against her bunny’s fur, as if trying to hold onto some sense of control, some last shred of the familiar. She’s scared. You understand that, even though she’s made it through the worst of it, she’s still just a little girl. And little girls need security. They need the things they’ve trusted, and right now, that’s you.

“I know it’s hard,” you continue, gently brushing her hair back. “But you’re going to be okay now. You’re going to be with your family. You’re not alone anymore.”

Madelyn stays quiet, but this time, she finally turns her head to look at you. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, and it’s all you can do to hold back the swell of emotion threatening to break free. She’s asking with just a look—Can I stay? Can you keep me safe?

But you can’t. You’ve done what you promised. You can’t be her protector forever, and you both know it. She needs her family now, the people who can be there for her in ways you can’t.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but. “But you’ve got your grandparents now. They love you, and they’re going to take care of you. You’ll be safe with them, just like I promised you.”

Maddie looks down at her bunny again, as if deciding whether to give it up. For a long moment, she just holds it, her fingers tracing the worn fabric. You don’t push her. She needs to come to this decision herself, in her own time. But eventually, she looks up at you, and her face is as serious as it’s ever been.

“I want you to have him,” she says quietly. “He keeps me safe. Maybe he can keep you safe too.”

Your throat tightens at the simple, honest offer. The bunny—her constant companion, the thing that has been with her through every terrifying moment, every flash of panic—is now being entrusted to you. You can feel the weight of it, of the trust in her small hands as she holds it out to you.

For a brief moment, you hesitate. You weren’t expecting this. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to accept anything from her, to make it feel like a goodbye, like this was the end. But the way she’s looking at you—her eyes filled with the kind of vulnerability that only a child could show—it’s a gift. A gesture of complete trust.

You reach out, slowly, your fingers brushing against hers as she places the stuffed animal into your hands. You don’t say anything at first. You don’t need to. The weight of the moment says it all.

“I’ll look after him,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I promise,”

Maddie gives a small nod, her lip trembling slightly, but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t need to. She knows she’s safe now. She knows that the danger is over, even though it’s going to take a long time for her to truly feel like it. But she trusts you. That’s what matters most.

Her grandparents step forward now, gentle and patient. Her grandmother reaches out, her hand trembling slightly, but Madelyn doesn’t move. She looks up at you one last time, and it’s like she’s asking you for permission. You nod, brushing a hand over her hair one last time, offering her the comfort and security she’s going to need in the days to come.

“You’re going to be okay, Maddie,” you repeat, knowing it’s true. You’ve done everything you could for her, and now it’s time to let go.

Madelyn doesn’t look back as her grandparents gently lead her out of the room. She doesn’t cry, though you’re sure the tears will come later. For now, she’s holding herself together, with the knowledge that she’s safe, and that she’s going to be okay.

—

The hum of the office is soothing in its familiar monotony. You step inside, the heavy weight of the case finally lifting from your shoulders. It’s strange—part of you feels relief, the other part feels like an echo of something left behind. Something you didn’t quite expect to feel, but there it is, nestled in your chest, quietly tugging at you.

You take a deep breath and walk to your desk, setting down your bag and the files you’ve been carrying all day. Then, without really thinking about it, you place the stuffed animal on the corner of your desk, the soft bunny now a permanent fixture in the workspace that’s been both home and battlefield for so long.

It’s a small thing, but it’s a thing that means something. And as soon as you set it down, you feel a soft exhale escape your lips. A sense of finality, of closure, as if everything has settled into place.

The case is over. Madelyn is safe. But something about this—about the stuffed animal—feels like a piece of you that will always remain in that small room with her, in the moment when you promised to keep her safe.

You don’t realise Spencer is watching you until you hear his soft voice.

“She gave it to you,” he says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

You glance over at him, momentarily surprised. His gaze is soft, understanding, and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You glance back at the bunny and then back at Spencer. It’s an odd feeling—the way he’s looking at you, almost as if he sees more than just the case, more than just the professional side of you. He sees the part of you that changed over the past 36 hours.

“She did,” you say, your voice low, not quite sure what to say after that. It’s true, but you hadn’t really thought it through. You hadn’t thought about what this moment would mean.

“You didn’t have to take it,” Spencer offers gently, taking a step closer. “But I think it’s... a good thing. That you did.”

You swallow, unsure how to process the mix of emotions stirring in your chest. It’s strange, this feeling. The feeling of having kept a promise, of having kept someone safe. You’ve done this kind of work before, but never like this. Never with this kind of personal connection.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thick with something you can’t quite put into words.

Spencer steps closer, his posture relaxed, yet there’s an unspoken care in his movements. He looks at you—softly, steadily—and you feel the warmth of his presence settle around you. He reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing over the edge of your waist. It’s a gesture that’s comforting, gentle, not pushing, just there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of breaking the moment. His touch is subtle, yet you can feel the tenderness in his gesture.

You nod, but the answer feels incomplete. How do you explain that you're fine, but also changed? How do you explain that the girl who clung to you, who trusted you with her safety, left something inside you that you hadn’t expected to find?

“I’m fine,” you say finally, because it’s easier to say than to explain.

Spencer doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more details. He just gives a soft nod, his fingers still lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back slightly. He doesn’t push. He’s always been good at giving space when needed.

“Want me to take you home?” he asks, his voice gentle. “Or… we could just go somewhere. Get some food. Something to relax.”

The offer is simple, but you can tell that it’s more than that. It’s his way of letting you know he’s there for you, not out of obligation, but because he wants to be. Because he sees you in a way that not many people do.

The soft affection in his voice, the quiet care in his words—it’s enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt in the past.

You glance at him, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For a moment, the world outside the office fades, and it’s just the two of you. He’s standing there, so patient, so steady, and the weight of the last 36 hours begins to feel a little less heavy with him around.

“That’s be nice,” you say finally, surprising yourself with the answer. You don’t know why, but you do. You could go home, retreat into the silence of your apartment, but there’s something about the idea of being with him—of having someone there, someone who understands, someone who’s seen the way you’ve changed—that feels better.

Spencer smiles, a quiet relief crossing his face. He steps forward, offering you a hand, and you take it without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and comforting. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a promise, like something new is beginning.

“Let’s go then,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

[lazyscience]

individualist explanations for structural failures. Every. Fucking. Time.

For addiction, for mental health in general, for obesity, for "lifestyle" illnesses. It's always an individual's tragic failure to Muster their Willpower. That, and/or"well you don't eat a diet of largely unprocessed fruits and vegetables while roving between 5-10 miles a day like our caveman ancestors with occasional sprints away from a charging cave bear, not sure what you expected. have you tried doing that?"

Uh, with what extra hours of time left over after an 8-10 hour workday, commuting, childcare and living space upkeep? With our endocrine systems constantly bombarding us with stress hormones from the 24-hour news cycle and manipulative management techniques that instead of incentivizing good performance constantly threaten termination? With the price of lean protein and veggies constantly rising and already higher than more calorie dense food?

With what safe and accessible places to walk, run, do activities to relieve that stress and (sigh) Burn The Calories that aren't expensive? In suburbs and exurbs on WHAT FUCKING SIDEWALKS EVEN, ignoring for the moment the eventual damage done from years and years of walking/jogging on concrete? Please show me the affordable and safe places to swim, to play physical games, to do anything. With what ability to build relationships to alleviate the constant demands of living under late stage capitalism?

Any one of these things - any combination of these things - is resistable for a while. But it's always, always pushing against the tide.

The problem is, the biggest stressor that is keeping Americans overweight, sedentary, tired and snacking, the biggest source of depression and anxiety, is the complete and fucking utter lack of safety net and lack of time to decompress because of cost of living, and the lack of infrastructure to support movement.

And between Captain Convenient Brain Worm taking over DHHS with his halfbaked ideas of supplements and St. John's wort instead of SSRIs and sending everyone who's addicted or sad or on medications for chronic conditions to the equivalent of those Troubled Youth Survivalist Cult Camps for rich kids whose parents worry they're gay, and the psychic woodchipper of the rest of Trump's administration going full Immortan Elon crooning at people to not get too dependent on water--

Hallelujah. Pass the Doritos.

as someone in clinical psych, it drives me up the wall that everyone accepts as a goddamn fact that stress is directly linked to weight gain, and yet every single study on diet and exercise just… ignores this as a confounding factor? it’s gotten to the point where if i open a study on weight and don’t see a stress measure anywhere i just close it again because EVERY TIME the behavior they’re saying causes weight gain is… surprise… a behavior people do when they’re stressed. so either the behavior itself is a spurious correlation to the already established causal relationship between stress and weight gain, OR the behavior does contribute some unique amount to variability in health outcomes, but we’re ignoring why people are doing that behavior. like ok maybe eating nothing but spaghetti-o’s causes you to gain weight. why is no one ringing alarm bells going WHY IS THIS PERSON SO STRESSED THEY CAN EAT NOTHING BUT SPAGHETTI-O’S? the intervention is always “eat less spaghetti-o’s” not “holy fuck what can we address in your life so you aren’t forced into the miserable existence of eating nothing but spaghetti-o’s.” setting aside “why is weight loss even your outcome variable,” if weight loss IS your target why the FUCK are you ignoring this piece! i am grabbing my fellow scientists by the shoulders and shaking them vigorously!!

HELL! FUCKING! YES!!!!!!!! You, YOU keep talking!

[cowboyschumi]

MUSE

Summary: Oscar is known for being bad at padel, which is why he tries other hobbies, like photography. Now, he clearly needs something to take photos of.

Author's note: Oscar trying to play paddel 🤏

I'm a huge fan of taking inspiration from songs, so you can listen to this. Don't forget to enjoy the reading and show some love. <3

Warnings: None ig.

————————————————————————

COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

————————————————————————

Oscar had to be grateful for being that good of a driver. Man, he was really bad at other sports. Everyone pointed it out and made fun of him, some people even pitied him or found it cute. He even tried golfing, but that racket was his last straw. He was a bit frustrated, but Oscar wasn’t the type to get frustrated and give up. He just accepted the fact that he wasn’t gifted enough.

His Instagram was— for his luck because he wasn't a media guy— managed by a social media professional, who made him posts and even took charge of taking pictures. Yes, none of his dumps, captions, or stories were posted by his own hands, which was crazy. He wanted some sort of control over that, after all, he had a voice and a platform. Not taking advantage of that would be a shame, besides there was no fun and genuine part if he wasn't the one behind his Instagram. So he decided to take it more seriously, it made his brain hurt in the most untolerable ways but he started to post more, engage with his fans.

Instagram dumps are such a religious thing for some people, he wasn't in that group until now. Having a picture perfect Instagram would let people have more connection with the places, his interests— perceive him differently and not some boring and flat boy with not much to say.

Like any driver, he had a stylist, a PR team, and other fancy stuff—which he didn’t like much because the main focus was on him, physically. His content was different now; it was full of sunsets, yachts, cars, and food pictures. He had to thank his team for lending him a professional camera—it made the quality ten times better.

"It's a lost cause." Oscar spoke as he carelessly dried his hair with a towel.

You vividly remember the first time he stepped into one of your classes—the typical shy kid who barely spoke. Other drivers came along with him, doing most of the talking, but they weren’t consistent in attending. For them, padel was just a way to kill time. Oscar, on the other hand, wanted to know everything about it—from the size of the court to executing the perfect shot with his racket. A few weeks after his first class, he started booking lessons on his own, demanding more focus and dedication.

He came around twice a week, and seeing him so often, you quickly grew close. So it wasn’t surprising to find him frequently emerging from the showers at the padel club. You had even learned to tolerate his wannabe tennis grunts when he hit the ball. At this point, you had already seen the worst of him.

"You’re just being hard on yourself. Not everything has to be perfect."

Like in any common locker room, there was a bench where people placed their clothes after showering. You sat there as you two talked.

No matter how comfortable you were around Oscar, you respected him, so you made a point of not looking at his shirtless torso.

"Don't give me a pity speech. I’ve heard enough of that." He really did sound tired of hearing it. But it was true—no one should be too hard on themselves for not meeting their highest expectations. Striving for perfection in everything wasn’t normal. Oscar’s mindset was too rigid, and being optimistic felt like an impossible task for him.

"Webber told me you started… photography? He even sounded worried about what you might do with that." Chuckles and laughter echoed through the warm changing room.

"Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty great. Still got a lot to work on," he admitted sincerely, making that classic uncertain face he always did when he wasn’t sure about something. His facial expressions were always amusing. "I got bored of photographing the plants on my balcony at home. Took some photos of Lando, and Hattie doesn’t even want the lens near her."

Laughter filled the room again—it felt like a comedy show at this point. But when it faded, you exchanged a tense glance, as if communicating telepathically. A mischievous smirk lit up his face.

"No." Your answer was immediate and firm, anticipating what was coming.

"I haven’t even said anything!" He raised his hands in mock innocence, his guilty smile still in place. Oh, you knew him too well.

"I won’t. I’m not photogenic."

"Please, just one time."

Oscar always swore on one-time things. But when something felt good, you tended to repeat it. He knew exactly how to take advantage of your kindness, always asking for harmless favors—because, in the end, you never said no to him.

————————————————————————

And there you were, in his Monaco apartment, on a morning when rain was pouring outside. Oscar always pointed out the differences between his current lifestyle and the one he had in Australia, the daily longing for home. That small place in Europe had its charm, and he wouldn’t complain, but he missed the wide-open spaces, the warmer weather, and even his mom’s cooking. Now he lived on the highest floor of the busiest avenue, in a cramped apartment so small that he barely had space to walk around.

"I brought donuts and coffee," You announced while cleaning your boots on the entrance mat.

"Cool, thank you. Would you mind sitting by the window? The light is majestic." His attention was focused on his camera, probably adjusting some tricky settings.

"Already bossing around?" Unbelievable. The kid already thought he was a professional photographer, giving orders and having the worst attitude.

You had a big trench coat on, surprisingly still soaked after the unstoppable rain. And it kept coming—people still struggling with their umbrellas, cars almost floating down the street. That’s what you could see from how high his apartment was.

The brown-eyed boy placed his face behind his huge, intimidating camera, yet somehow, you didn’t feel intimidated by it—after all, he was the one taking the photos. But then, an unexpected expression of discontent crossed his face, confusing you. Your brows furrowed instantly, maybe you weren’t pretty enough to be photographed. You relaxed your body, stopped posing—that was it. At least you tried.

"Take it off." Oscar’s index finger pointed at my jacket, his face continued hidden behind the camera. The view was limited, but his expression remained unreadable—no emotion, all seriousness. Clueless.

"It's freezing cold outside, you're insane." Despite your protest, you did as he told you—just like always, hating yourself for it. Your body leaned against the nearly immense open window, the breeze sneaked through with ease, making your skin shiver. Your face card wasn’t your main attribute, maybe your toned padel body was. Still, you couldn’t quite grasp why he chose you, considering all the contacts and friends he had. Favors were an unbreakable thing between you two, but, of course, you never owed him a thing.

