#this was just one time the writing was NOT funny

[slvttyplum]

“who’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and big bad mmm like…”

𐙚⋆.˚ cw : nervous and kinda loser gojo, thought it was cute.

satoru was handsome, funny, sweet, patient, and caring—all the things you could ask for in a man.

who knew the nerdy guy in your lecture who stared at you throughout it and drew pictures of you in his notebook would be your boyfriend?

“so, uh… w-what’s your major?”

that was the first thing he ever asked you, pushing up his glasses with a grin on his face, leaning against the table, trying to look cool.

it worked because you already thought he was cool; you adored him.

even your friends thought he was the perfect match for you, yet you always kept your crush on him private.

you never really spoke to him, not wanting to be a nervous wreck, so you kept to yourself, occasionally watching him from afar.

the crush went both ways for a pretty long time until satoru finally caved in and asked you out, with confidence, i might add; it was the cutest thing.

“i just really like you. i haven’t felt this way in a long time. no, no, wait, i’ve never felt this way.”

that was that; he took you on a date right after, and it’s been history ever since. of course satoru had his flaws, and so did you; who didn’t? but being with him was so refreshing.

satoru was understanding about everything, even when he was a little prick about it, just so you could see it from his perspective.

he loved you, and he couldn’t have you doubting yourself or beating yourself up about things.

“stop saying that; it’s annoying. you’re great, amazing, phenomenal, spectacular, perfect.”

he would go on and on reassuring you that what you were doing and going in life was good enough. satoru wasn’t going to have you talking bad about yourself or even hinting at it; it pissed him off.

“okay, okay, i get it, thank you.”

snuggling into his neck while he was at his desk just scribbling away on his paper, even when he was busy, he still made time for you to show that he loves and supports you through and through.

“there we go.”

sometimes days would go by, especially when satoru had an upcoming test where he was too into whatever he was doing to see you, so he would get you and bring you back to his dorm just to have you in his lap the entire time.

god, he loves you on his lap. it became an ongoing thing that whenever you weren’t on his lap, he found himself fidgeting or bouncing his leg.

sometimes that even led to… well, you know.

starting with you slowly kissing his cheeks, then going down to his jaw, then going down even slower to his neck that was on display like some freshly baked cookies.

once you started, satoru couldn’t focus on a damn thing, even writing gibberish on his paper while his arm tightened around you, taking off his glasses and smirking.

“don’t start something you can’t finish.”

leaning his head back so you could get to where you needed to be easier, a smile now on his face when he could feel you getting lower.

“control yourself, gojo,” mumbling into his neck as you kept going.

he got turned on so easily it was pathetic but also cute, telling you that he wanted to show you something in his bed just to flip you over like a pancake.

see? he could do both. that’s why you love him so damn much, a very versatile man.

one thing he learned while being with you is that while yes, school and classes and making sure his grades were where they needed to be was important, so were you.

you started being a priority for him along with his work and he had to balance them, and he did well with that.

did well with you; he loves you, but he'll never tell you; he would probably fall into a heart attack.

[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.

[jan1on]

hi, can you write a fanfic about Lando Norris and the reader, where the reader is not a native English speaker and is preparing for an english exam, and Lando helps her, but a little silly and funny

Learning his language

Summary: Reader is studying English since she goes to university in Monaco. But her boyfriend is a menace and wants her attention.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Lando being a menace.

an: Thank you for this request, I’m sorry it took time! English is also not my first language and there can be typos in this, that’s why it also took time to make this because I wanted to give it justice 🩵

Lando Norris had always been a menace—never in a malicious way, but in the way that he found immense joy in teasing people, especially when they were flustered. And right now, sitting across from Y/N, watching her struggle with her English test preparation, he was having the time of his life.

She was curled up on his couch, surrounded by a mess of notes, a textbook flipped open on one side, and a notebook filled with frantic scribbles in her lap. Her lips moved slightly as she tried to pronounce a sentence under her breath, her Italian accent slipping through. Lando, of course, found this incredibly entertaining.

“I can help you with this. Just repeat after me.” He said, looking like he’s going to say something stupid. “No, you’re disturbing my peace when I’m studying.” She stated , trying to focus on her studies while her boyfriend was as annoying as always.

“You’re no fun, live a little.” He groaned, finding her too boring when she’s focusing on something other than him. “That’s not my problem.” She mumbled, continuing her work.

“Just one!” he pleaded, taking her notes from her until she gave into him. With a dramatic sigh, she gave in. “Fine. What is it?” His smirk grew impossibly wider. “Say: Lando Norris is the best driver in Formula 1.” Her jaw dropped. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Y/N!” he nudged her playfully. “It’s just English practice.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not saying something that isn’t true.”

Lando gasped, hand flying to his chest as if she had physically wounded him. “Wow. Betrayed in my own home.” She bit back a grin. “Fine, I’ll say it.” Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes and said, “Lando Norris is… a very average Formula 1 driver.”

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. “You little—!” Before he could retaliate, she grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, giggling as he barely managed to dodge.

“You are so lucky I like you,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. She grinned back at him, eyes twinkling. “I know.”

[seumyo]

the art of loving bakugou katsuki’s name.

You loved his name.

You remembered the first time you had heard it—Bakugou Katsuki. It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it was his. His name was easy to remember, sharp on the tongue, and impossible to forget.

And that’s the funny thing about names, isn’t it? No names were ever truly the same. It could be written with the same characters, spoken in the same pronunciation, but the person behind them made it unique.

His was different.

His was his.

Getting to know Bakugou’s name had been one of the most exciting parts of meeting him. The way it rolled off your tongue the first time you said it out loud. The way he grumbled at you when you got too familiar too quickly, scowling at you and scolding you—telling you to say it right or don’t bother at all.

You grew to whisper it in the quiet of study halls, writing it absentmindedly in the margins of your notes when you were too exhausted to focus. You had yelled it across battlefields when you were still young and reckless, had murmured it in moments of vulnerability when it was just the two of you—when the world felt smaller, safer—because he shared the world with you.

It softened over the years, how you said his name. How he let you call him Katsuki when no one else could.

You loved his name.

Because it had been yours to say back then.

And now, he shared it with someone else.