A few more adjustments, and his camera was down again, poker face still tattooed all over him. With slow, measured steps, he walked closer until he stood right in front of you. His mannerisms were always soft and gentle, like he had been written by a woman. Not exactly naive, but delicate enough to make you feel safe and comfortable in his presence.

Oscar set your coat aside, draping it over his vintage couch. His whole place had that aesthetic. You especially loved the Abu Dhabi carpet that stretched across the floor, its deep reddish tones were delightful. His eyes couldn’t help but dart down your slim silhouette. Your white sleeveless shirt, drenched from the rain, clung to your curves, turning entirely translucent against your skin.

Finally, your eyes connected, and you desperately searched for answers, whether in his gaze or through words. The driver was entirely focused on his task, calculating angles, observing the natural lighting, and analyzing your body. Over-analyzing your body.

You knew that look—the one men gave when they stared too long, leaving a disgusting feeling. But Oscar wasn’t like that. Yes, he was staring, but with such admiration and adoration that, for once, you didn’t mind. For the first time in a long time, you felt pretty. Feminine. Reaching that level of femininity wasn’t easy. Padel and sports had always shaped your image, conditioning you to appear tough, stereotypically masculine. But under his gaze, all of that melted away.

You broke eye contact as the staring became too overwhelming for your liking, exceeding your daily dose of attention. You couldn’t just escape him because he was there, and you were working, or something like that. Your breathing hitched, and you involuntarily let out a low gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch was cold, just like your body. The only warmth came from the fire igniting in your cheeks. His fingers hooked around one of your white straps, which had fallen out of place.

God, you wished you could say a word, anything, but you were petrified.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You just say that hoping I’d say yes to another photoshoot. Your guinea pig.” The back-and-forth banter and sarcastic flirting didn’t end, but now you were playing silly enough to avoid any heartfelt compliment. You didn’t like those types of things because you never knew how to react, especially when they came from him. His contagious laughter filled the room and your world turned upside down.

Something always lingered between you two, and it was the expectedly obvious, taking into account the amount of time you spent together—padel mornings or sometimes afternoons, dinner nights if class ended late, and when he actually managed to wake up to his multiple alarms, cycling together. But it was casual because you never knew what could cross a man's mind; spending a whole day together could mean nothing to them, maybe he even saw you in a sisterly way. So you tried to chill, not giving it much importance—because, again, a compliment could mean nothing.

His free hand found its way to your nape, resting his palm there, barely cradling it. You had no choice but to regain eye contact; he had you cornered with his gaze—physically, too. Any cold once brought by the winter weather had vanished. Your skin was hot, almost burning. Oscar's gaze didn’t reflect frenzy or desire; he looked lost, even stunned.

“Let me kiss you, please.” He murmured hopelessly, his words caressing and sweetening your ears in the most shivering way.

“Oscar, professionally is not the best to-” It was just a matter of seconds before he silenced you in the most cliché way possible. His kisses mirrored his personality—timid and shy, as if he were afraid to go too far. Yet, at the same time, they were sweet and innocent, like a first kiss, completely inexperienced.

Something that you clearly weren't used to.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even more close, letting each other feel how you teetered, how you edged by just a kiss. Your consent gave him more confidence, turning the encounter into something deeper, sloppier. His lips parted against yours with more urgency, the hesitation melting away as the two of you let each other get lost in the moment. His breath was uneven, intoxicatingly mixing with yours. The kiss grew needier, desperate, and hungry. The sound of your teeth crashing messily together was secondary as his tongue brushed against your lips, savoring, tasting, before he dared to explore further. The slick warmth, the breathy sounds between kisses, the way his body pressed against yours—it was thrilling in the best way.

“I never really liked padel that much, nor was I good at it. There was no chance of improving. But you know why I kept coming back.” Oscar's smile emerged in the middle of the kiss, his tone playful, hinting that he knew he’d been doing something wrong just for the fun of it. Paying for extra classes just to see your face more than once a week? Genius move.

“Oh, I'm so gonna kill you.” You warned him, still in disbelief, that he’d been such a fool, especially since you would’ve said yes to any date prior if he’d only had the courage. There was no need for this extreme and unnecessary padel. But, still, seeing him struggle was part of your routine—and you enjoyed it. Not wanting to hear any lame excuses, you pulled him in, deciding to stay glued to his lips for a very long time

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you.

Part 1 | Part 2

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Rough sex. Slight size difference kink. Death of side characters.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You awake the next morning to the sound of a fire crackling. For a moment, you wonder how your father managed to tend the fire without your help, then you remember you’re not at home.

Rising up from the rug on the floor, you first notice Toji’s coat falling from your shoulders. Then you notice that you’re naked beneath it. Oh. So that really happened. It wasn’t just another of your dreams. 

You find your dress a few feet away and begin pulling it over your head and tying the laces at the front. A sound comes from behind you, and you turn to see Toji in the kitchen area, standing over the small stove. There’s a kettle being heated. 

“Thought I’d make us some coffee,” he says.

You nod numbly, still processing the night before as you look around. The cabin looks different in the light of day spilling in through the two main windows. What seemed warm and cozy last night looks gray and dull today. 

Looking out a window, you see that the storm is over. There’s no snow, no wind, only the silence that follows a blizzard as the woods are buried under a blanket of heavy white. Trudging through that snow will be difficult, but you feel certain you and Toji can do it. 

You join him at the small table, taking a warm cup and letting it heat your hands for a moment before taking a sip. 

Toji takes a drink of his own, then sits his cup on the table. “We need to talk.”

You look up in alarm. His tone is serious enough to make you worry. Is this going to be the part where he ultimately rejects you? Tells you last night was fun but it can never happen again? 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and say, “Okay. What do we need to talk about?”

The next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expected. 

“What’s your connection to the queen?”

You blink. “The queen? I’ve never met her.”

He leans slightly over the table, toward you. “Are you sure? Think really hard. Maybe you met her when you were a kid.”

You find yourself drawing back a little from the table, unsure of where he’s going with these questions. “If I ever met her, I don’t remember it,” you say. “Why would you think I have a connection to the queen?”

“Because she hired me to kill you.”

You freeze. What did he just say? Surely you heard him wrong. “Huh?”

His eyes are focused on yours, trapping you in his steely gaze. “The queen hired me to kill you. She told me to make it messy, so it seems personal.”

Your heart begins racing, a spike of fear shooting through you as the warm mug in your hand begins to tremble. You sit it down on the table, nearly spilling it, then look toward the door of the cabin. Could you make it out? 

“Relax,” he tells you. “If I was gonna go through with it, you never would’ve woken up this morning.”

Your eyes return to his face. In a small, shaky voice, you ask, “Why didn’t you?”

His serious expression relaxes a little. “I just decided I like you better alive than dead.”

Hearing him say that calms your nerves a bit. It’s true that it would have been incredibly easy to kill you while you slept, so if Toji was going to murder you, he would have done it then. 

“But why would she want me dead?” you ask. 

Toji leans back against his chair. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. At first I thought it was because you’re prettier than her, but-“

“I am?”

He almost smiles at you. “According to her weird magic mirror anyway.”

Now you’re even more confused. “She has a magic mirror?”

“Yeah. Every day she asks it to show the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. A couple days ago it showed you.”

You feel yourself blushing. Are you that beautiful? You’ve never seen yourself that way, and you don’t recall getting any extra attention in the village. You wonder if Toji agrees with the mirror, but you’re too shy to ask. 

Apparently he can take a hint. 

“I don’t know about the whole kingdom, but you’re definitely a lot more beautiful than the queen,” he says. 

The comment makes your heart skip a beat, but you don’t have time to focus on that. You look up as Toji continues what he was going to say. 

“It’s not just the mirror,” he tells you. “She called you a threat to her rule, then referred to you as a loose end. There’s some connection there.”

Your mind is racing. You’ve never met the queen, unless it was before you were old enough to remember. But why would you have ever met her? “I should ask my father,” you say. “He might know something.”

Toji shakes his head. “It’s a bad idea for you to go back to the village. The queen will have people watching.”

“But I can’t just hide here! My father is ill. He can’t make it on his own. Please, take me back to the village just for a little while, so I can check on him and ask someone to look after him while I’m gone.”

Toji looks at you, at your determined, worried expression, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll take you back, but you can’t stay long. If you wanna live, you’re gonna have to hide out for a while.”

You stand up from the table and move over to hug Toji, who doesn’t hug you back but doesn’t pull away. “Thank you.”

After pulling on your cloak, gloves, boots, and scarf, you join Toji outside the cabin, who is looking out over the forest. “I don’t think anyone followed us here,” he says. “The weather was probably too bad.”

You nod, taking his word for it. The snow is much thicker than the night before, all traces of your footprints long gone. Trudging through this to get back to the village won’t be easy, but you have to do it. You have to check on your father, and ask if he knows about some connection to the queen. 

The trek back is a quiet one. Toji doesn’t talk much, and you feel a bit awkward. Last night you felt so close to him, but today he seems so distant. Did he lure you to the cabin to kill you? If so, what made him change his mind? Was it your love confession? Or the sex? So many questions haunt your mind as you move through the woods. 

When you reach the village, it looks mundane compared to the wild revelations you’ve had this morning. Most villagers are inside, probably huddling around their fireplaces. A few of the men are working to make walking paths through the thick blanket of snow, a couple are hauling firewood into their homes, and a group of children are playing by tossing snowballs at each other. 

It’s all so very normal, you feel perfectly at ease as you open the door to your house and shake the snow from your cloak. You pull off your gloves as you walk through the living area, noting that the fire is going strong. The neighbor must have added more wood last night before leaving. You hear Toji step inside behind you and close the door, but he doesn’t follow you as you make your way to your father’s room. 

Until you scream. 

Because your father is lying in his bed, a sword standing straight up, impaled through his stomach and pinning him to the straw mattress. Blood has soaked the covers and now drips from the bed, making a small pool on the floor. 

Toji rushes into the room, then immediately pulls you into his arms. “Don’t look,” he says, one strong hand rubbing your back. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away and says, “Let me go see what happened.”

You nod, keeping your face turned away as he goes over to examine the scene. Tears are flooding your eyes, no matter how much you wipe them away with your hands. “Who could do this?!” you cry. “He was just a sick old man! He never hurt a soul!”

You hear Toji’s voice from across the room. “This is a standard issue sword for royal guards. The queen must have ordered-“

His voice cuts off, and before you can question it, you hear his footsteps approaching quickly. Then all at once he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firm on your shoulders. 

“Listen very carefully,” he says, looking at you intently. “Your father is still breathing. He looks like he wants to see you. But he is dying. There’s nothing we can do to stop that.”

Your eyes shift over to the grisly scent once again. You nod weakly to Toji, but you can’t stop the hope blooming in your heart. He’s not dead yet! Maybe… maybe you can do something to help him! 

Carefully, with Toji by your side, you step over to the bed. Your father is staring up at you, and his eyes tear up. “My darling…” he whispers, reaching one trembling hand toward your face. 

You grab his hand and hold it tightly, kneeling down to hear him better. “I’m here, father!”

“I have to tell you… who you are…”

“It’s okay! Don’t strain yourself, please!”

His eyes focus in on you, and he seems to gain a bit of strength in his determination to speak to you. “You were born… to the former king and queen… my closest friends…”

You freeze. “What?”

“Your mother died in childbirth… that was true. Your father… wanted a mother for you… so he married the current queen. He died… only two months later.”

Tears are overflowing from your eyes. “You’re my father!”

He smiles, but squeezes your hand and goes on. “The new queen ordered your death… but I begged her… to spare you. She agreed, if I would take you to a remote village… and never tell anyone the truth. You were barely taking your first steps… so I resigned as royal advisor… and raised you as my own.”

Your father pauses and coughs, blood speckling the collar of his shirt. “She broke the agreement,” he says desperately, his grip on your hand tightening. “She fears you will claim… your rightful place as queen! She will come for you!”

Suddenly he lifts his free hand and points toward the dresser on the other side of the bed. “There… in the bottom drawer!”

You press your lips to his forehead. “I understand! I heard you! I’ll be careful and I won’t let the queen kill me!”

A look of relief passes over his pained face. “I was… so proud… to be your father.”

You smile through your tears. “I and I have felt so fortunate to be your daughter!”

A second later, his grip goes slack, his hand sliding from yours and dropping at his side. His eyes are closed now, and you know they will never open again. 

You let out a sob, collapsing across his bed, just above the sword, not caring that blood is staining your dress. 

Minutes pass with no sound in the room but your cries, until you hear Toji’s voice again. You almost forgot he was here. 

“I’m sorry, but we have to go. If you want to keep your promise and not get killed, I need to get you back to the cabin.”

You rise up and look at your father’s face, then toward the dresser. “Wait,” you say, wiping your face again, “he said something about the bottom drawer.”

Toji steps over and yanks the drawer out, his hands rifling through the contents. He holds up an envelope with your name on it, scrawled in your father’s handwriting. “This must be it. You can open it later, but we need to go. The queen no doubt has someone watching your house, and once they report that you’re here, she’ll send a whole company of soldiers.”

“What? Why so many?!”

“Because by now she knows I didn’t do the job, and I’m with you,” Toji says. “She knows she’ll need a fuck ton of soldiers to deal with me.”

You wonder about that, about how Toji knows the queen so well. He was just a Huntsman, right? But you don’t have time for questions now. You rush to your room and shove some clothing into a bag, then meet Toji at the front door. You glance back a toward your father’s room. “What about his burial?”

Toji is opening the door and ushering you toward it. “A neighbor will find him and take care of it. He’d much rather you get away safely than make sure he gets a proper burial. Trust me.”

You wonder if that’s his opinion as a father, but remain silent as you step outside. Just as you do, you hear a strange sound, like something moving quickly through the air. You turn to your right, where you see a thin blade stabbing straight toward you. 

Toji sees the attacker before she even turns. He reaches forward and catches the blade between his thumb and fingers, then wrenches it free of the soldier’s grasp. Before the soldier can even react, Toji has slammed an elbow into his face, shattering his nose and knocking him to the ground. 

The soldier clasps one hand over his bloody face, staring up at Toji with wide eyes. 

Toji holds the blade up, quickly examining it. “Wonder why you’re using your side dagger and not your sword,” he says, meeting the soldier’s indignant gaze. “You’re the one who killed the old man, aren’t you?”

The soldier removes his hand and yells in a broken voice, “I did what my queen asked of me! Unlike you, you traitorous dog!”

Toji’s eyes slide over to his lovely neighbor, curious what sort of reaction she has to this conversation. Will she be horrified? Sad? No. When Toji sees her face, there’s only rage there. Hell, if she had a weapon she’d probably kill this guy herself. 

That’s surprising.

But they don’t have time to indulge her. Toji flips the dagger around to point the blade downward, then rams it into the soldier’s throat. Blood bubbles up from the man’s mouth, his body jerking as he dies. 