It was a cruel thing, really. To love a name, to cherish it, to include it in a solemn prayer every night just as you’re about to fall asleep, only to have it slip through your fingers.

The wedding was beautiful. Grand, as expected for someone like Bakugou.

The kind of celebration is fitting for a man who had always been larger than life, someone who fought hard and loved even harder. The bride—his wife—was stunning, radiant in a way that made you feel something you didn’t want to name.

“Do you, Bakugou Katsuki, take your—“

His name sounded different now.

You had imagined this moment before, once, a long time ago. Not like this—never like this.

You forced a smile when they exchanged vows, when they kissed, when the crowd erupted in cheers.

You lifted your glass when it was time for the toasts and laughed when it was appropriate.

You played the part of an old friend, a guest who had long since moved on.

Because today was all about him. Not you.

But when the celebration stretched into the late hours, you found yourself stepping out, out into the quiet of the evening just outside the reception hall. You had too many thoughts and too little drinks acquired at the mini bar to drown out this incessant feeling.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name once, just to hear it. Yours.

“[Last Name]?”

Your breath hitched.

You turned, and there Bakugou Katsuki was—standing at the threshold, half in shadow, looking at you the same way he always had. His tie was slightly undone, and his suit jacket draped over his arm. He looked tired. But more than that, he looked at you like he still knew you.

Like he still saw you.

That version of you that only he met and got to know well.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Congrats on getting married, by the way. All my congratulatory messages are in your gifts.”

He scoffed, though it’s quiet, barely audible.

“Right.”

. . .

His gaze lingered, searching. Searching for something that he will never find.

“You okay?”

“Of course. It’s your wedding day. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The answer was too quick, too . . . prepared.

Bakugou didn’t retaliate right away. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw tensed.

“[Last Name]—“

“Katsuki.”

His name left your lips before you could stop it, like muscle memory. Like a prayer.

You had intended to call him by his last name. A formality. A distance.

Bakugou stiffened.

You had spent years getting to know his name, understanding every way it could be spoken. The anger in it, the laughter, the quiet tenderness in the dead of night.

And now, for the first time, you didn’t know how to say it.

Because words shouldn’t hurt, they shouldn’t feel like your throat’s being repeatedly stabbed.

. . .

“I never wanted things to end like they did.”

You let out a slow breath. “Neither did I.”

But it had ended. And you both knew why.

Careers. Distance. Bad timing.

Then it all just got too much to fight for.

Because love, even if it’s meant to fight for, gets exhausting when you can no longer love that person the way you used to.

And no matter the reason, endings were still endings. It can’t be erased and rewritten. It isn’t a story on paper that can be edited with a simple pencil and eraser.

“You ever think about—“

“I don’t.” Not anymore, at least, you wanted to add.

Because thinking about it now—on his wedding day—is like disregarding all that he made for himself after you. Disregarding his wife, the one he vowed to love ‘til hell freezes over and whatnot.

“You should go,” you smiled once you heard his wife calling his name.

He lingered for a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away.

You watched as Bakugou joined his wife, the woman who now shared his name, the name of the person you had loved with every fiber of your being.

The name you thought you’d share with him—and once dreamed to keep as yours.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[lov3yv4mps]

CAN YOU WRITE A CUTE FUNNY FIC OF LEEKNOW AND READER TRYING TO HAVE SEXY TIME BUT SOONIE, DOONGIE, AND DORI WONT LEAVE YOU GUYS ALONE?

IT SOUNDS SO CUTE AND I ABSOLUTELY NEED IT <33

₊˚⑅⋆ pests ⋆⑅˚₊

Genre: smut/fluff MDNI !!

Warnings: kissing, some dirty talk, cursing, hellacious teasing and laughing, almost fingering, cats obvi :3

v4mps note: this was so cute and fun to write AGHH, but I feel like the on and off smut made it even better :D

It was supposed to be simple: Lee Know, you, a quiet evening together. The kind where you could finally enjoy each other’s company without any interruptions. The plan was set. No distractions. But of course, nothing ever went according to plan when it came to his cats.

You were lying in his bed, pulling him close for a heated kiss, your hands already slipping under his shirt, feeling his muscles flex beneath your fingertips. “Let’s make this quick," Lee Know murmured, his voice already laced with lust as he pressed you back into the sheets. "I want you so bad, baby."

Before you could answer, a soft, persistent meow echoed from the corner of the room.

You froze. Lee Know’s face twisted with annoyance. “Soonie, I swear to god…”

His cat had made her entrance, hopping onto the bed with a little yowl as she made herself comfortable, curling up right between you both. Lee Know let out a frustrated laugh, his hand running over his face in disbelief.

“Really? Now? Of all times?” he muttered, giving you an apologetic look. “She’s been out all day, and now she decides to invade our private time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching down to gently pet the cat’s head, who was completely unfazed by the chaos she had just caused.

“Guess we’re not alone,” you teased, trying to ignore the way your body was still aching for him.

Lee Know sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna get her out of here… give me a second.” He leaned down to gently lift the cat, but before he could, a second meow sounded from the other side of the room.

Doongie, his adorable yet extremely clingy cat, was now on the prowl, circling the bed and looking up at you both with big, pleading eyes.

Lee Know groaned, throwing himself back into the pillows. “Fuck… why is it always now?” His hands gripped the sheets, trying to keep his composure as Doongie hopped onto the bed, nuzzling into your lap with loud purrs.

You couldn’t help but laugh, scratching Doongie behind the ears. “He’s so needy,” you teased, but your laugh caught in your throat as Lee Know’s lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I don’t give a shit about needy cats right now,” he growled, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease the skin of your sides. He was clearly trying to keep his patience, but his breath was already ragged from the teasing.

Just as you were about to respond, a third meow cut through the air. Dori, the smallest and most mischievous of the bunch, darted into the room like a little ball of energy. She pounced onto the bed and immediately positioned herself right between your legs, staring up at you both with wide, innocent eyes.

Lee Know threw his head back, groaning in frustration. “What the fuck, Dori? Seriously?” He looked over at you, his gaze darkening with mischief and desire. “This is your fault, you know that?”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, the situation too absurd. “My fault? You’re the one who adopted all of them!”

The tiny cat didn’t budge an inch, just staring up at you, completely oblivious to the tension between you and Lee Know.

“Okay, enough of this,” Lee Know said, his voice dripping with frustration. His hand found your wrist, pulling it up to his lips for a heated kiss that made your whole body tense with anticipation. “Fuck, you’re killing me, baby…” he muttered, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You gasped into his mouth as his hand slid down, fingers brushing over your waistband. “Lee Know, are you seriously gonna—”

But just as his fingers slipped under your waistband, the cats simultaneously leaped onto the bed and started running in circles, their tails swishing all over the place.

Lee Know stared at them in horror as his hand froze, fingers still pressing against your skin. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is a nightmare.” He let out an exasperated laugh, his frustration mixing with amusement. “We can’t even have a second to ourselves.”

You pulled him back in for a kiss, ignoring the chaos around you. “Does it really matter?” you whispered against his lips. “I’m still here, and I’m still ready for you.”

The teasing tone in your voice made Lee Know groan, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, kissing you harder, his fingers slipping lower. He traced the waistband of your pants, eyes darkening with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You moaned into the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders as he pressed down, grinding against you as his fingers finally slipped into your panties, teasing your entrance. The sensation made you gasp, but the moment was cut short by a loud meow. The cat jumped up right on Lee Know’s back, pawing at him desperately for attention.

“Oh my god!” Lee Know shouted, nearly choking on his own frustration as he tried to shake the cat off his back. “Seriously, what the fuck!?”

You were laughing uncontrollably now, feeling the tension break in a burst of light-hearted chaos. “I guess it’s not happening tonight,” you said between giggles.

But Lee Know wasn’t ready to give up that easily. He shot you a devilish grin, fingers still teasing at your core. “Oh, it’s happening, sweetheart. Cats or not, I’m finishing this.”

And despite the cats swarming all over you, he did.

[modernquackfare]

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

[booksbabybooks]

I don't read a *massive* amount of fanfic (though I *totally* think it's a valid and important form of writing - just as I think fan art is valid and important.) But some of the stuff I have read - mainly through Tumblr when it comes up on my dash - is just amazing. Funny. Smart. Sexy. Romantic. Sad. Gorgeous . Writers of all stripes just knocking it out of the park.

So I decided to set up an A03 account and leave positive comments on everything I like because it felt like people who write it - who put their heart and soul into creating stuff and sharing it for free! - felt disillusioned. Especially in this era of AI.

And yeah I'm just one person but I know myself as a writer that sometimes getting that one nice comment at just the right time can make all the difference to feeling like you can keep creating.

Honestly I get paid to write and I do love / need the money obvs but sometimes even getting paid well for something feels a bit hollow if you don't get any response to it. Artists want to connect. Show that connection!

So tell the people whose work you love that you love it!

There might be a tiny, tiny, tiny minority of people who are weird about receiving even positive feedback (rare, but they do exist) but I guarantee your odds are much better of making someone's day.

people who let me wake up to this get a special place in heaven. firefly_fox how does it feel to hold my life in ur hands....

[arandomao3user]

(Directed at the third person to send me death threats in this fandom-–)

Die hard Batman comic junkies will be like: TIM IS A PLAYBOY, READ THE COMICS!!!! BRUCE IS A BAD DAD, READ THE COMICS!!! JASON WAS NEVER BRUCE'S SON, READ THE COMICS!!! ZBSIKABAOAMNAHAOANAUSOBSYWJSBS YOU CAN'T HEADCANON THAT!?M? WAYNE FAMILY ADVENTURES IS THE REASON I AM DIVORCED!!!! FANFIC!?!?!?!? YOU CAN'T LIKE BATMAN MEDIA!!! DENIED!!! I SHALL GATEKEEP THEE AS THE DUNGEON MASTER OF MY OWN FANTASY!!!!! THIS IS MY FANDOM >:((( MY MOM SAID NOOOOOO!!!!

Like. Sir. Clam the F-- down and get off TikTok? Sir. Sir. Sir. I read comics, I have read the comics, I owns several physical comics, I have big books. I have small boks. I have Hush, Death In The Family, Death Of The Family, the ultimate Under The Red Hood book, I have three pride month specials shut up I am the queer, I have seventeen Batman movies I have watched religiously, I have read Tim Drake: Robin twice and I have reread Batman #408-409 that I have several theories revolving Jason and Bruce's relationship and also I have an entire site where any Batman comic I want to read is at my finger tips and YOU KNOW WHAT!?!?

I STILL LOVE WRITING FANON, FANON HEADCANONS!!! But my thing is let people enjoy things how they want because if I get one more death threat for enjoying a media that has existed since the 30's than I'm gonna crash out and post a thirty part long series about Tim fighting through a caffeine addiction and being adopted by Jason to get through it, I'll make him sad, and I'll make him date Bernard the entire time. I won't hesitate.

Also, if we stick to JUST the source material of every comic ever than there's two Jason Todd's, one from the circus who's a ginger and dates a girl named Rena (bring her back DC you cowards), and another from Crime Alley who steals tires and dies. Oh, also Batman and Robin have guns but then they stop using them for whatever reason. Also there's like two or three different Talia Al Ghul's but they aren't ever in the same room and we aren't sure which exactly is Damian's Mother or if Damian exists or how many there are and the clones but there's so many Damian's it ain't even funny... Oh, and Tim may or may not exist sometimes or date Babs or be married to her or be insane but that happened in the movies so it doesn't count for whatever reason because we can not combine movies and comics because the LOF (Laws Of Fandom) say so. Also Dick was adopted both before and after Jason but another Jason, like a third one or variant of the second one, who didn't actually die but did die the specifics don't matter!

MY POINT IS THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT AN EVER EVOLVING STORY WITH ALTERNATE UNIVERSES AND DIFFERENT TAKES AND THESE ARE COMICS!?!? These characters were literally designed with a basic outline to be adapted to however the writer sees fit for telling their story. A DIRECT QUOTE FROM SOMEONE WHO WORKED ON THE VERY POPULAR "Under The Red Hood" STORY IS THAT THIS IS JUST FANFIC AND BRINGING JASON BACK WAS BASICALLY A FANFICTION! A "WHAT IF" HE GOT FROM HUSH!