Toji grabs her hand and pulls her along with him, taking her back into the woods where they can disappear. The queen probably has at least one more agent in the area to keep watch, but there’s no way they’re half as familiar with these woods as Toji is. 

An hour later, the two of them are back in the cabin. It should be safe for now. Only local hunters know about the cabin, and it’s located deep in the woods. 

Toji isn’t sure what to say to the crying young woman who quickly went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He’s never been great at consoling people. When his wife died, he didn’t want anyone to speak to him. Even hearing someone breathe nearby made him angry. But he moved on, eventually. He never stopped thinking of his wife, never stopped missing her, but it got easier as the years went by.

Over the next few days, Toji doesn’t see much of his “housemate”. She comes out of the bedroom occasionally to eat the food Toji hunts and cooks or to use the bathroom. She doesn’t talk much, except to thank Toji for his help and say she has a lot to think about. 

For his part, Toji is uncertain how he feels about her, how much time and energy he wants to put into protecting her. She’s the true heir to the throne, and he’d love nothing more than to see the queen lose her crown, but this heir is so sweet, so naive, he doubts she’ll decide to pursue it. 

And if she doesn’t… well, he likes her but he’s not going to risk his life for someone content to hide for the rest of her life. 

After five days have passed, she emerges from the bedroom and stands in front of Toji in the kitchen, the envelope he found in the drawer clutched in her hand. 

“It’s a letter from my father,” she says, “explaining what he told me in more detail. He thought the queen had the king - I mean my birth father - killed, but could never find proof.”

Toji sighs. “Sounds like something the queen would do.”

She holds out a silver necklace. “He also left me this. I think it’s supposed to be important.”

Toji takes the necklace and looks closely at the pendant. He recognizes it instantly. It’s in the shape of a cross that ends in an anchor, with golden vines wrapped around it. “This is the royal family’s crest,” he tells her. “Every kid born to the royal family is given one of these. It’s basically proof you’re the heir.””

He hands the necklace back to her and she stares at it numbly. All of this must seem surreal to her. A week ago she was just a normal young woman living in a small village. Today she’s the rightful queen of the land. 

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Toji, can you please help me?”

Here it comes. She’s going to ask him to protect her, to help her hide or perhaps escape to a neighboring kingdom. She’s such a pure, sweet woman, but he’ll turn her down. 

“Help you do what?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Kill the queen.”

Toji blinks. Did he hear her right? 

She goes on, unbothered by his confusion. “She killed both my fathers, and wants to kill me. I can’t forgive that, and I can’t just walk away. I don’t even know if I want to be a ruler, but I know I can’t tolerate her sitting on the throne.”

Toji can’t stop a grin from spreading over his face. “Tell you what, if you pay off my gambling debts once you get access to the royal treasury, I’ll kill anyone you want.”

She steps closer, putting one hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. You’ve saved me twice now. I knew I was right when I said you’re a good man.”

There’s a spark of something kinetic between them, and Toji thinks she’s much more attractive now than she was a few days ago. The fiery resolve in her eyes is intoxicating. But he laughs as he says, “A good man who just agreed to kill someone for money.”

“Someone who deserves it,” she says back, her body inching closer to his. 

Toji’s arms wrap around her, pulling her up against him. “I like this new side of you,” he says.

She looks away almost shyly, but seems to relax in his arms. “I don’t think it’s new. Something just had to drag this side of me out.”

He leans down and kisses her, lightly grinding his hips into her. “I can drag something out of you alright, but only if I can ram it back in.”

Her eyes flick up to his face again. In a small voice, she says, “You can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you.”

Toji suddenly pushes you against the nearest wall, your back scraping the wood of the cabin. His hands are tearing your dress open and jerking it down off your shoulders. His movements are hurried, as if he can’t wait to get you undressed. It’s so very different from the way he touched you before. There’s an urgency this time. 

Maybe last time he was just indulging a love struck young woman. Now it seems like his passion has truly been ignited. 

You pull at his shirt, eager to see that perfectly sculpted body again. He obliges you, ripping the fabric open so fast that the buttons are sent scattering across the floor. Your hands glide over his chest, feeling the muscles there, feeling his heartbeat. 

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, letting it pool at your feet, then down go your panties. You step out of the pile of clothes and kick them out of the way, then wrap your arms around Toji’s neck as he pick you up. Your legs move around his waist as he settles you in the right position against him. 

When his throbbing cock plunges into your drenched pussy, you cry out, then bury your face in his shoulder. He fucks you against the wall, your body sandwiched tightly between it and Toji’s firm body. With each thrust, your back hits the wood again. You know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but right now you don’t care. 

You just want to forget. In these moments of mindless pleasure, you want to forget your father dying before your eyes, your burdensome lineage, the fact that your life has been turned upside down. You only want to feel Toji inside you, filling the emptiness you’ve felt the past few days. 

His hands are on your thighs, his fingers leaving imprints in your skin, his mouth finding yours and devouring your lips. His thrusts become harder, rougher, leaving you whimpering his name and begging for more. You want him to claim your body, make it his, reduce you to a crying mess so that you won’t have to think about anything else. 

His skin is so hot against yours, his muscled abdomen rubbing exactly the right spots to send you over the edge. When you cum, he’s kissing you, eyes open and staring at your face, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully. He doesn’t stop fucking you, his hips continuing to buck into you as you go limp against his chest. 

Before he cums, Toji pulls out of you, splashing the wall with his seed before easing you back onto your feet. You fall into blissful oblivion as he places your exhausted body on the couch. 

It’s late in the morning the next day when Toji tells you he’s leaving the cabin for a few hours. “I know a few former guards who hate the queen as much as we do,” he says. “They might be willing to help us.”

You nod as you pour yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Any help at all would be very welcome. Even if it’s just someone to distract the guards while you and Toji sneak into the castle. 

Toji gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head before stepping out, and you settle into the couch to read a book you grabbed from home. The first couple of hours pass uneventfully, the only sounds in the cabin being the crackling of the fire and the pages of your book being turned.

But in the afternoon, there comes a knock at the cabin door. You freeze, wondering who it might be. Toji wouldn’t knock. Is it a hunter from the village? Or, the more frightening possibility, a royal guard or soldier who spotted Toji in town and knows you’re alone? 

You quietly get up from the couch and creep over to the door, hoping to hear some clue that could help you determine who is on the other side. There’s a knocking again, and it strikes you that it’s not a very hard knock. Then you hear a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” 

It sounds like an old woman. It’s a weak, frail voice. Still, you can’t be too careful in this situation, so you don’t answer. 

“Please, if anyone’s here, could you help me?” the voice pleads. “My legs gave out. I just need somewhere warm to sit and rest for a bit before walking back home. I saw the smoke from the chimney.”

You move to the nearest window and peek out, toward the door. You don’t see anyone. No soldiers, no hunters. You don’t have a direct line of sight to the woman, but if there was anyone with her, you’d probably see them. 

After a few more moments, you hear soft footsteps crunching snow, and a small old lady steps into view as she limps away from the door. She looks so pitiful, so weak, you find yourself running to the door and opening it. 

The woman turns around and looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, bless you, dear!”

You hurry over and take a basket from her hand, noting it’s unusual heft, as you help her inside. 

“What are you doing out in the woods alone?” you ask her as she eases herself onto the couch with a groan. 

“I was crossing through from town back to the village,” she says. 

You fix her a cup of warm tea and sit down beside her. “That’s an awfully heavy basket you’ve got.”

She laughs and pulls the basket into her lap. “I’m a fruit seller,” she says, opening the basket and revealing several red, shiny apples. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, that’s alright!” you tell her.

She pulls one apple out and reaches it to you. “Consider it a gift for letting me warm up in your cabin.”

You hesitantly take the apple and sit it on a small table beside the couch. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

The old woman smiles kindly. For the next half hour, she sits and chats with you, telling you about her husband who died two years ago and her no good son who refuses to help her sell fruit. Then, she slowly gets to her feet and bids you farewell. 

After watching her disappear into the forest, you close the door to the cabin and return to the couch, picking up the apple as you go. 

Toji is in town, waiting to meet up with a former guard he was friendly with, when a hunter he recognizes from the village approaches him. 

“Hey, Toji. Are you still using that old hunting cabin in the woods?” he asks. 

Toji’s eyes automatically narrow. “Not recently,” he lies. “Why?”

“There was an old fruit seller asking if anyone lived out in the woods. I told her about the cabin but stressed that no one’s usually there. I think she went anyway.”

“A fruit seller?” Toji asks, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

The Hunter nods. “An old woman. She had a basket full of apples.”

Toji frowns. “Apples in the dead of winter?”

The man shrugs. “I guess she had a late harvest.”

Toji leaves. He wastes no time with small talk or goodbyes. He simply runs as fast as he can back to the woods, because he remembers something the queen told him years ago. Something he’d dismissed as delusional fantasy at the time. 

She said that if she utters a specific incantation in front of the magic mirror, it can change her appearance to look like anyone she wants. 

If that was true, then the old woman could have been…

He stops thinking, only focusing on running. He tears through the woods at inhuman speed, and in record time he arrives at the cabin. He throws the door open and runs inside. 

There he finds her, his young lover, sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, a half eaten apple lying a few inches from her outstretched hand. 

[zerosbubble]

Coffee Routine.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! I honestly didn’t expect so many of you guys to love this series. Definitely gave me more motivation to write! 🥹

Summary: Your everyday routine consisted of many things—one of them being bringing Tim coffee right before roll call without fail. However, one morning, Tim notices something awfully wrong. You didn’t bring him coffee today.

The first time it happened, Tim barely even looked at you.

You strolled into roll call, dropped a coffee onto his desk without ceremony, and took your seat like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just handed him a large black coffee from his usual spot, perfectly made.

Tim blinked at it. Then at you.

You didn’t even glance up, already flipping through your notes.

Alright. Maybe it was a coincidence.

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

Every morning, like clockwork. Before his first cup of the day, before he even had a chance to be irritated at something stupid, you were there, sliding the cup over without so much as a greeting.

Like it was routine. Like you just knew.

And Tim—being Tim—did what he always did when confronted with something odd. He ignored it.

For weeks.

But then, one morning, he got to work a little later than usual, and when he walked into the briefing room—no coffee in hand—he felt it immediately.

Something was missing.

He glanced around. You were at your desk, looking half dead, chin resting on your palm as you aimlessly scrolled through a report.

And on the table that he sits at every morning?

Nothing.

No cup waiting for him. No routine exchange. Just an empty desk and a sluggish-looking rookie who was barely upright in her chair.

Tim frowned. “Where’s my coffee, kid?”

You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, like it took you a second to register the question. “Huh?”

“My coffee,” he repeated, slower this time. “The one you hand me every morning like some kind of overgrown intern.”

“Oh.” You yawned, rubbing a hand over your face, expression hazy. “Didn’t get one.”

Tim squinted, like it was a riddle that he (for once) didn’t have the brains to decipher. “You didn’t get one?”

You shrugged, barely lifting your shoulders. “Forgot.”

Forgot.

That was new.

You had managed to grab coffee every single shift for the past three weeks, unprompted, like some weird unspoken pact. You weren’t exactly a creature of habit—more impulsive, more instinct-driven—but somehow, this had become routine. Reliable. And now, suddenly, you just… forgot?

Tim crossed his arms, taking in the mess of you. Your uniform was a little more wrinkled than usual, your posture slumped. Dark circles weighed under your eyes, and you had that glassy, half-there look of someone running on fumes.

It clicked.

“You overslept.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms. “Why do you say that like it’s a crime?”

Tim huffed, unimpressed. “Because for you, it kind of is. What happened? Alarm not go off?”

“Woke up an hour late,” you mumbled, voice muffled against your sleeve. “Didn’t have time to stop.”

Tim stared at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked right back out of the briefing room.

You barely even noticed. Probably too half-asleep to care.

Five minutes later, when he returned, he dropped a cup onto your desk—your usual order, still warm.

Your head lifted slowly. You stared at it. Then up at him.

Tim just arched a brow. “What?”

You squinted. “Did you… just get me coffee?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. It’s called returning the favour.” He muttered, before clearing his throat to restore his imagine, “—and I can’t have a rookie who’s sloppy just because they didn’t have their morning coffee. Don’t overthink it.”

You blinked again, as if trying to make sure this was real. Then, with an exaggerated sniffle, you clutched the cup to your chest. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Drink your damn coffee, kid.”

And just like that, the routine was set back into place.

[rotationalsymmetry]

I know it tends to lead to more heat than light when people do a "ok disability though" counterpoint to these sorts of posts, but I do want to point out that this sort of thing is exactly one situation where it can help to zoom out and look at the issue from a societal rather than individual perspective.

I spent a fair bit of time on the internet before I got sick -- in college, when I was surrounded by people I mostly liked and lots of fun things to do, in the mountains when I was surrounded by natural beauty -- and somewhat more than I thought I should, but it was very much in balance. I'd spend a few hours reading webcomics when I thought I should have been doing my homework or NaNoWriMo or meditation or something, but I'd also go out and walk for a few hours, or go grocery shopping, or bake bread, or play "gay Life" (Life the board game but the pegs in front seat of your car can be the same color) with the Alliance kids, or do that homework I'd been putting off. I'd go on Facebook maybe a couple times a week to keep up with what my friends were doing and as far as social media went, that was it.

The times I've spent an out of balance amount of time on screen stuff, rather than a reasonable leisure amount of time that I felt guilty about because I've got an overdeveloped "work ethic", were when I was depressed and unemployed and socially isolated, and now when I have CFS and am unemployed and socially isolated. I can sit outside for a bit, but I take a while to get dressed because I'm sick and I can't do long walks like I used to because I'm sick and my ability to grocery shop or cook...anyways, you get the idea. Social contact too.

And part of that is my illness -- impairment. And part of that is living in a society where either you're working (or something like working, like going to school) or you may as well not exist, people do not make room for disabled people in society. I'd get out more if it was socially acceptable to walk around the block in my pajamas and a bath robe, but it's not and I don't; I'd get out more if I expected I could lie down on public benches without getting harassed by a cop, but I can't expect that so I don't.

We have a society. That is happy for people like me to spend all our time on electronics and none of it in meat space, because that's convenient and easy and good for capitalism, and who the fuck even cares about disabled people anyways.

(And thank goodness the internet exists, because how the fuck would I find people who know how to live with my illness without it? I'd do what people used to do and just be sick and have no clue what to do to manage my symptoms better. I'm substantially better off than I was at my worst due to activities related to looking at a screen.)

And sure, there's some wiggle room where I can make an effort to spend more time on idk coloring books or whatever and less on screen stuff, and I do, and I can reach out to people I know for calls and quiet at home visits where we talk or play board games but only for a couple hours at a time, and I do, but it would be so much fucking easier and better if I wasn't swimming fucking upstream about it.