I don't care how YOU enjoy Batman media, and if you care how I ENJOY IT then block me so I don't have to see you telling the world how much bad you wish on people who enjoy fanfiction and certain comics even though you tell us to read the comics but not specific comics because you don't like the characterisation in that comic..? Like. Dude. Don't gatekeep and let people enjoy things how they want, that's all I'm saying, the mindset of gatekeeping a fandom is so 2020 and also 2015 Steven Universe/ Undertale amino... I am not going back to arguing over the gender of Frisk and Chara.

Wayne Family Adventures is also bad a%# and I am not a fan of how the writers wrote Duke, but I can accept it because it's funny and cute and you can't take it from me ♥︎

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk—

[obeymeluv]

How You Spend the Night Together [Azul, Kalim, Vil]

Not proofread. I stayed up late writing this because I'm off tomorrow. Will proof-read tomorrow. Just wanted to get something out.

Azul had seen paintings of people in love. People being intimate. He'd salvaged unsent notes and journals while hunting for coins in the Coral Sea. He knew the definitions of words like passion and adoration but none of it made sense until he looked at you. You were half asleep, gazing at the aquarium wall built into his Housewarden room.

Taking on the mantle of Housewarden meant embodying the Sea Witch's spirit of benevolence and assuming care of the aquarium wall. As much as he believed creatures of the sea should be free, Azul took aquarium cultivation very seriously. The array of creatures and plants in it were depending on him! Much like Jade and his terrariums, Azul's budget was more flexible when it came to the wall. He and Sam had modified it (with Crowley's permission) so he could actually swim around in said wall when he wanted.

Part of the modifications included remote-controlled ambient lights. They were on a dimmer setting tailored to his own sleep schedule. You were bathed in blues, undertones of crystalline teal, and one of his hearts lurched painfully in his chest (he wasn't sure which one). Your eyes seemed to glow against the patchwork of blues, and all it once it hit him.

This is what the painters felt. It was something that could only be painted because words paled in comparison. Sure, things like adoration were close--certainly relevant--but not perfect.

You were, though.

The sheets piled around you reminded him of seafoam. All rumpled and wild twists. He could almost imagined you'd washed up on shore from the sea. Maybe he saved you from the sea itself.

"Are you reverting?!" you snapped up when he registered in the edge of your vision. He was just standing there, not responding! Suddenly you were throwing the top cover and sheets out of the way. Azul heard you fall. "Do I need to get Floyd? Jade? The potion's in your desk, right?"

"No treasure, I'm fine." Azul laughed, crawling onto the bed to stare over the edge at you. You were hopelessly tangled, one leg still swallowed in the silk. He hauled you up awkwardly, grabbing you by the leg and pulling you up with one hand as you relaxed with a heavy sigh. "Just mesmerized. That's all."

He pulled your leg into his lap, picking at folds in the sheets like he was prepping napkin rolls at his mother's restaurant. The heat of your skin was muffled and he relished the random brushes in the quest to set you free. Your skin was soft against his hands. Funny how he was setting you free when he was utterly trapped by you, hm?

Your leg now free, you laid back with him. Azul placed his glasses on the nearby nightstand, turning to face you and slide down into the sheets in one smooth motion. Yeah he had to squint to see, but getting close to your smile was worth it. "Good night, treasure."

You kissed the bridge of his nose and he wrinkled it reflexively. His eyes were an unfair kind of blue. A blue only Corelians could have, you thought. Your bodies moved together unconsciously, caught in a current of longing to be together after an even longer day. Azul snugged into the hand cupping his cheek as his looped around your waist. Come the morning your legs would be tangled together like something unholy but that was okay.

"Goodnight, Azul."

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

Spending the night with Kalim wasn't just as simple as 'get changed, go to bed.' It usually involved helping Jamil tidy up Scarabia after another party. Jamil insisted time and time again that you didn't need to help, that you were a guest, but you famously told him 'then as a guest, I decide to help' and that was that. He secretly appreciated the help and Kalim found himself admiring your unapologetic assistance.

He didn't know how to describe it but you were like Jamil--fluid and natural to everything. You didn't miss a step cleaning up a room, straightening a pillow as you scooped another plate onto your stack and added a napkin to the wad in your other hand. Kalim trailed behind you like an excited puppy, trying to find something you or Jamil hadn't done so he could contribute.

When you're handed everything you could ever want and have the ability to do whatever you can think of, you don't realize how much you don't know. You don't know how much effort goes into things because it just shows up.

He wanted to show you that he could provide financially and physically. Kalim wanted to learn the independence his family was too scared to give him. Jamil let him do small things now and then but it was hard for the long-haired boy to beat down his lifelong training. His current task was splitting the stack of plates with you--he tried to take the whole stack but you refused because you were competent and stubborn--and taking them into the kitchen to be washed. When Jamil determined there were no more knives left in the sudsy water, Kalim was allowed to wash and dry them with you.

It was the most he'd done in a kitchen, he thought. Aside from chasing his siblings in and out of one or stealing snacks before a banquet. You'd more than proved yourself to Jamil by now; he knew it was safe to leave Kalim in your care while he retired for the night.

It's just as well; Kalim has a habit of sending him away when he wants to be alone with you. He tries to give Jamil as much freedom as he can without either of them getting in trouble. Dishes done and kitchen tidied, you gave him permission to get ready for bed.

He's not sure why that filled him with such excitement but it was like the first time every time. Kalim thought it weird a handful of times, when it would hit him like a spelldrive disk, but it didn't bother him.

It was a happy weird. One that would send him blabbing Jamil's ear off about your potential wedding until he was ready to strangle him.

What if every night was like this?!

Another giggle escapes him--you shush him lest he wake his dormmates--as you pull him into his Housewarden room. It's a massive, beautiful room with arching windows that open onto a balcony. The door is heavy and you shut it as quietly as possible. Moonlight illuminates the room, sliding over the desk and luxurious canopy bed until it touches the bathroom.

You change behind the large curtain framing the windows; it's thick enough to give a suggestion of you but not a peek. Kalim curses softly in his language, looking away from you to free his arm from the now-tangled scarf.

That's what happens when he tries to take off too much at one time.

"You look so pretty, qalbi!" Kalim peppers your face with kisses as you meet him in the middle of the room. You giggle, hugging him and swaying.

"You act like you've never seen it before! You bought it!"

It was some kind of fancy nighttime set popular in the Scalding Sands.

"Still pretty." Kalim hums, his head against your shoulder as you walk him to the bathroom. He undoes the ribbon and bejeweled circlet, revealing messy white hair. You slide a headband onto his head as he places the circlet on a velvet pillow. The sink in his Housewarden bathroom is basically big enough to be a counter! Jewelry holders of all shapes and sizes lead to the faucet, the other side framed with hygiene products.

Kalim can do it with his eyes closed and has done it a million times before but he always stretches the moment. He tilts your head this way and that, tickling your chin and cupping just underneath it as he fashions his ribbon into something that will hold your hair and frame your face. It's supposed to keep your hair safe while you sleep. You open some rose-scented toner pads one of his sisters sent, sticking them on his cheeks and forehead. He returns the favor before setting out a bowl and mixing a handful of things his mother gave him.

"It's for your hands." he's mixing and checking, mixing and checking until he's satisfied. He scoops some in his hands, coats his, and grabs yours. This was a new thing but it very appreciated! He's massaging your hands and you're melting in his. You're very close to sleeping standing up when he turns the water on and washes your hands for you.

You blink awake as he's picking the toner pads off your face. "To bed, hayati, to bed." he takes your super-soft hand and you climb into the bed together. You feel yourself dissolving into the piles of plush pillows, your last conscious thought is Kalim pressing tight against you and being deathly still as Jamil starts to open the door and check on you.

----- ------

An evening with Vil was scheduled but relaxed. It was a result of growing up in auditions and networking. "There's always time for something," he liked to say, "And it's whatever you choose to make time for."

You catch yourself staring at him like the lovesick fool you are, not because he's THE Vil Schoenheit, but because he's made time in his schedule for you. At this point in the evening, Pomfiore has finished dinner and their post-meal stretches. He's done his rounds as Housewarden and checked on his dormmates. Everyone has retired to their rooms for the evening, pursuing whatever their hearts desire.

He leads by example, as a good Housewarden does. His little desire is at the edge of the bed making smoochy eyes at him.

Well...you looked at him like you loved him and that was fine, too. He'd be okay if you actually wanted to give him smoochy eyes. You would if he could be as reckless and free as Rook encouraged. It was a near-daily conversation you weren't aware of. Vil was confident on runway, the stage, and the screen but he couldn't bring himself to kiss you spontaneously or bury you under a mountain of love notes even though it was a constant thought.

He was just too regimented for that. Romance is supposed to be planned and grand, not hasty and rash! The idea of sweeping you into a crushing hug or swatching his lipstick collection all over your face behind a locked door was extremely tempting. He's just at a delicate spot with his career and can't afford to be passionate and free; it may lose deals and get you a lot of unwanted attention.

Vil looks at you over the edge of Perfectly Wicked Potions and Poisons, grinning to himself. His eyes crinkle at the corner and he can't even bring himself to fret. You just inspire that much joy in him. Future crow's feet are a small price to pay for these little moments where he doesn't have to worry about agents, managers, or devout fans.

Like Rook, your presence soothes him. He delights in having you nearby.

"What are you doing, Potato?" Vil tries to focus on the words in front of him but it's not working.

"Just looking at my boyfriend being all relaxed."

It's such a simple answer but there's no crazed-fan gloating in it. It's genuinely touching.

"Relaxed but lacking," he laments, book tilted towards his still-painted lips but careful not to touch. "I'm in need of my Potato."

You giggle, squishing yourself into the padded armchair with him. He laughs, cradling you with one arm as you slide your feet under the other to hang off the chair. The armchair is deep enough that it works. Your back is supported by his arm and the chair, he gets to put his chin on top of your head. Vil plants his elbow gently into your thigh, bringing the book back up to his face. Comforted by warmth and weight, he makes it through a few pages until you knit yourself ever closer and reach behind him to remove the ornate hairclip.

He'd forgotten it was in there, honestly, and it feels good to have his hair down. Vil hums, book threatening to slide out of his hand as you work his scalp gently with one hand. His violet eyes slide shut, head tilting back. "I didn't see anything about wicked potatoes in my book but wicked you are, my darling." Vil murmurs.

"Want me to stop?"

"In the chair? Reluctantly. In the bed? No." Vil summons the energy to put the book down, breezing over to the bed with you in his arms. He taps you on the nose with a painted nail, smirking at you as he disappears to hang his Housewarden outfit up. You close your eyes as he changes, only opening them when he's at the bedside pinching your shoulder gently. It starts a small trade-off of shoulder massages.

His alarm goes off about twenty minutes later. You follow him to the attached bathroom, brushing your teeth as he washes his face. Vil puts undereye patches on the two of you. He relaxes into the bed like he's boneless, content that he's done everything on his schedule for the day.

He's rewarded with completionist's satisfaction. He'd also liked to be rewarded with more hair-playing. Cheeks blooming pink, Vil nudges his head towards you. Half asleep now, you bring your hand up to massage his scalp. "Goodnight, Vil."

"Goodnight, Potato."

[wtfaniii]

Hi ;-)

Request for an In-Ho x preteen platonic female reader where reader is the adopted shy introverted Daughter of Jun-Ho (frontmens Brother) got adopted 1 year after In-Ho dissapierd and got into the games by accident (cheating her id and faking it) how would ir be if the first time she speaks towards the Group of Gi-Hun and noticed that maybe player 001 used his right hand to throw the toy spin at the second game and for eating with a fork he used his left hand? So she could say neither he is both handed or left handed and mention something like my appa jun-ho can write with left and right but using a weapon he is just right handed funny huh? 💕🙈

I like the idea, I hope what I wrote is to your liking :D

Curiosities, observations and other small qualities

You were a smart but calm girl, with many fascinations towards different things and you constantly asked questions without stopping when you noticed something, that's why your father told you that you would be a researcher and there was no better compliment for you than that, however, for a certain person that would be more of an inconvenience.

¡Hwang In-ho x fem reader platonic!

master list¡!