There is an attitude that gets all over the place like spilled glitter that good health (physical or mental) is primarily about individual choices and is maybe even a reflection of personal character, and it just isn't, not with physical health and not with mental health either, personal choices aren't irrelevant but they're not doing the heavy lifting either and we could treat health as a COLLECTIVE, social concern, something that we do together and for each other and also something that is morally neutral on an individual level, something that happens to us more than the consequences of our choices.

And we could expect that some people can't be healthy (at least not with current medical knowledge) and need care and accommodation and that's not a personal failing and it's not something that anyone's going to be able to fix any time soon but sick people can have better or worse lives in a way that is not tied to better or worse health.

(Very. Much. Including. Depressed. People.)

unironically tho, you need to fill your life with nature and exercise and reading and crafting and cooking and physically engaging with the world around you. the key to happiness is not in your computer screen, especially not if most of your time is spent looking at bad opinions and arguing with people. it sounds so stupid but you are an animal that needs enrichment. so take your meds, go outside or at least look outside and turn off the computer and phone more often. I promise you'll feel better.

[lightlycareless]

the jealous y/n i promised. one of them, anyways :)

warnings: naoya used to like someone before you. the thought of it makes you... uncomfortable, by some reason. highschool au. minimal proofreading but sometimes you just gotta let things go...

It all started because someone decided they just had to mess with you on your first trip to Kyoto, during your first school exchange event.

As yearly intended, the game would be hosted on the winning school; not that someone managed to defeat Gojo and Geto, but to shake things a bit the higher ups decided to break the rules and give the opposing school a chance—maybe fighting in their hometowns would help against them.

Coincidentally, this would mark your first time participating, and what better way to do so than by going to a city you’ve never been to?

We’re you excited?

Undoubtedly. How could you not consider these past details?

However, that wasn’t the only (not the most important) notion that had you feeling such way; what actually got you all giddy was the fact that you’d be going with your boyfriend! Which secretly turned this school trip into a small holiday of sorts, a promise of a good time once he offered to take you to the city and show you all kinds of enthralling experiences you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

It was bound to become a memorable visit, one that you wouldn’t be able to forget, worthy enough to share with your eventual children!

And it was… but not for the reasons you expected.

“Ooooh, you know what this trip actually means, right Y/N?” Gojo would begin to stir, as usual. You do your best to ignore him. “You can ignore me all you want, but I’m just warning you, it’s going to be awkward.”

“Awkward?” You blink, taking his bait. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t say it, Satoru…” Geto warns, going against his very nature, which is to rile him further, and instead, showing genuine caution that you’d come to lament later on. “You’re just being cruel.”

“What is? Tell me!” You cry, fallen victim to your curiosity.

“Probably not as cruel as Naoya taking his girlfriend to see his crush. Or past crush, I guess.”

“Crush…?” You blink, your heart dropping to your stomach at the thought of his affections once belonging to someone else. It shouldn’t be that way, of course. Whatever happened before you met him should be beyond your concern.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from torturing yourself with the thought, needlessly wondering who was the lucky girl to previously obtain his attention.

Was she nice? Was she pretty? Did anything manage to happen between the two…?

…

…

Does she look like you?

You ought to know better than to ask questions you do not want answered.

“Naoya hasn’t told you?” Satoru worried. “He used to have this huge crush on Utahime, like you don’t imagine how big it was; he’d stalk her everywhere she went, turn all red whenever she was near—“

“Satoru!” Suguru condemned, but it was too late.

It’s safe to say you no longer looked forward to your trip to Kyoto.

“She was going to learn so anyways, might as well get it over with!”

“And?? That doesn’t give you permission to be an idiot about it!”

“I’m just preparing Y/N! It’s not my fault that Naoya hasn’t told her about it… which is quite suspicious if you ask me, more so since he’s been in contact with her quite recently! Did you know he asked me for her number? I think he might not be over—“

“Do you ever shut up, Satoru?” You coldly interject, retreating soon after before the tears forming in your eyes could further humiliate you.

Suguru was right, there was no need for him to be as imprudent when it came to the relationship you were clearly very happy with; but you should’ve not let his behavior affect you either, that’s just how he is—everyone knew that—since he was a little kid.

Satoru just had this need to make everyone miserable simply because he could; but now that your insecurities were stirred, all you could do was revisit Naoya’s enthusiasm for your visit… and tie it with Utahime.

Overanalyze every interaction you had with him and wonder if he ever imagined it was her instead of you.

Like when he complimented you for appearance, called you cute when decorating your hair with a bow, which after Satoru’s bold accusations, you come to find it might’ve been because of nostalgia, longing. Not because Naoya actually meant it.

Utahime’s beautiful, there's no denying that.

She's also taller than you, brighter, determined; with no patience for nonsense yet kind enough to help others when asked. You should know, on the few occasions you’ve had the opportunity to interact with her, she was nothing but gentle when explaining one of the assignments you were struggling with—even offering to tutor you if you continued to have questions.

Undoubtedly, a perfect match for Naoya; both politically and personally. A conclusion that makes your poor heart ache the longer you keep comparing yourself to her.

No one looks at her and thinks “she's too childish” or “she's unsuited for the life of sorcery”. In fact, she’s the type of person one would go to when in trouble, the one to look for when in need of comfort.

While you… well, you’re funny. And apparently, a bit childish too. But definitely not the hope for the next generation of sorcerers.

When weighing all these alleged facts, and after placing Utahime on a pedestal while desecrating your own worth, you question…

Did Naoya settle on you because he couldn't end up with her?

Or were you simply a steppingstone, a diversion while they reunite in the future?

…

…

…

Are you fated to never be good enough by yourself? Everyone’s second choice when their initial plan doesn’t work?

It's not something you'd discern at a simple glance, but when Naoya begins to act more and more secretive the closer the date of your trip got, the more you're inclined to believe so; his distance had been so glaringly obvious that the only time you’ve managed to spend with him was when accidentally bumping into each other in the hallways when going to your next class.

Still, your stubborn heart gave him one last chance. One more opportunity to deny all the ridiculous claims plaguing your mind and realize that the sole reason he’s glued to his phone is because of his family, tending his responsibilities as heir…

And not because he’s seeking another woman.

“Ah, Y/N… I'm a little behind with some of my projects right now so I don't think I'll be able to join you for lunch… but don’t let that stop you, go ahead, eat something. I wouldn't want my princess to starve because of me”

That’s when everything made sense.

Because Naoya, though he may hate paperwork, essays, and all that deviated from exorcizing curses, he was still an excellent student and always delivered on time. Might’ve coerced someone to do his work from time to time when not in the mood, but it still brought you back to the same conclusion.

A realization that sparked your anger, bitterness—jealousy.

But most importantly, sadness.

Which you could no longer hide the fateful day of your trip.

“Wait, Y/N—! Why are you in such a rush? We’re still on time for the train!” Naoya would say after catching up to you. The two had previously agreed to meet up just outside your dorm and go to the train station together from there; but alas, you were nowhere to be seen when he eventually arrived, and this caused him to be very surprised.

After all, you were virtually inseparable from him; you would’ve spent the night with him if only it wasn’t prohibited. So… why the sudden indifference?

One could only try to be compassionate when remembering this was his first, serious relationship, so there were many things he had yet to learn about having a girlfriend and how to treat her.

It’s just a misfortune he’d come to learn that lesson harshly so.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you frown, ignoring Naoya as you continue to pull your suitcase towards the exit. The faculty gave students two options, either take the provided transportation and ride with the rest of your classmates to the train station or go by yourself.

Solitude was only appetizing with the silent turmoil you carried.

Your boyfriend doesn't say much after that, though he does note the striking difference of your usually bubbly personality with this… muted version of his girlfriend.

When you once harbored excitement to travel to a completely new city, you now… well, it looked as if you'd rather get sick than do this. And it didn’t seem to be caused by anxiety either, he’d seen you nervous and this was not the way you behaved when such.

Not exactly the disposition he hoped for today's happening, and yet, he’s still light years away from figuring why!

Was it better to simply… leave you alone?

“Y/N, let me help you.” he decides otherwise, at least your stubbornness is something he’s familiar with and thus, not easily swayed to back off when you ignore him again. “Princess—”

“Don’t touch me!” You exclaim, pulling your hand away from his. “I said I'm fine, now leave me alone!”

Naoya blinks, at first startled by your sudden outburst, before growing irritated, never one to enjoy being lashed out on—less if it came from someone as important as you.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!’ Naoya scorns, trying to get a hold of your hand only for you to dismiss him again. “I'm just trying to help you!”

“Yeah, right. Just to get there quicker, huh?” you frown.

“I mean, is that not ideal?”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Huh??? Will you at least care to explain why you’re so moody out of the sudden??”

His choice of dismissing words stabs your heart in a sharp, painful way that only serves to ignite your anger even more. Naoya really had no idea, did he?

Or did he believe you were as naïve as he desperately intended to portray you?

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all! In fact, how about I just step aside so you can do everything you want in Kyoto? Go see who you want to see while I stay behind, quiet, so you won't have to worry about me?!”

“But—what?? Did you forget were supposed to spend time together over there?? Show you the city?!” Naoya exclaims. “What happens to that??”

“I don't know, you tell me!” You cry back. “No, you know what, don't tell me. I don't feel like hearing—”

“Oh, no you're not.” Naoya says, take ahold of your arm and forcing you to see him face to face—getting a good look of your red, swollen eyes from undoubtedly spending the whole night crying, that only made his determination to find out what ailed you even stronger.

And deal with whomever was responsible for this dreadful act.

Even if it was yourself, or unwittingly himself too.

“We're going to spend two hours on a bullet train which I don't intend to have by you ignoring me through the entirety of it.” He goes on.

“Naoya—”

“Who did this to you? Tell me who hurt you and I'll make sure they—”

“Just stop it already! You don't have to set up all these… theatrics just so you can feel less guilty about seeing her!”

“Her?” He breathes, of all things you could’ve sputtered, this is the least, most shocking one he could’ve received. Where did you even get this idea?? “Pray tell, who am I seeing?”

“I don't—I don't want to talk anymore.”

“Y/N!” Naoya exclaims, you flinch—a reaction that has him immediately regretting his act, softening his voice. “I can't help but feel there's a sort of misunderstanding here, just tell me what's going on… Please.”

“...I just want to know if you— if you still harbor feelings for that person before me?”

“Huh?” Naoya frowns. “Talk clearly, mochi. I don't understand a word you're saying—”

“I'm asking if you still like the girl you liked before me!” You cry. “Or perhaps never stopped liking…”

“Who did I like?” He asks back, genuinely confused.

“Are you going to make me say it?!”

“I mean, if we're to get anywhere.”

“Fine! I’m referring to Utahime! You like her, don't you?!”

“Uta—what?? Where did you get that idea?!”

“Don't—don’t act like you don't know what I'm talking about!” You insist. “Satoru told me…”

“Ah, and he's nothing but a reliable source, isn't he?”

“Suguru confirmed it too! Or at least his reaction did…”

Naoya pinches the bridge of his noise, exasperated.

“When are you going to stop believing the stupidities they spew at you?”

“Well, Satoru had no reason to lie about that!”

Naoya can think of many, thousands in fact, and they always boil down to malice…

It's hard to believe how he once used to admire him, even thought of himself as very similar to him. But now that he keeps needlessly tormenting his love, that sentiment is far gone—he’ll deal with that matter soon enough, right after reassuring you he doesn’t have feelings for his past classmate.

Not anymore, that is.

“... Just tell me if you still like her, so I can stay out of your way—”

“I don't like her, Y/N.” Naoya declares. “Honestly, I don't think I ever did.”

“Then why did he say that?”

All must’ve started back when he was still a first-year student, having just transferred from Kyoto after demanding to be close to one of his admirations.

Satoru, always the obnoxious one since the beginning of time, had the tradition of pestering all newcomers in hopes of finding a victim to let out all his frustrations on for the following years; however, his sights were specifically the Zen'in heir whom he was previously acquainted with and was quite surprised to see “interacting with the mortals”, since their families often preferred to homeschool their talents.

Of course, now that he was within reach, he just couldn't miss the opportunity of mocking him in any conceivable shape and form, beginning with questions intended to get a rise out of him.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t like any of the girls here?” Satoru would begin, for the nth time that day. “Or perhaps left a darling back at home?”

“No, I do not” No matter the insistences, Naoya remained strong in his beliefs, much to Satoru’s disappointment. But if anything, this made it into a far more gratifying challenge.

“Oh, really? Do you expect me to believe the great Zen’in heir has trouble getting with girls?” He continues to tease. “Hm, should’ve known—the only way anyone could tolerate you people is by coercing—"

“Fine! Alright! I like Utahime!” Naoya promptly declared, making Satoru’s expectations… well, shatter. Whatever he had in mind was nothing compared with the seeming reality!

“No way, you like her???!!”

Obviously, for someone as aggravating, set to get the worst of people, he could never truly find enjoyment in Utahime that wasn’t from tormenting her.

But to Naoya… well, he’d soon find out there was more to his answer than just selecting the one he found attractive at the moment.

Just as it was stated, he found Utahime to be quite… alluring. She was fairly good looking, and conservative enough in certain aspects, at least the ones he considered his clan would care of.

Perhaps the only thing he didn’t enjoy was that explosive temperament of hers, how she always fell victim to Satoru’s provocations instead of ignoring him, as a proper lady would’ve.

But he still gave her a chance, tried approaching her, get to know what she thought of him, how much he knew of the Zen’in clan, and most importantly, if she enjoyed being a miko—because such lifestyle could prove detrimental if they got together, and the last thing he needed was more personal struggles to deal with.

Yet, as much as he insisted…as much as Utahime tried to ignore his preceding reputation and give him the benefit of the doubt, nothing would come out from someone that didn’t have the patience to see past of his rough exterior and understand why Naoya was the way he was.

Who he could truly be.

Such things were meant for soulmates, after all.

And all that could’ve been was effectively terminated the moment he decided to transfer to Tokyo.

But for the only other person who saw everything unfold, Satoru, there was still much, much more to exploit.

“...Satoru said you’d always get all flustered whenever she was around” you quietly continue. “So, if you really didn’t like her, why would he say that?”

“Because he'd follow me everywhere to tease me, it was becoming quite… irritating.” He answered honestly, but still not enough to ease your poor heart of its selfish, hurtful assumptions.

“It still doesn't explain why you were talking with her these past few days” you go on, as much as a part of you desired not to.  You just wish that whatever you found out, it wouldn't shatter you. “You’d even hide your phone from me…”

Naoya, understanding how bad this looked, sighs. Nonetheless, if he wishes to preserve your affection he cannot hold back on the truth.

“I… I didn't want to tell you, it was meant to be a surprise, really…  but, well, I managed to figure out where the exchange event is to happen, which is coincidentally, an area to which Utahime is native to. And since I promised to show you around, take you to the best places…. I thought it might've been productive to ask for her input.

I know I pride myself on being from Kyoto, quite arrogantly so, but the truth is… I barely know anything outside what my family has shown me. I wasn't much of a friendly person so I didn't have anywhere to hang out.