You were curious, you always had been, since you could remember you questioned everything, even why a fly moved its legs when it stood on food.

Questioning everything and everyone brought you a lot of knowledge, you were smart and active but it also brought you problems, sometimes you found out things that you would rather not have done or people got fed up with you, that's why you spent the first five years of your life in an orphanage feeling the rejection of others.

Until one day there was an accident at the orphanage, the police came to investigate a little and despite feeling somewhat threatened by your superiors when talking about the negligence in the place, you did not stay silent, you glided through the hallways until you could talk to a police officer about your concerns.

You never imagined that the same police officer you spoke to would adopt you a month later, of course he was not going to leave you alone there after having practically ratted out the director of the orphanage.

The feeling of confidence that Jun-ho gave you from the beginning only increased from that moment, soon he was a fun, affectionate and responsible father to you.

Grandma Hwang was the sweetest, she made you chocolate chip cookies every time Jun-ho left you in her care and sometimes she let you sleep in.

Life certainly improved for you but you never stopped asking constant questions, Jun-ho congratulated you for that, he said that you would be a great detective when you grew up but your grandmother didn't seem so happy about that, she said that you would get in trouble.

And she was right.

One afternoon while you were waiting for the next train to take you home after having spent the afternoon doing homework at a friend's house, you noticed something peculiar.

You were leaning against the wall eating a bar of chocolate, with your headphones on and the hood of your sweatshirt over your head when in front of you, at the other end of the tracks, you saw a man in a suit with a briefcase playing Ddakji with another man.

Your eyes practically shone with interest when you saw that if you win the man with the briefcase he would give money, but a grimace formed on your lips when you saw that if lost would receive a hard slap.

The salesman ended up handing a card to that man and turned around to leave but at that moment you ran to catch up with him right on the stairs.

You went towards him but when you faced him his posture seemed really intimidating, you took two steps back with your best friendly smile.

At first he didn't let you play, you weren't on his list and you were just a teenager, you would probably die as soon as you stepped on the first arena but your insistence was too much to the point that he got fed up with you and let play.

You didn't know what you were getting into when you took the money had earned and the card that he offered you, but your curiosity was so much that that night you couldn't even sleep because of the intrigue of knowing what would happen if you dialed that number, he said he would do you a favor, he warned you not to call before he left, but that warning only increased your curiosity.

So the next morning the first thing you did was call, they asked for your full name and age, you lied, you said were twenty-five years old but you were barely turning sixteen.

—I'll be late today appa, I'm going to a friend's house —You told your father that same day while you were getting out of the car to go to school.

—Okay, but call me to come get you, I don't want you to go alone at night —Jun-ho responded with a fatherly tone and a small smile.

You nodded and said goodbye to him to enter the school but "going to a friend's house" was an excuse, you would go to the address those people gave you so you could enter those games.

[...]

You regretted it completely, there were times when your actions led you to good things, maybe bad things… ¿But this? it was already an extreme.

If you had known that approaching that man in a suit would be your biggest butterfly effect, you would have walked away immediately but now here you were, wearing the same set of clothes as the rest while you looked curiously at player 001, the man who condemned them all when he pressed the button with the blue circle.

You stayed away from the rest as all the players dispersed, some with sorrowful expressions and others with triumph, the votes had been made and staying had been the final decision by majority.

But your gaze focused on player 001, his vote was decisive and you were curious to know why he pressed the circle but then you saw him form an almost imperceptible malicious smile while he stared at 456,

Player 456 had shouted that he had already been in those games during the voting and helped the others during "green light, red light", he knew what would happen and judging by his expression of anguish and defeat you deduced that it was true, he was telling the truth, now, ¿why was 001 interested in him? ¿Was he looking for your help or was it something else? The man felt your gaze and turned to see you, you immediately turned away and walked tensely.

You stayed away and alone, just watching the others form groups until you saw some of them surround 456, once again your curiosity got the better of you and you went towards them cautiously like a small cat walking among dogs.

In-ho had a clear goal but since he saw you, observing him in detail, he knew that you would be a problem, for that and other reasons. ¿What the hell was a teenager doing in his games?

After the other curious players left, he sat next to Gi-hun and tried to continue talking but he noticed your presence a few steps in front of them.

—¿Can we help you with something young lady? —390 asked, looking at you with curiosity.

Due to your poor ability to socialize you wanted to deny and walk away but you also had to keep in mind that this place was survive or die, you needed to be with the smartest team and what better than the team of a former winner so gathering all the courage you had in your body you spoke.

—¿Can I be on your team? —They looked at each other doubtfully until 001 spoke.

—¿How old are you girl?

—Twenty-five —Your answer was so sure that it made them hesitate but just by looking at you in silence it made tell your real age —I'll be sixteen next month.

—¿What kind of debts would a sixteen year old girl have? —asked 388 from his bed and with his mouth full of food.

You pressed your lips into a straight line and glared at him —¿Are going to accept me on your team or not?

Before anyone could say anything Gi-hun nodded silently and you sat down next to him. Well, at least you wouldn't be alone anymore during your stay in this place.

When the lights went out and everyone went to sleep you curled up in your bed and tried to close your eyes but it was impossible, even with 456 and 001 awake on guard you couldn't sleep peacefully.

In-ho noticed the uncomfortable way you moved in bed so he spoke to you cautiously and invited you to stand guard with them at least until you get sleepy.

—¿Aren't you afraid of this place? Your parents are probably very worried about you, ¿What would your mother say if she knew that you were not eating and sleeping well? —He said cautiously as he waved goodbye to Gi-hun, now it would only be the two of you on guard.

—I don't have a mother... —You mumbled, drawing with your fingers on the ground and when you saw the expression on him face you smiled sideways —I never met her, I only live with my appa and the halmonim.

—Well…then they'll wondering where you are —He said looking at you with curiosity, in case you were to die here, he wanted to know who would miss you

You twisted the lips and nodded silently, you missed them and wanted to return to them as soon as possible but the idea that you could die tomorrow or in the next five days tormented you.

As if he had read your thoughts, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and speak: —You'll be fine, we'll get out of here alive and you'll see them again.

Those words, although seemed simple and empty, were a flash of hope for you, you smiled at him with closed lips and nodded in agreement, anyway, this were just children's games ¿right?

With that thought in mind you went to sleep but when you woke up the next morning with that melody ringing in your ears you couldn't help but feel anxious, your stomach was in knots and the desire to vomit due to stress and fear was evident on your face.

—¿Are you fine? ¿Do you want to go to the bathroom? —001 asked you as followed Gi-hun walking down the colorful stairs to the next game.

You assured him that you were fine and continued walking in silence, "This is going to be a piece of cake, it's just games" you thought as you looked curiously at the playground where they were taken, it was colorful.

But when the robotic voice said that they should make teams of five you reconsidered your chances of survival.

You walked among all the players looking for who would want you on their team but being a female teenager diminished your advantages considerably, you saw player 333 approach you, he was going to ask you to be part of his team but before he could do so two hands placed themselves firmly on your shoulders and dragged you to team 456.

—Now we are complete —001 said with triumph and a smile on his face shaking you gently making you smile gratefully.

After giving them the instructions, each team organized themselves, sat on the floor and waited their turn.

Each team would have to go through a series of games while having their ankles tied to each other and in a time of five minutes, they had to be coordinated and sure, you said you were good at Ddakji so that would be your game.

You felt motivated, you analyzed every move the previous players made and noticed every small mistake that led to their death, your team would not make those mistakes.

In-ho saw you from time to time, you were observant, a detail that he would not overlook, that gave you value points because he was almost sure that you would be one of the finalists if another stronger player did not kill you before that.

However, he never thought that you could also become a problem.

—¿How do you know my name? —Gi-hun asked after he had mistakenly called him by his name.

—I heard that's what your friend called you and I thought could do it too, ¿does it bother you?

His justification got him out of trouble but he could feel your intriguing gaze boring into the back of his neck, your mind wandered in previous conversations, you hadn't really heard him but maybe it was because you were nervous, even so, your curiosity and intrigue were present.

You proposed saying their names, maybe that would help build confidence in the team and they could get out of this test alive.

Each team had their turn to play, some passed successfully and others ended up dead, when it was their turn to play you noticed that they were the last, you didn't pay much attention to this detail but your brain saved it just in case.

You were the first to play, you did it the first time and the rest celebrated, then it was Jung-bae's turn, another triumph, Dae-ho also had immediate success.

Now it was Young-il's turn, it would be his turn to spin the top and everyone would believe that like the first three he would do it the first time but their hearts stopped and the air left their lungs when the top didn't spin on the ground.

You remained silent during the three attempts he made and failed, time was ticking and your heart was beating like crazy but you clearly noticed how in the last attempt that was successful he used his left hand.

Curious, first he did it with his right hand and failed three times, now he did it with his left hand and he did it the first time.

[...]

Once again in the huge dormitory, all the players who managed to survive the second game were scattered talking among small groups, alliances they had formed with this test.

You were happy, you put aside your suspicions about Young-il convincing yourself that you were just paranoid and there was nothing strange.

—I apologize for the reaction I had a few minutes ago —He said as they sat on the stairs of the huge bunk beds —I lost control...

He finished with a smile that almost seemed like genuine apology and understanding but when you spoke the expression on his face tensed.

—That's fine, but if you knew you were left-handed you should have tried left from the beginning —You said calmly, as if you were talking about a simple observation, but the rest's gaze rested on him with intrigue and even slight suspicion, especially Gi-hun, because this observation added to the fact that he had called him by his confident name, caused a certain distrust —Maybe this way we would have saved ourselves time and that scare.

The soft laugh you made at the end managed to lighten the atmosphere a little but In-ho knew that your words had caused a crack in his plan.

—I usually use the right but I think I'm good at playing with the left —He lied, letting out a small laugh to disguise the tension in his body.

Fortunately for him, Dae-ho changed the conversation bragging a little about how they were about to pass all the minigames without any errors, but In-ho remained attentive to you ¿How could a simple teenager be so observant? Now he was going to make sure you died in the next game, he wasn't going to risk slipping up with you around.

He had a problem with you and he was going to eliminate it, the complete opposite of what you thought, you believed that Young-il was someone you could trust and for no reason you had hopes that with him by your side you could get out of there alive.

After the votes, the pink guards distributed the food to each player but you had trouble opening your milk box.

—¿Can you help me? —You asked Young-il next to you.

He took the box and opened it without any problem but you noticed again that he used his left hand causing a giggle on your part.

—¿What are you laughing at?

—You are left-handed.

In-ho looked at the rest to make sure no one had heard you and then turned to look at you, this time with sharper and colder eyes.

He was definitely going to make sure you died in tomorrow's game

But the next thing you said made his mind go blank.

—My appa Jun-ho can write with his left and right but when he uses his weapon he is right-handed —You said with a small smile on your lips.

—¿Is your dad a police officer? —He asked, his voice lower than he would have liked, you nodded taking a bite of the piece of bread you held in your hands —Repeat your last name to me.

His voice sounded demanding and tense so you looked at him intrigued but when you saw that he was serious you responded.

—Hwang, ¿Do you know my dad? —You asked, curious and with a happy expression on your face.

You were his brother's daughter ¿how could that be possible? He didn't know about any existing girlfriend but now he reconsiders his decision, you were family but if you kept talking about every observation you had and went so far as to give him away he would kill you before you even spoke.

—No —He said with a more serene expression but his eyes still reflected something that you couldn't decipher —I've only heard him name before.

Now In-ho had a severe conflict.

But one thing was for sure, he would try to keep you close, whether to protect you or simply to make sure you didn't notice anything suspicious.

[sully-s]

Open in a different window to zoom in. So this is just a deep dive behind all the stuff I put in my last post I rolled back my picture before I did all the lighting and color changes to make certain details more visible. Fun fact I almost scrapped this whole picture at this stage because A. I was just burned out; this piece took me forever. B. As I kept getting more and more "neat" ideas to stuff in, I lost any real focal point, especially with the color scheme. After hours of trying to fix it in PS and failing, I was about to give up. I was like fuck it make it a night scene. Let me tell you all a world of lighting makes lol.

Anyways, enough about my struggles, let me give you the tour.