And I didn't want to disappoint you, I couldn't let you down, especially after instantly listening to your excitement. The thought alone of ruining your first trip to the city is enough to drive me mad, so… I believed that doing all this was the right path to take.

… But had I known this would be the outcome, I would rather face your disappointment that to never have you by my side again.”

At his explanation, conformed of genuine words and concerns, all you could do is cry.

Weep at the incredulity of your assumptions, ashamed of your distrustful behavior towards him for once again, believing the past that once plagued Naoya.

How long would it take for your insecurities to finally free you? To stop listening what others whisper at your ear, of how he was the wrong person for you?

Until he decides he’s had enough of your childish antics and leaves for good?

Naoya’s far from perfect, undoubtedly so, but he's trying his hardest and he's changing because of it: when he once cared for nothing but his needs, all he could think of now is your happiness.

Were you willing to disappoint him? Rupture this relationship and lose him forever?

You'd never forgive yourself, which is why you wept, and wept, and wept.

Because you had, right before you, the only thing you ever wanted in life— a man that loved you just as you are—and almost ruined it.

But Naoya, whom perhaps regretted this situation the most, didn’t see the reason behind your tears and instead, believed them to be caused by his own failure, the lack of oversight to realize the gravity of his acts and subsequently poorly attempting to bridge his misjudgment.

A part of him doesn’t worry about your solitude, because he knows you’ll always have your friends and family to support you.

But him… without you, he’s truly alone. And he can’t—couldn’t let you go.

 “Tell me, Y/N. What do I need to do for you to believe me? For you to trust me again?” he quickly begins to beg, spew just about anything that might earn him your compassion and forgiveness—one last chance.

Though a simple remedy was all that he needed.

“A—A—hug…!” You sob, and Naoya doesn’t need to be told twice to quickly wrap his arms around you and pull you close into his chest, hoping that by his warmth you’d be reassured into ceasing the one thing that always shattered his heart. “I’m—I’m sorry, I should’ve never distrusted you, it’s just that I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, princess. It was just a mistake.” He says, pressing his face against the top of your head.

“But I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did!” you retort. “I shouldn’t have accused you of something that I wasn’t certain of! Of something you would’ve never done, now I know…”

“Why did you believe that I’d have eyes for another woman in the first place…? Have I not shown you what you mean to me?”

“Ye—yes, but…”

“But?”

You sniffle, before swallowing.

“I guess a part of me always felt undeserving of you.” You confess. “Skeptical to believe I found someone that truly loved me, that’d be willing to do all you’ve done for me.”

Naoya at first remains quiet, starting at you in complete disbelief before letting out a warm chuckle, making you frown.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing, I just… learned we’re not so different, after all.”

You look up to him. “What do you mean?”

“I too, at times, feel underserving of you.” He confesses. “You don’t know how many times I’ve feared the possibility of you simply… deciding you were no longer happy with me; that you might realize there is someone infinitely better than me and leave.”

A certain friend of yours made sure to revive such sentiment within him whenever nearby.

But just as him, you never had eyes for anyone else that wasn’t the love of your life.

“…I guess that’s another way to know we’re meant for each other.” You quietly discern, resting your face back into his chest while Naoya laughs once more. “Does that mean you’re not… upset with me anymore?”

“Upset? If anything, I was quite delighted to see you jealous; you’re quite cute when you are, you know?” He teases, gently pinching your cheek.

“I wasn’t jealous!” You cry, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean… not without reason.”

“Have I not told you already that you are the most beautiful, adorable, gentlest woman in the whole world?” Naoya continues, you turn bright red.

“Now you’re just embarrassing me!” you gasp, pushing your face deeper into his chest.

“The list is honestly endless, but we do have a train to catch.” He reminds you, making your eyes widen and gasp.

“Oh, my god you’re right! We have to hurry!” you say, ready to fetch your suitcase, before bashfully looking back to him. “…Are you still sitting with me?”

“Unless you’re saving it for a random person.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Nope, and I do not want to run the risk of being paired with a weirdo!”  you exclaim. “You have a lot to catch up with me, anyways.”

“I know.” Naoya responds. “Though I doubt talking about preparations and schoolwork will be any exciting.”

“I was thinking something a bit more… personal. Like kisses.” You murmur, and he smirks before leaning down to peck your lips, heart fluttering in return.

“Is that a good way to start?”

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him back.

“Perfect.”

Your trip to Kyoto proves to be just as exciting as you expected, if not more thanks to all his precedent planning, that you simply couldn’t wait for the day you’d come again.

Thankfully, you’d have plenty of time to do so once convincing Naoya to take you to visit the Zen’in… much to his chagrin. But anything to make you happy, he supposes.

yes i love setting up more stories should I be blamed? NO. ahahaha

anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it 🙈 I couldn't (nor wouldn't) write anything that might be interpreted as slander against utahime cause i don't feel that way about her (though I feel incredibly disappointed that we didn't get to see more of her 😒😒😒😒) but also I couldn't write her in such way that would make one ask "well, if she was so good for naoya then why is he with y/n? lol"

yet I hope I was able to show how immature/selfish he was with her 🤣 asking questions like "I wonder if she's heard of my clan" instead of trying to genuinely get to know her and such. it's the power of love y'all.......................................

aaaah what i mean to say is, I hope you enjoyed this :') i think it's the first time I ever write Naoya taking interest in someone else, even though it was in the past 🤔 still...

take care and hope to see y'all soon!!

p.s. what do y'all think utahime's reaction was to naoya dating y/n? I have a few ideas but have yet to choose one lol.

[sunshinesfreckless]

NON-DISCLOSURE PREGNANCY

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Pairing: Idol!Felix x Fem!Reader

Summary: How do you confront the man who got you pregnant when you signed a piece of paper that specifically told you to stay quiet?

A/N: I had this thought while rewatching Nana… when I saw this weird creature called Takumi becoming a father, and I just thought, hell yeah, I got an idea. Sorry if it seems a bit rushed—it was just a quick short story in my notes app again.

Warnings: I don’t know, man. Mentions of condoms and sex?

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She could still feel the small plastic stick in her hand. How the two plus signs stared back at her. How, despite their pale colors, they had burned themselves deep into her mind.

Positive… positive… po—

“Miss Y/L/N,” the receptionist called.

Y/N looked up.

“The doctor is expecting you.”

Y/N grabbed her bag and jacket and stood up.

 ୨ৎ

“Congratulations, Miss Y/L/N…” The doctor smiled as she handed her the document, confirming it once again. Positive. Y/N looked at the doctor, who immediately noticed the lack of enthusiasm. “We can discuss your options… in case you’re not ready to become a mother,” the doctor said cautiously. Y/N remained silent.

“Adoption… surrogacy… abo—”

Y/N shook her head.

“I… I’m not sure yet, you know?”

The doctor nodded understandingly.

“Problems with the father?”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh.

“Yeah… yeah, something like that.”

 ୨ৎ

She put on her jacket and glanced over at the pregnant woman scheduling an appointment. Her belly was much bigger than Y/N’s… but then again, Y/N was only in her second month.

She quickly left the clinic, walking down the stairs. As she pushed open the door, that damned poster blinded her once again—the one she had been trying to avoid.

“Problems with the father?”

Y/N looked up. Stray Kids stared back at her. But her focus was locked on one member—the one with long, blonde hair. The one who had whispered sweet nothings into her ear while taking her in an expensive hotel room.

 ୨ৎ

“Felix,” he had said, smiling. Y/N set down the cashier scanner she had been using to check out the two men’s groceries.

She turned to the man standing behind him. They were both wearing masks—except for Felix, who had pulled his down. Her gaze returned to Felix. “Can I help you? Are you looking for something?” The man behind Felix laughed, making both Y/N and Felix glance at him. “Hyunjin, knock it off,” Felix murmured before turning back to her. “No, I know where everything is, thanks. I was actually… I was actually looking for you.”

“Me?”

Y/N stared at him, confused. He had such delicate features…

She felt almost hypnotized by the beauty of this man.

Felix slid something across the counter toward her. She lowered her gaze to their groceries.

 ୨ৎ

“Condoms are provided,” the manager said. Y/N gave him an understanding nod. “Not that I’d poke a hole in them, huh?” She laughed nervously.

The manager didn’t even flinch.

“Oooohhh… okay sensitive Topic, sorry.”

She clicked the pen with the JYP logo on it. The room she was in felt sterile. So… uncomfortable. She glanced once more at the document in front of her. The three letters NDA stood out the most.

“If I break these rules, then what?”

The manager sighed. He had already explained it to her several times. “Then it will be expensive for you, Miss.” She pressed her lips together. With slightly trembling hands—when had they started trembling?—she signed the document after checking all the necessary boxes. She slid it across the table to the lawyer sitting opposite her. The lawyer packed up the NDA, stood up wordlessly, and left. “Follow me, please,” the manager murmured.

“How often do you have to do things like this?” Y/N asked as she quickly got up, grabbing her bag.

“I don’t disclose that information.”

He opened the door to the small conference room.

Y/N winced as her sneakers squeaked against the expensive flooring.

Seoul’s most luxurious hotel. Her cheap shoes. Not a great combination.

She took a nervous breath as she stood in the elevator beside the manager. He noticed her tension. “It’s not a dentist appointment,” the manager said. “Well… this doesn’t exactly happen every day either,” Y/N mumbled, gripping her bag tighter.

“Felix is nice. Don’t worry.”

“Are you seriously giving me reassuring words right now?”

The manager stepped out of the elevator, and she followed him.

“Then why were you so mean to me in that little room?”

The manager rolled his eyes and unlocked a door.

He handed her a card.

“He’ll be here any moment. Please give me your phone.” Y/N quickly nodded and fumbled through her bag to find it. The manager placed it in a small plastic sleeve he had pulled from his pocket and gave her a thin smile before leaving, letting the door fall shut behind him. Y/N glanced around.

The curtains were drawn, the bed neatly made.

Only now did it truly sink in—what she was about to do—when someone else opened the door.

୨ৎ

She tried to remember if there was anything in her contract about what happens when you get pregnant by the idol you spent a very passionate night with… Y/N bit her lower lip as she desperately tried to think. She looked away from her tea and out at the view in front of her. That view was the JYP building. She probably looked like one of the fangirls sitting in the café, pacing up and down, waiting for one of the idols who worked there to come outside. Y/N glanced at them. One of the girls had a Felix photocard attached to her pants. The girl looked over at her, and Y/N quickly averted her gaze, turning back to the window. She rested a hand on her stomach, trying not to think about how HE had groaned into her ear with that deep voice. How HE had nearly emptied an entire box of condoms because of her. How HE had held her close, his forehead pressed against hers, telling her how good she felt… Y/N shivered.

She often sat in this café. Every day after work. She was in the middle of her second month and looked up as the employee brought her a tea.

“The usual, right?” she asked with a friendly smile.

Y/N thanked her and took the tea.

“Do you like any of the bands?” the employee asked. Y/N waved her off. “I just like the tea here.” “Oh.” The employee laughed and walked away. Y/N let out a small yawn. Her head ached from overthinking. She buried her face in her hands, propping herself up on the table.

 ୨ৎ

“Please, two iced Americanos and a lemonade.”

The café employee nodded and grabbed three cups.

“Tough practice today?” she asked as she walked over to the coffee machine.

“Yep.”

She glanced at the three idols who always came by just before closing time, knowing the café would be empty. Chan fumbled with his wallet while Hyunjin and Felix looked at a girl sleeping at one of the tables. “Is she okay?” Felix asked. The employee followed his gaze. “Oh… she’s here a lot… drinks tea, stares out the window, thinks a lot… I suspect she’s pregnant. She always has her hand on her stomach. I let her sleep; you never know what people are going through.” Chan looked at her, too.

“And the father of the child just lets her sleep in a café?” Felix murmured, concerned.

Hyunjin grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry about things that don’t concern you.” Felix looked at Hyunjin. As the three of them left the café, Y/N was gently woken up.

“Miss, we’re closing.”

She sat up in her chair.

“Sorry…” “It’s completely fine, please don’t stress.” Y/N gave a small smile and placed some money on the table.

 ୨ৎ

How was she supposed to tell him? Did she have to tell him? Yes, no question about it. Did she want to tell him? Yes, no question about that either. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself otherwise. She carefully stepped onto the street, heading toward the building. No matter what anyone told her—she was keeping the baby. She would manage with or without this company’s help. With trembling hands, she reached for the door and opened it. Security immediately approached her. “One moment, please, I can explain– wh—” She yelped as they grabbed her arms, trying to drag her out, when someone noticed her. “Stop, stop,” said none other than the manager from that night. Y/N’s eyes widened. “I know her. Let her go. I want to know what’s going on.” The security guards hesitated but then released her. Y/N looked at the manager.

Shit.

  ୨ৎ

Felix stared breathlessly at the ceiling of the studio, gripping his water bottle tightly. The door opened. “AHHH, look who’s visiting us!” Seungmin called out. Felix sat up. The manager didn’t look amused. “Is there trouble?” Changbin joked, taking a sip of his water. “Felix. Come with me.” Felix went pale. The guys stopped joking. Felix adjusted his sweatpants and pulled off his beanie, placing it next to his water bottle. He looked at Hyunjin, who gave him a confused glance.

  ୨ৎ

Y/N stared at the Twice poster. If she avoided the Stray Kids posters, maybe she could think about it less. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so final. The office door opened. Reflexively, she lowered her gaze to the tabletop. Felix froze in the doorway. “Is everything okay?” he asked immediately, his voice full of concern.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a moment—you have a lot to talk about.” The door closed again.

Y/N took shallow breaths. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress as she slowly looked up. Felix was still standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath from training. His blond hair was tied back, but a few strands had come loose, falling into his face. Despite the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, he looked perfect.

As he stepped closer, she suddenly felt so small. So stupid. Stupid because she knew her words could change his entire career. She opened her mouth—nothing came out.

“Y/N?” he asked gently. At least he remembered her name.

Her gaze wandered to his freckles. Would their child have them too? She hoped so. It had to.

Since when was he so close?

She flinched when she realized he had crouched down in front of her chair.

Right. She still had something to tell him.

“Before I start…” Her voice was rough. “I don’t want you to think I expect money or anything. I’m telling you because you should know.” Felix furrowed his brows. “Y/N, what—?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Felix turned pale.

“I’m keeping the baby.” She spoke quickly before he could react. “But whether your name is on the birth certificate is up to you. You can’t force me to have an abortion, and whether you pay child support is your decision. I just wanted you to know. I couldn’t sleep at night because—because you didn’t know.” Her gaze flickered. “I don’t want to ruin your career.” Felix blinked several times. Then he raised a hand. “Hold on.” “What?” “Stop over-explaining, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

He stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. “Okay, shit.” Y/N clenched her hands in her lap. “So… I’ll be honest with you. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.” Felix looked at her. “Did you not save my number?” “Your what?” “My phone number. I left it for you that night.” “Oh.” Her cheeks grew hot. “No, I… I must have missed it.” Felix grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and quickly scribbled a number on it. “Save it immediately.”

Y/N took the paper with wide eyes.

Felix looked at her seriously. “Forget it. I don’t want you to have an abortion. Keep the baby. And I’ll take responsibility. Just tell me how I can help.”

She swallowed. “And if this all gets out?” Felix let out a dry laugh. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be the first idol with a secret pregnancy.” He crouched down in front of her again, his hands wrapping around hers. “Please forgive my lack of enthusiasm.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “That was just… a surprise. I actually planned to get to know you better before raising a child together.” “What?” Felix smirked slightly. “I left you my number because I wanted to see you again. Do you know how frustrated I was when you never called?” Y/N’s face grew even hotter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I didn’t know you wanted that.”His gaze dropped to her stomach. “And you’re sure it’s mine?” he asked carefully. Y/N nodded immediately. “Felix, I’m a thousand percent sure. We can do a paternity test once the baby is born.” Felix sighed. “Management will probably insist on that. Do you know how many fake paternity claims Hyunjin has already had to deal with?” Y/N couldn’t help but smile slightly. Felix squeezed her hands tighter. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You and me. We’ll make it work somehow.” She looked into his warm, freckled face—and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel alone anymore. Y/N swallowed. Felix’s thumb was still gently brushing over the back of her hand, as if trying to soothe her. But her heart was racing. She wasn’t sure if it was because of his closeness or the fear of what was coming next. Felix took a deep breath. “How far along are you?” “Almost three months.” He nodded slowly. “Okay. This… this is real. Holy shit. It’s been that long already?” Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

Felix looked at her like he was searching for the right words. “Do you have someone supporting you? Your family?” Y/N hesitated. “My family doesn’t know.” His gaze softened. “Have you told anyone?”

“No. A piece of paper is what’s stopping me.”

Felix squeezed her hands tighter. “Then I’m glad you told me now.” She let out a dry laugh. “I thought you’d either scream or run away.” Felix scoffed. “Do you really think I’m that kind of guy?” “I don’t know. I… I barely know you.” His lips curved into a crooked smile. “We can change that.” He let go of her hands only to grab a chair and sit right in front of her. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked like he was trying to process everything. “Alright. You want to keep it. I want to take responsibility. So that means we’re… partners in crime now or something?” Y/N couldn’t help but smile. “I guess so.” Felix grinned briefly, but then his expression grew serious again. “If you want, I can help you tell your family.” Y/N stared down at her hands. She shook her head. “That won’t be easy.” Felix leaned in closer. “We’ll do it together, okay?” She looked up at him. “Why are you so… calm?” Felix chuckled softly. “Because I reminded myself that you don’t have to go through this alone. And neither do I.”

He leaned back. “Listen. I know my life is complicated. And now, because of me, yours is even more complicated. But I’m not running away. We’ll figure this out. And no matter what you need—I’m here.”

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[starrysturns]

a slight princess problem

it had been a few days now. two, maybe three. you had lost track. giving up the counting with each sunset you could see from the little window of the room you were being held in. you had managed to make a little cozy area for yourself. a corner away from the door, barricaded with boxes that would sometimes fall over when the ship would go over a harsh wave.

thankfully, this wasn't the worst captive situation you could've been in. they were at least feeding you, so it wasn't totally awful. you pulled the flimsy sheet over your head, the thunder being too loud for you to fall into a peaceful slumber. 

you heard the door creek open, followed by the sound of footsteps before it shut. the person was still in the room with you. holding a lantern before they sat down right across from you. 

“pssst, you awake?” the voice was grumbly, tired and feminine. you slowly peeked out from your cover, your eyes meeting hers. she was pretty. her hair mid neck length, eyes brown like your stuffed bear at home that you were really starting to miss, and pink lips like a rose.

the sight of you peeking made a small smile spread across her lips before she put her hands up, a show of surrender that you deemed good enough before sitting up. “can't sleep?” she asked you. you shook your head, your eyes glancing down. 

the girl understood you, nodding with a hum. “me either. i can never sleep during storms. always scared of going under, and the thunder just reminds me of a warning.” you glanced back up at her, your lips pursed as you tried to understand what she meant. “a warning?” you asked. “yeah.” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but your puzzled expression showed her you had no idea what she meant. “i mean, it's like the sea warns us- sees us as a threat to its waters so it tries to keep us off. scaring us off with violent waters and the sounds of thunder.” 

“so why be on the water then?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. she hummed, looking around the ship like she expected the room to answer for her before shrugging. “i’ve always loved the sea.” she answered simply. 

“me too.” your somber response made her  eyebrows quirk up. “really? the sea isn't normally the scene for a royal, no offense.”

“none taken. just had a love for it ever since i was a kid.” you paused, a small smile on your lips as you remembered all the times you would sneak out the castle and sit by the stone steps where your home met the sea. “i always dreamed of being able to tour it just- not like this.” your expression turning sad as you talked about your hopes- it set the girl off in a way. frowning for a split second before abruptly standing up, her expression unreadable. “i should go- don't want anyone to see me missing from my quarters. thank you for talking with me.” she left the lantern on the side of you, “keep this with you. some light may help you sleep.” her voice was soft and she sent you a small smile before walking out. 

her swift exit left you puzzled, did you say something to piss her off? you sighed, shrugging it off before laying back down, your eyes up on the ceiling as you slowly were finally able to fall asleep, the sound of the waves and the flame in the lantern turning a cold and unsettling ambience calm. 

.

matt stood outside the room from where you were staying, he had heard the entire interaction you had with his fellow pirate. when he heard the door shuffle he quickly got up from against it, he was soaked from the rain but stared at the girl leaving your room. his eyes narrowed into a glare and arms crossed. 

“if you're going to lecture me for talking to the princess, you’re wasting your breath.” she said, meeting matt’s stern glare with her own. 

“i’m not.” he huffed, “you're a capable girl, i know that gracie. is she awake?” he asked. 

“she was when i went in there. you should leave her alone though.” gracie moved away from the door, her hands falling to her side, “she's not in a great mood.”

“i’m not surprised.” matt grumbled out. “it’s not her fault.” gracie bit out, “she didn't ask to be kidnapped by us.” matt rolled his eyes, “oh god, not this again.” he looked at her, “look i saw a job opportunity i took it. it’s not that different from you and tucker.” 

“the difference with me and tucker is, i didn't kidnap him. he needed help and i did it with the help of my crew, and later on he became part of that very crew.” her voice was level, despite the anger matt could see building up in her. 

“you’re an idiot! putting us all in danger so you can live out some job you think is well planned-” “it is well planned-” she cut off matt, “no its not. you kidnapped the princess, you think the royal family will give us money for it but i think we’ll all end up locked in the farthest jail cell they have in the dungeon.” 

there was a long pause as matt processed her words, the rain pattering on the floorboards of the ship, the only sound they both could hear as gracie waited for a remark from him.

matt sighed, shaking his head, “it won't happen that way.” he finally responded, “we’ll ditch her by the docks once one of us gets the payment and leave immediately. we’ll be in and out too quick for the guards to catch us.” his tone was convincing, as if he truly believed it. 

“for all of our sakes i hope you’re right, sturniolo.” she sighed. walking off before matt could say another word to her.

matt’s gaze followed her before he averted it to the door you were behind. his hand hovering over the handle before sighing and turning away. he’d check on you in the morning. 

.

the morning cold was unforgiving to you, being used to your thick comforter and going to a thin sheet to cover you from the cold breeze that sneaked through the cracks of the ship. you grumbled, you hadn't seen the sun in days- you were cold and still in the same clothes you were taken in. it truly couldn't have been better for you. 

sitting up you looked at the door, seeing shadows of footsteps, all the pirates were awake, you could tell by the thudding of their footsteps. you heard the knob of the door turn, making you stand up to face who was walking in. 

“oh, you’re up.” matt said, his eyes looking up and down. “couldn't sleep for long.” you replied, your eyes on him as he looked at you and then around the room. 

“we’ll have to set a few rules here darlin’.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “so, nick said you’re my responsibility. that means i’m stuck watching you. maybe i’ll have you sort through things today so you’re not bored out of your mind or-” he paused, his brows furrowing, “do you know how to sew?” 

you blinked at him, “um. no, i can’t.” he frowned, unsatisfied with your answer, “great. i’ll be right back then, princess.” he hummed, walking out.

he returned in no more than 10 minutes, crates in his hands. “we like to make our own jewelry on this ship.” he said, “of course we steal rings and stuff, that's how i got this one.” he pointed to his star ring after settling the crates down by you. his eyes locked with his, “this was stolen from the scariest siren out there, my greatest catch. her name was stella.” he sighed before smirking at your frown and wide eyes in realization of what had happened to her. 

“relax darlin’, i didn't kill her.” he added, snickering in amusement. you looked up at him, tearing your gaze away from his silver ring, “what happened to her?” you asked. 

matt paused, he considered answering you but you weren't a friend. “nothing.” he bit out, the charming pirate facade now being replaced with a stern one. “look princess, you’re not gonna be on this ship doing nothing. the boys and i were gonna have you on patch up duty but since you have no skills for that, you’re on jewel sorting duty.” he said. separating the stack of crates, revealing tons of shimmering treasures.

“you have blue jewels, red, green, purple. and then for metals you have gold and silver.” he passed you a clean rag, or well, threw it at you. 

“sort them each. then make it look pretty, think you could do that?” he asked, gaining a nod from you in return. he smirked, “very good.” matt hummed before walking out. 

so now you were on jewelry duty, it shouldn't be so bad, you sighed, sitting down on the floor and getting to work immediately.

.

as matt returned to his headquarters he sighed. you were so pliant, he kinda wished you would fight for your own dignity, give him a little challenge. but your flight was stronger than your fight, or maybe you just wanted to go unharmed. 

he didn't have much time to dwell on it before nick came storming in, chris hot on his heels trying to reason with him before getting silenced when nick closed the door on him. “wanna tell me why the majority of the crates are missing?” he asked, his brow arched as he looked at matt.

“yes actually!” matt spun around to look at nick, a smug grin on his lips, “i’m dealing with our “princess problem.”” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. 

nick sighed, rubbing his temples, “and what the hell does that mean?”  matt rolled his eyes, “dude. relax. i just put her to work is all. she's gonna go crazy in there with nothing to do.” nick snickered with amusement, “you care why?” 

“because if i have to deal with a princess kidnapped under our ship, i’d rather her be sane. besides maybe the girls got skills to see what's real and what's fake in those crates.”

nick looked him over once before shrugging, “alright. next time tell someone other than chris.” he said before walking out. his words with chris to leave him alone and do something being muffled as they got further. leaving matt alone with his own thoughts. 

now matt had to think what to keep you occupied with when you were done with the crates, he hoped it’d take you a few days so he could come up something good. his eye caught a glimpse of a book, picking it up off the desk. it was a book about different sea creatures and myths. he recalled your conversation with gracie the night before that he eavesdropped on. he grabbed a pen before scribbling in it. he’d give it to you after you were done with the crates. while writing his little message on the book he couldn't help but pause, matt knew his crew was upset with him, but he really didn't want to let them down. he hoped that for once, he was in the right. that this would go smoothly and you’d be out of their sails quickly.

.

the support on this au has made me cry about 5 times so far.. it's just crazy how a silly little idea with my friend (gen!!! snoopychris!!!! i cant believe we're friends!!!!) ended up being liked or tolerated by people like its truly a beautiful thing. i'd make a taglist but i dont have a post schedule and would hate to disturb anyone! but if enough wants it i will push down my pride and make one just for u guys 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank u sm for the love - star

[l0singsdogs]

"Do you want to play with me, B?"

Bruce Wayne hallucinates Jason sometimes. It happens in his worst moments — when fear toxin rushes through his veins, when battle overwhelms his senses, when the weight of the world feels too heavy on his shoulders. But he never expected to hallucinate Jason in his office, not when he thought his mind had stopped playing those cruel tricks. Yet, there Jason was, or at least the version Bruce's broken mind conjured. And Bruce couldn’t help but feel that familiar ache in his chest — a pain etched deep into his very soul. "Do you want to play with me, B?" his son asked. Bruce simply nodded, watching his little boy stand beside him, if only for a minute.

Bruce Wayne had long since stopped hallucinating at work, especially regarding Jason Todd. He stopped seeing the boy in the hallways and imagining him in the offices. He stopped because he told himself to, and with all the control in the world, he managed.

It was one thing to be Batman, to feel Jason at his side during battles or in the echoes of their old fights. He saw him when Scarecrow's toxin burned through his veins, when his nightmares clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering for him to just die already—at least in his dreams. But Bruce Wayne was different. Bruce Wayne saw Jason not as Robin, not as the soldier in the mask and cape, but as a fifteen-year-old kid who left too soon. It was harder, somehow. In his mind’s eye, Jason wasn’t wearing his uniform—he was in his red hoodies, the worn-out jeans he liked, the ratty sneakers from the academy days. It was a cruel trick his brain played, dragging him into what-ifs: what if Jason had made it to twenty? Would he be in college now? Out at some party with friends? Living a life Bruce would never get to witness?

The thought carved through him like a blade, so he ignored it. He always did.

But then came the day it all cracked.

read more on ao3. read more on ao3. read more on ao3. read more on ao3. read more on ao3. read more on ao3.read more on ao3.

[mingoooossii]

Can you do both headcanons for park yoon ho and pi hyun wool? Thank you so much!

P. Han Ul and L. Hyeon Woo headcanons.

Kdrama: Study group

Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, minor webtoon spoilers??(not that serious actually), might be a bit ooc

A/n: I'm not a fan of han ul AT all but woomin did it so well 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ I feel like a bit of kyungjun also came in??(Somehow)and Hyeon woo's character was kind of hard to grasp but i hope this is what you've been looking for anonie<33

Words: 692

Requested ♡

｡⁠*ﾟPi Han Ul.

• he wasn't really the one for relationships until he met you

• it isn't really logical considering his situation but he couldn't help it

• you managed to worm your way into his heart despite all the walls he put up

• at that point, i think he'd trust you enough to let that happen

• you're the only person he genuinely has a soft spot for, aside from his sister

• this also means that he'd be protective

• his sister would be fond of you and that just makes him instantly more inclined to ‘protect’ you

• he just wants to make sure that you'd be safe even if that means keeping you as a secret from his dad (and Minhwan but 🤷‍♀️)

• not really the affectionate type

• and because of his situation, he can be kind of closed of at times

• like don't expect him to be that open about his feelings

• he's just not used to it :( (this doesn't mean he loves you any less though)

• you'd be the one initiating physical contact most of the time but he does have his moments

• he likes laying his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair

• it helps him calm down and helps him go to sleep whenever he's having trouble

• i can also imagine him having a teasing side??

• he'd be very subtle with it though (a menace actually)

• but you'll know once you see his slight smirk

• kind of a jealous type but he wouldn't show it

• 100% the type to send silent death glares when he's annoyed

• but I can also see him being a bit cocky??

• not exactly in a ‘I’m better than you’ way but more like a ‘are you kidding me’ kind of way (hope that made sense 😭)

• so expect a snide comment or two

• but if he sees that you're uncomfortable with the other person, he will be taking action

• he’s definitely not the type to let things slide

｡⁠*ﾟLee Hyeon Woo.

• it takes him a while to accept that he had feelings for you

• once he does he'll be more open about it

• loves teasing you (that's his love lang basically)

• but he makes sure to not take it too far (actually hurting you is the last thing he wants to do)

• he's protective too.

• because him teasing you is one thing but when someone else does it??

• now that pisses him off.

• would not hesitate to throw hands if someone made you uncomfortable in anyway

• he's the jealous type but not overbearingly so (kind of)

• 100 % the type to judge (he wouldn't hide it AT ALL 😭)

• he does NOT gaf (his expression will say it all)

• but he wouldn't act immediately

• you were more patient than him with stuff like this so he knows that you could probably handle it

• but if it gets out of hand just give him a sign and he'll take care of the rest (🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️)

•he can be affectionate at times but he has to be in the mood for it

• so like expect random back hugs from him throughout the day

• especially if he's down

• he wouldn't say anything but just comes over to you and wraps his arms around you

• so please give him all the hugs you can!!

• headcanoning that he's actually a softie in disguise

• he's been through so much, so he doesn't really open up that easily

• but if he's really comfortable with you, i think he'd start to show his vulnerable side more

• however, this does NOT mean that he's a pushover in any way (he just trusts you that much)

• you were close with Ji woo (and Heewon too since you were in the same class)

• he doesn't really show it but it actually means so much to him (since you two were the two most important people in his life)

gen taglist: @mayflyfr

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

Kidnapping? No. Surprise Friend Acquisition? Yes. 👍

(Some more Yiga wind Au stuff. this was so much fun to write ngl.)

While exploring Wild’s Era Wind ends up getting kidnapped by the Yiga of that time. Being a Yiga himself this goes a little different than expected. 

————————————————————————

The attack had been swift and precise. Well less of an attack and more of a kidnapping. Specifically kidnapping WIND. Aka the youngest and probably assumed weak point of the group.

This wasn’t really the case. Though even Wind couldn’t really single out any one member of the chain as the weak point. It probably would be reasonable to assume the youngest would be it though. He was a bit surprised they hadn’t gone for Four but then again the smithy had been right next to Time who was the tallest and most heavily armored out of all of them. 

But whatever the thought process behind this Wind had ended up tied up and blindfolded. He could probably have easily escaped, this was the kind of situation he had been taught how to escape from since he could talk! But he refrained. Because of the glimpse he got of his kidnappers right before his sight had been compromised, and because of the familiar feeling of teleportation only a few moments later. The second the blindfold was removed his suspicions were proven true. Three figures stood around him and they were all wearing familiar Yiga masks.

 They did look a bit different than the Yiga Wind had grown up with, two of the suits looked mostly identical to one another with one exception. Probably a higher ranking member. Blademaster?

So these must be the Yiga from Wild’s era.

“Alright you're going to stay nice and calm while we set the trap for your little hero friends ok.” One of the members to his right with a fake sweetness. Obvious intimidation tactic. Might have worked on anyone else but it didn’t even phase Wind. 

“Ok.” He stated simply. 

The Yiga seemed a bit put off by his attitude. Not the usual you’d get from a hostage, especially a younger one. 

“You don’t seem… very worried…” The other smaller one said, Seeming a little disappointed. He turned to the others. “Did we mess up on the intimidation? I knew we should have used a knife- the knife trick ALWAYS works!” "I don't like using the knife trick with kids. makes me feel like i just kicked a puppy!" The first one snapped. "we're YIGA! That shouldn't matter!" "You shouldn't matter!" "What does that even mean??"

The whole situation was getting increasingly bizarre. Wind simply couldn’t contain his laughter. He cackled and toppled over where he was sitting still tied up. Unfortunately his hands were tired so he couldn’t push himself back up. The outburst only seemed to confuse his captors even more which only served to double his laughter. 

“You- You managed- to- to- kidnap-” Wind had to stop and let out another weezing guffaw. “The ONLY non-hero in the entire group-” well maybe excluding Wild. But that wasn’t exactly confirmed yet. “And you didn’t even realise-” Wind burst out into another fit of laughter. 

The One on his right Seemed to get defensive." Well of course YOUR not a hero. You're like what? 12?” 

That slightly offended Wind. He was 14! Not a measly 12. Though his gran always said he had a young face.

“14.” he huffed. “And that's not why I was laughing so hard.”

“Then what do you find so funny you little hyena?” The Blademaster (?) asked.

“This!” Wind suddenly revealed his now free hands and before they could properly register it he dispelled his disguise. This seemed to thoroughly break the minds of everyone present. 

“What is one of our own children doing with the band of heroes??” One of them seemed to almost shout but there was concern now.

“Undercover mission.” Wind puffed up a bit in pride. He’d managed to infiltrate a whole group of heroes and had even fooled members of his own clan with his disguise and act! Though he WAS from a different era…

“I thought you weren’t allowed on those types of missions till you're like 17?” The first Yiga asked. Confusion evident. 

“Kind of a long story…” Wind now realizing how wild this whole trip had been. “Maybe I could tell you over some food? And I want my legs untied. I cut your other rope and don’t want to ruin this one.” he gestured to the bindings.

The other Yiga looked at one another. Seeming to come to a unanimous conclusion and quickly obliged. They were a lot nicer to him now. No more fake sweetness or pointed words. To be honest it was nice to talk to someone without keeping up an act. It got a bit tiring after a while.

Wind shared his tale. How he was actually from a different era and had fallen through one of the portals that had been popping up, Found and decided to infiltrate the group of heroes. Encountered a Weird time hopping shadow Ganon WANNABE. How he figured it would be a win win if he could gather info on the heroes while being able to take down the copycat without interference from said heroes.

A spread of food (having a suitable portion of bananas of course) had come out at some point along the way and the small sandstone cave they had taken him to was looking more like a picnic. A very well armed picnic of assassins but a picnic nonetheless. 

He managed to get the names of the members with him. Gyddo, the blademaster and leader of this particular mission and very fond of assigning people animals. He had been calling Wind little Hyena this entire time. The first one that had spoken to him was Pome, she had been rather interested in the logistics of time travel and separate timelines, and Finally Pome’s twin brother Komi. He struck Wind as a bit of an anxious person, focussed a bit on the prospect of even more overpowered monsters who were in fact not loyal to Ganon. It seemed The ones supposed to be on their side were bad enough. 

They were all listening intently to Wind’s tale. Asking a few questions for clarification but otherwise very good listeners. Wind found he was rather enjoying himself. Well mostly… 

“And THEN- get this, He just STEPS ON ME!” Wind was ranting a bit now. “Like I'm Not even there!”  

“You know usually if something is fighting against the heroes or such I root for them.” Pome seemed just as miffed as Wind was. “But NOW I want to punch this shadow thing in the face.” 

“Believe me.” Wind smirked. “It’s VERY punchable looking.”

“Seriously. Some beings just can’t make a name for themselves and go try to rip off some other hard working Demon king.” Gyddo huffed. 

“Exactly!” Exclaimed Wind. “downright disrespectful.” 

“As much as I agree with this Shadow guy I do have a question.” Komi, who had removed his mask entirely to eat, was inspecting Wind closely. 

“Sure what is it?” Wind asked. Wondering what it was Komi was curious about. 

“What’s with the lobster on your uniform?”

“Oh!” Wind looked down to the embroidered sea creature that covered most of his chest area. “I guess in my era we have a little more customizable uniforms. Don’t need to look as uniformed since there’s no Hyrule kingdom to fight against So we have plenty of intimidation regardless. Plus outsiders need some way to recognize specific Yiga they want to hire as a mercenary. Some have made quite the name for themselves after all.” Wind contemplated for a moment “well fake name. We're not allowed to use our real ones.”

“Huh.” Pome seemed surprised. “Now I’m a little jealous.” 

“So if Wind  isn’t your real name then what is it?” Komi gestured to Wind with his chopsticks. 

“I have two I guess? Disguise identity name and real real one. Ya know my Yiga name.” Wind took a bite of his fish and rice bowl. (with bananas on the side) “my disguise “real“ name is link.” He held up a hand to stop any reactions to the name. “I didn’t know it was the hero’s name at the time, that knowledge must have been lost when everything flooded. Ok? ok. Moving on.”

 Wind hadn’t particularly wanted to be reminded of his poor choice in names despite how useful it was when he met the chain. 

“Anyways my real name’s Lukari.” 

“A good name that.” Gyddo humms. ”I can see how you ended up with Link as your disguise name though.” He grinned. 

“Yea yea.” Wind, we’ll he supposed it would be fine to be Lukari for a while actually, couldn’t help but smile a bit despite himself.”

“So…” Pome started. “In regards to the hero’s we kind of kidnapped you from. They’re probably going to be trying to get you back.” 

“Oh.. OH- crap you’re right!” Lukari stood and brushed off his uniform. “You should probably tie me back up now so they can “rescue” me and I can get back to my mission.”

 He didn’t particularly WANT to end his visit with the Yiga of this world. In fact he was just starting to really enjoy their company. But he had a mission. A very important one too.

“About that.” Pome continued. “I was thinking maybe we could bring you to our hideout and wait there?” 

Lukari frowned. “Wouldn’t that make it harder to make a convincing ”escape”.” 

“But Imagine-“ Pome seemed to be getting a bit exited. “They try to rescue you but bam! They get trapped in with you! Everything seems lost but then YOU are able to stage a whole escape operation! Simultaneously making a more convincing escape and gaining more trust from them!” 

Lukari blinked, unsure exactly how to respond to that. Komi it seemed was the one to do so. 

“Pome I think your inner writer is showing.” He almost deadpanned. 

“We could show him to master Koga.” Pome offered in return. ”And it’d be nice to have him around for a bit longer. He’s fun.” 

As this thought occurred to Komi he and his twin both turned to Gyddo with pleading expressions. Lukari had the sudden feeling of being a random stray two children where trying to convince their parent to bring home. Overall not exactly the WORST feeling. He could live with it. 

Gyddo contemplated for a moment before shrugging. “It seems fine too me. Besides, master Koga should definitely hear about something like this and it helps to have prof.” 

The cave erupted in cheers. Including a certain young sailor’s. 

————————————————————————

The main Yiga hideout of Wild’s era turned out to be quite different than Lukari’s home. For one it seemed to be in a cave and it was a bit smaller. 

it was also clearly more for housing soldiers and less for general living. They didn’t have as much time for that sort of thing as the Yiga in his Era did. 

The banana stash was definitely cool though. Pome, Komi and Gyddo were all impressed when Lukari mentioned the amount of banana trees growing on Outset. The plus sides of living on a tropical island he supposed. 

Master Koga was interesting too. Different than his own Master back in his world but seemed quite interested in the news of the back bloods and the portals. Lukari liked how theatrical he could make stuff. It was really entertaining. 

Gyddo had shown him their weapons and a some zonai machinery parts that had been brought up from the depths. Lukari unfortunately wasn’t able to go down there. The disappointment from that revelation subsided a bit when The blade master was able to show him some fragments of Ancient Sheikah tech.

Things from before the Yiga split. They weren't able to do much but STILL! It was so cool! 

After a while Wind was even able to to rope several Yiga (including Pome and Komi) into a game of hide a go seek teleport tag. In the guise of some sort of training exercise of course. 

So far Lukari still reigned champion of the hiding part, even if he wasn’t as skilled at teleporting as the others. They did say he seemed like he was better at it then most his age and would be.

Currently he was hiding under a walkway. Honestly he was surprised nobody had found him yet. This was one of his weaker hiding spots. A brightly colored something suddenly caught his attention. 

Was… was that Yiga wearing a bright yellow uniform? Suddenly less interested in winning a game and far more interested in whatever this was Lukari dropped down right in front of the member. Much to said Yiga’s surprise. 

“Why is your suit yellow?” He asked before the guy could even respond to his sudden presence. 

“Uh… wait- Wind??” 

“Wi- hold on- WILD?!” Lukari starred in open amazement. or well what would be open amazement if it wasn’t for the mask.“I KNEW IT! I suspected but I never was 100% sure but now- YOUR YIGA!” 

Wild who had not seemed to be expecting this seemed stumped for a few moments. “What are you- I mean how? I saw you get kidnapped?? Why aren’t you ya know?” 

Wait had he even managed to convince Wild he was a hero? Man Lukari was good at this!

“AHha! Got you Lukari!” Komi who had just appeared behind him had promptly slapped Lukari in the back in the universal signal for “get tagged idiot!” 

“Lukari??” Wild asked. 

Komi who had somehow only just noticed Wild brighted a bit more. “I see you‘ve stumbled upon our resident wild card little hyena, meet Lonk. Don’t ask why his suit’s yellow, everyone gave up a long time ago.” 

“I know him! He’s the guy I told you about! The one I thought might be a Yiga too!” Lukari exclaimed animatedly. Excitement bubbled through his every movement. 

Komi looked at Wild or well Lonk? Apparently ?? “No way- you managed to infiltrate the hero’s too?! This is fantastic! To be honest I probably shouldn’t be this surprised by now.”

“… yes.” Lonk gave a thumbs up. If he was being honest Lukari thought maybe he would be continuing to refer to him as Wild. Lonk sounded kind of stupid. Wild turned back to him  And spoke “But can we go back to the name Lukari? I thought you where named Link?” 

“Oh yea it’s my Yiga name.“ Lukari stated. “Cool right!” 

“Yea cool..” Wild paused. “Sorry still getting over the fact you’ve been Yiga this whole time. Kind of expected you to be tied up somewhere…” 

“Oh right. Yea they untied me once I told them who I was.” 

“Aren’t you from an entirely different Era?” 

Komi spoke up. “Time is temporary,Yiga is forever. Plus the little guy’s awesome.” 

“Huh.” Wild sounded a bit surprised. “We do kind of have to be getting back now though. We found another portal and are running out of time a bit.” 

Lukari sulked a bit at that. “But we had a whole rescue sequence planned… I got to blow stuff up.” 

Wild seemed to contemplate that. “We could still blow stuff up if you wanted. We’ll need to look like I rescued you after all.” 

“Yessss!” Lukari whooped. 

“Pome probably knows a spot, come on.” Komi gestured for them to follow him to wherever he knew Pome was by whatever sixth twin sense he had. 

Pome it turns out hadn’t been that upset about the cancled escape plan once the explosives were mentioned. There was a mostly empty courtyard with a big hole that they could set off a few. By the end both Wild and Lukari looked slightly singed. Which was perfect for their intended ruse. 

The sky was dark when they were finally heading out. Gyddo, Pome and Komi had seen them off. Gyddo had a word with Wild before they left. Lukari thought he heard something about protecting and child. He didn’t pay much attention though.

 Komi shouted after them As they set off. “Hey Lonk! Make sure to make some of your Banana bread for the little hyena! He deserves it!” 

Lukari, now Wind again he supposed, cackled as he jogged after Wild. knowing he would hold him to that. 

It seemed Pome also had one last thing to shout after them too. “Yea! And if I see that shadow guy you talked about I’ll make sure to punch him for you!” 

“Thanks Pome! I’ll try to visit next time we’re around.” Wind called back to them. Today had been good, he thought. 

The walk to where the rest of the chain was waiting wasn’t overly long. But Wind had been running around and teleporting all day. Evidently leading to him passing out exhausted while Wild gave him a piggyback ride. 

His excitement plastered a small smile across his face, unaware of Wild’s thinly veiled distress.

[tea-writes19]

besties | p.p.

pairing: peter parker x f!stark!reader

summary: your friendship with your dad’s intern turns into something more

warnings: friends to lovers, swearing, these bitches being oblivious, comedy, dad tony, mentions of past affairs, suggestive content, fluff galore, slow burn, underage drinking

a/n: i’m not usually a peter girlie as i love him and mj together but i wanted to write some fluff so here we are. also i’m laughing at petey’s intials. set post endgame but tony lives and steve doesn’t go back in time. nat’s still dead tho :(

liked by peterparker, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

yourusername: your fave upstate & queens duo

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user1: MY FAVES

user2: imagine being friends w/ the y/n stark😩

user3: THIS

nedleeds: can’t believe y’all got food without me…

peterparker: sorry!

yourusername: no we’re not

peterparker: never getting in a car with you driving AGAIN

yourusername: IT WAS ONE CURB

user4: like father like daughter😭

user5: omg😂

tonystark: how many people from queens do you even know?

yourusername: that doesn’t matter

peterparker: they hate when we serve orphan & nepo baby

yourusername: 🗣️🗣️

user6: not the dead parents—

user7: i bet peter is the funniest person alive😭

user8: bro’s got trauma for days😭😭

pepperpotts: so this is why it took you two 6 hours to get the olive oil i asked for…

yourusername: should’ve sent happy🤷🏻‍♀️

jamesrhodes: you act like y/n doesn’t have tony’s horrible time management skills

pepperpotts: and peter?

jamesrhodes: spends too much time with tony and y/n

user9: god i want to live in nyc so bad

user10: pov: you saw y/n stark hit a curb today

liked by nedleeds, yourusername, mjjones, and others

peterparker: lab days🛠️🥽

tagged: @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: YOU GOT FIVE GUYS WITHOUT ME?!??

peterparker: BLAME YOUR DAD!! IT WAS HIS IDEA

tonystark: that was supposed to stay between us kid😑

user11: is that a new iron man model i see👀

peterparker: nope, just fixing rhodey’s suit :)

yourusername: surprised uncle rhodes is letting you touch that old thing

jamesrhodes: HEY! the war machine suit works fine just the way it is

yourusername: clearly not if it had to be fixed…

user11: oh god what have i started🫣

user12: five guys👨‍🍳🤌

user13: looks so fun!

nedleeds: man you HAVE got to convince mr. stark to let me come with someday

tonystark: not happening hacker

nedleeds: 😔

mjjones: THIS was more important than acdec?

peterparker: YOU DON’T JUST SAY NO TO TONY STARK MJ!!!!

yourusername: i do all the time🤨

user14: 😭😭

user15: love how peter is just friends with all the starks

user16: i’m pretty sure he’s tony’s personal intern

user17: ^^^

user18: oh my god i thought he was another bastard from tony’s playboy days😭

user19: lmao nooooo

user20: tbf i forget y/n isn’t pepper’s kid sometimes soooo….

liked by nedleeds, mjjones, peterparker, and others

yourusername: a happy meal is the only true serotonin one needs in life

tagged: @/peterparker @/nedleeds

view comments below

tonystark: what am i? chopped liver?

yourusername: yes

tonystark: ouch

user21: imagine calling tony stark chopped liver😭

nedleeds: i’m pretty sure we broke the airplane wheel

yourusername: shhhh…don’t let ronald hear you

peterparker: thanks for the nightmare fuel tn

yourusername: anytime🫡

user22: happy meals >>>

user23: mcds cokes >>>

yourusername: ronald mcdonald🥵

user24: one of these is not like the others…

user25: LMAO NOT RONALD MCDONALD😭😭

peterparker: i’m just glad we took the subway this time

yourusername: WOW

yourusername: AND TO THINK WE WERE BFFS

peterparker: I’M SORRY I DON’T WANT TO DIE YOUNG

tonystark: that is the most bullshit response i’ve ever heard from you

user26: this comment section is so unhinged😭😭

user27: lol what’d you expect??? it’s the starks

tonystark: morgan would like a happy meal

yourusername: we all know that’s just the excuse for you to get one too but that’s ok

liked by tonystark, yourusername, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: cozy day with the family🤍

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername

view comments below

user28: you guys are so cute!

yourusername: i would like everyone to know that dad pushed me into the pond after that pic was taken

user29: omg noooo😭😭

peterparker: did you save your drink at least?

yourusername: obviously…i’m not a monster pete

user30: i’m crying at the thought of tony stark pushing his daughter into a pond😭😭

user31: ^^^

tonystark: this is defamation

steverogers: glad to see you guys doing well pep!

pepperpotts: you should come over for dinner sometime soon!!

tonystark: please leave the 2 assholes that follow you around at home thanks

pepperpotts: TONY

yourusername: bring them for the bit

samwilson: i’m going to get morgan the loudest fucking toy for christmas now

user32: this thread is a mess😭😭

user33: it’s so weird to see y/n without peter lol

user34: lol frfr

user35: i’m kinda starting to ship them ngl

user36: omg yes!!

user37: you guys can never let a boy and girl just be friends😒

tonystark: my arms are so tired from pushing morgan in that swing all day

yourusername: sounds like a skill issue

peterparker: ^^^

tonystark: i’d like to see you two single-handedly save new york from an impending nuke

user38: 😭😭😭

jamesrhodes: looks like a perfect day for the stanks!

tonystark: you’re never letting that go are you

jamesrhodes: nope!

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when the trip makes it out of the family group chat >>>]

story replies

peterparker: can’t wait!!!

yourusername: i am so beating you to the best room

user39: i just know the pics are abt to be fire🔥🔥

user40: where are you going?

mjjones: i’m expecting a real life nemo

yourusername: 🫡🫡

liked by peterparker, pepperpotts, mjjones, and others

yourusername: us virgin islands? this american def ain’t a virg—

tagged: @/peterparker @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user41: HELLO?!?

user42: GIRL WHAT!?

peterparker: ain’t nothin’ virgin abt this isla—

yourusername: 🏝️= 👉👌

user43: WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!

user44: YOUR PARENTS FOLLOW YOU Y/N

mjjones: the island after y’all left: 🤰

yourusername: MJ I’M SCREAMING😭😭

nedleeds: so was the isla—i’m gonna stop

user45: 😭😭

tonystark: sometimes i think i asexually reproduced you like a plant

yourusername: surprised you didn’t clone yourself in a lab or smth

jamesrhodes: don’t give him ideas

user46: i’m freaking out over the caption

user47: no fr…

user48: AND PETER’S COMMENT

user49: 🎶i think they did it but i just can’t prove it🎶

steverogers: there’s definitely an innuendo in here somewhere but i’m just going to pretend i’m blind and go

yourusername: good choice

user50: CAPTAIN AMERICA SIR—

user51: mom come pick me up i’m scared

liked by yourusername, nedleeds, tonystark, and others

peterparker: i have sand in my ass

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark @/pepperpotts

view comments below

user52: love how peter was invited on the family vacation

user53: he really is just part of the fam

user54: so convinced he and y/n are dating

user55: god i hope so

nedleeds: simp

peterparker: damn right - y/n

user56: not y/n stealing peter’s phone to comment this

user57: simp you say👀

yourusername: damn who that hottie in slide 2?

peterparker: you boo😘 - y/n

yourusername: aww thanks boo🥰

user58: 😭😭

steverogers: and that’s enough instagram for me tonight

tonystark: i still don’t know what y’all were looking at

yourusername: your ego obviously🙄

user59: oh to go on a hike with tony stark

user60: oh to be dating y/n stark

user61: they never said they’re dating…

user62: shhh let us be delusional🤫

liked by pepperpotts, jamesrhodes, yourusername, and others

tonystark: the difference between morgan and y/n on vacation…

tagged: @/pepperpotts @/yourusername

view comments below

user63: omg😭😭

user64: y/n is such a mood

peterparker: morgan is a menace at go karts

yourusername: she plays too much mario kart fr

jamesrhodes: when one gets pepper’s genes and the other yours…

yourusername: i can’t believe you’ve done this

tonystark: oh but tis has

user65: i wanna say i’m morgan but in reality i’m y/n

user66: thisssss

user67: same😭

pepperpotts: to be fair y/n was hungover in the second pic…

yourusername: the porcelain gods did not grant mercy on me😔

liked by tonystark, peterparker, steverogers, and others

pepperpotts: great vacation with even greater company💕💕

tagged: @/tonystark @/yourusername @/peterparker

view comments below

peterparker: thank you for the invitation mrs. potts

user68: stop he’s too cute

user69: peter you’re adorable

user70: what a wonderful time to spend with family!

tonystark: i love you mrs. potts

pepperpotts: i love you mr. stark

yourusername: 😖🤮

jamesrhodes: glad to see tony still somehow manages to end up in the er on every trip

tonystark: i have a world record to hold up😤

user71: lmao😭

yourusername: i’m still full from that feast

peterparker: none of my pants fit after that salmon😩

user72: LOVE🤍🤍

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: 🌟🌊]

story replies

peterparker: you really are the best

yourusername: you too pete💞

user73: holy shit holy shit holy—

user74: omg i’m so happy for you

steverogers: so did you two…fondue

yourusername: OH MY GOD

liked by yourusername, mjjones, nedleeds, and others

peterparker: another post bc we leave tmrw

tagged: @/yourusername @/tonystark

view comments below

yourusername: gonna miss sneaking out…

tonystark: oh please you do that back home too

yourusername: it’s not the same🙄

nedleeds: can’t wait to see you man!!

peterparker: so ready for our mandalorian marathon!

mjjones: nerds

yourusername: ^^^

user75: lmao tony😭😭

user76: he’s keeping an eye out for selener

user75: STOP😭

tonystark: andddd you’re grounded from the lab for that pic

peterparker: awww man😔

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: when he cares abt school🤭🫠]

story replies

peterparker: you were just making fun of me for studying🤨

yourusername: semantics

user77: automatically makes a guy hotter

yourusername: hear hear🗣️

mjjones: that better be acdec work…

liked by mjjones, peterparker, tonystark, and others

yourusername: here’s the hard launch for you bitches

tagged: @/peterparker

view comments below

user78: OMG OMG OMG—

user79: I CALLED IT

peterparker: so happy to call you mine🫶🏻

yourusername: 😘

mjjones: abt damn time…

nedleeds: ^^^

tonystark: ^^^

jamesrhodes: ^^^

pepperpotts: ^^^

steverogers: ^^^

samwilson: ^^^

happyhogan: ^^^

yourusername: damn ok then

tonystark: keep the door open

tonystark: and don’t even THINK about fonduing in my house

yourusername: PLEASE STOP

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

[pixiexdusts-world]

Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

[peachesnpears95]

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Shadowpeach (+ Shadowpeach being parents to MK) incorrect quotes -because my gallbladder is probably trying to kill me, and I'm in pain and bored- Round 2: GO.

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WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

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Sun Wukong: I’m not lazy, I just find it hard to put effort into things I’m not passionate about.

Macaque: What are you passionate about?

Sun Wukong: Sleeping.

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Sun Wukong: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Macaque!

Macaque: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

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Macaque: You have to apologize to them Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

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Sun Wukong: Hey, wanna take a dip in the hotsprings with me?

Macaque: I have a shadow version of your staff hidden under the roots of our Peachtree. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it to my skull and kill me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

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Macaque: You’d be stupid to lay a hand on me.

Sun Wukong: Oh, you’d be surprised how much stupid shit I do.

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Sun Wukong: How the hell are you still alive?

Macaque: Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are. -This is what happened in Episode 9 of Season 1 when Wukong went to rescue MK and found Macaque attacking him.-

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Macaque: Wow, Sun Wukong, you want to hold my hand before marriage? How awfully lewd of you.

Sun Wukong: We literally slept together yesterday.

Macaque: That's NOTHING compared to the lewdness of holding hands.

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Macaque: Where are you going?

Sun Wukong: To either get peaches or commit a Holy felony. I'll decide on the way.

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Sun Wukong: MK, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

MK: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Sun Wukong : Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Macaque.

MK: Wait- Sun Wukong , no-

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MK: Well, has Sun Wukong been wrong before?

Macaque: How wide are we willing to open this up?

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Sun Wukong: MK, what do you have?

MK: A KNIFE!

Sun Wukong: Okay, have fu-

Macaque: NO!

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MK: I just had a long talk with Macaque and Sun Wukong about hitting and now they are yelling “it’s my turn to perpetuate the cycle of violence” before hitting each other.

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Macaque: What do you think MK will do for a distraction?

Sun Wukong: He'll probably, like, scream 'here comes Monkie Kid' or throw my staff around. That's what I would do. I would scream 'here comes Monkey King' and throw my staff around.

Building explodes and several car alarms go off

Sun Wukong: …or they could do that.

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Sun Wukong: I have so much energy, I want to level a mountain or commit a crime… which should I do?

MK: Please don’t get arrested by Heaven.

Sun Wukong: No promises! <3

Macaque: Why not both? Get creative!

Sun Wukong: Wonderful suggestion, thank you.

MK: Please don’t encourage him, Macaque.

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MK: I will find us a covered wagon and horses. If you two can manage to not kill each other while I'm gone.

Sun Wukong: Oh, please. We're not children, bud.

MK leaves

Sun Wukong, casually: … Eat the end of my staff and die.

Macaque, also casually: Yes, fuck you.

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Sun Wukong: I hate you sometimes.

Macaque: Well according to this picture MK drew of us holding hands that's not true.

Sun Wukong: Macaque, you drew that.

Macaque: It doesn't matter.

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MK: Monkey King won’t wake up, what do I do?

Macaque: Did you try whacking him upside the head with your staff, Kid?

MK: Yes.

Macaque: I’m out of ideas.

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Sun Wukong: We're having a baby.

MK: Oh, congradu-

Macaque, slamming adoption papers onto the table: It's you, sign here.

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WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

WARNING SPICY/SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE! DO NOT INTERACT IF UR NOT 18 OR OLDER!

[void-tiger]

Sometimes I think men find me “easy to talk to” because they forget that I’m a woman. And then when they do, they flip out on me. And I’m kinda fed up with it.