I love the idea that this corkboard was originally Phoenix's mood board in the beginning it just had his childhood pics from like the yearbook and that one time Larry got a polaroid camera. Then, a new year clipping about Edgeworth being Demon Prosecutor which led Phoenix to make his thesis about court drawings just so he could watch and see with his two eyes how much Edgeworth changed. - Then, later, he added Mia because she was his mentor. then Vinny (from the movie "My Cousin on Vinny") because like Vinny, Phoenix never understands court procedure but has very good instincts; and last Elle Woods who also went to law school for a boy basically his spirit lawyer lol. - Later, after Maya joined, she thought it would be funny to replace Phoenix's real reason to Steel Samurai. Also, it was fun because Will Powers was their client, so he should be their reason. Phoenix let them stay because it made Maya happy, and Phoenix knew that with Mia's death, she needed it. - I was going to add a sticky note from Miles that he approved, but I do like that Miles will never admit out loud or in writing that he enjoys the show. - A year later, Pearls tries to replace all the Steel Samurais with her drawings of Maya. Which Phoenix encouraged her to make during Maya's disappearance because facts. - Tid Bit: I was sad to cover up Will Powers' signature I really liked how it came out

Moving away from the mood board idea, I like that the cork board just became Phoenix's catch all. So his Law Degree which isn't the original it's just a sad printed-out version of what should've been his fancy embossed one. I like the idea that Phoenix never went to graduation. (Can't be bothered he's on a mission to save his childhood bff.)

Lastly are postcards from Edgeworth, his way of making up for all the years he couldn't write back to young Phoenix. - Also, this picture takes place some time after the 3rd game but before the disbarment.

Calendar whiteboard that I forgot to add the last row too so I guess in Japaniforina the months are only 25 days long.

I spent a frustrating amount of time trying to figure out the logistics of this paper trail. It really doesn't need to make sense It just has to make the room messier. - You can imagine Phoenix is looking over phone records or court stenographer's record.

So Edgeworth is a nerd; we all know this. But it annoys me just a tad that his nerd-isum is always just Steel Samurai (like I get it, it's canon), but all geeks have many fandom loves, okay. - So I just love the idea that Phoenix and Edgeworth (who are in a relationship at the time of this pic ) watch Better Call Saul, and they both bought each other a little plushie of the character they joke is them. -Edgeworth bought Saul for Phoenix (because of Saul's heart, not because he does shady practices), And Phoenix bought Kim (because she a really good lawyer who seems cold and is a workaholic who would break the rules for their Saul (used phoenix's badge in the third game )) - They keep each other's plushies in their offices, and if one of them stops by when the other isn't in, they put a sticky note on it. - Which we can see that Phoenix did need reminding because, as you can see, the date is 18th, and no mention of a dinner ;)

7. Now the whole reason I drew this picture was too show off my headcanon that Phoenix has a Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law action figure that you know Gumshoe got him after Edgeworth vs. State happen because of Polly. And we all know that man would be a fan of old Hanabara cartoons. - I've loved this stupid tid-bit of a headcanon that it's been haunting me for years. That's it; that's all I really wanted to say with this piece, and look where it got

[reiding-writing]

Might be controversial but I like enemies to lovers more than cold reader x Reid. But kinda similar as they both could have slow burn. If that’s something you would wanna write I’d love it 🥹

PETTY & PETTIER. /spencer reid/

you knock over spencer’s favourite mug on your first day, big deal right? well, yes apparently.

s1!spencer enemy!reader 1.1k fluff? masterlist.

a/n | minor break from cold!reader in the form of something that’s almost similar, guess i have a type— (also new blog theme means new fic layout so yay)

Your first day at the BAU is going well—until it isn’t.

Gideon had been your mentor since your academy days, which is how you found yourself standing awkwardly in the bullpen of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, a cup of coffee in one hand and the weight of expectation on your shoulders. You were young, sure, but Gideon saw something in you. He was good at that.

What he wasn’t good at, apparently, was warning you about Dr. Spencer Reid.

It’s an accident—your elbow knocks the mug off the counter before you even realise it’s there. The ceramic shatters against the tile floor, coffee splattering everywhere. You freeze, mortified.

“Are you serious?”

You turn toward the voice, already apologising. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

You’ve read about him in your files before starting—youngest FBI recruit, three PhDs, literal genius. You expected someone…awkward, maybe. Soft-spoken. A little nervous.

What you didn’t expect was the sheer level of contempt in his expression as he stares down at the broken pieces of his mug like you just ran over his childhood dog.

“That was my favourite mug,” he says, voice flat.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It was a limited edition.”

Oh, God. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He scoffs. “You can’t buy a new one. It was a vintage 1997 Star Trek Voyager mug featuring—”

“Okay, Jesus, I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender. “I screwed up. It was an accident.”

Reid makes a noise that is, without exaggeration, a huff. Like an actual hmph sound. It’s so ridiculously childish that you’d laugh if not for the intensity of his stare.

Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

You watch him go, bemused, and then glance around. Elle and JJ exchange amused looks. Morgan grins. Gideon doesn’t seem to notice, which is so typical of him that it’s almost funny.

It’s fine, you think. He’ll get over it.

Except, Spencer does not get over it.

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to notice it. The way Reid actively hates you.

At first, you assume it’s about the mug. But the way he glares at you when you so much as breathe near him? The way he sighs—loudly, dramatically—when Gideon assigns you both to work together? The way he outright avoids talking to you unless absolutely necessary?

No.

This isn’t about the mug.

This is a personal vendetta.

And honestly? If Reid wants to be petty, you can be pettier.

The war starts small.

Reid insists on taking the seat farthest from you in the briefing room? You get there earlier the next day and steal his spot.

He gives you pointed looks every time you mess up a minor detail in a case summary? You start correcting his grammar in reports.

He spends five minutes explaining a concept you already understand? You interrupt with, “Actually, I already knew that.”

The others notice.

Morgan looks between the two of you with pure amusement. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?” you ask innocently.

Reid scowls. “Nothing.”

JJ and Elle exchange looks. Hotch sighs, rubbing his temple like he can already feel the migraine forming.

Morgan points between you. “No. No, there’s something going on. Because every time one of you speaks, the other looks like they’re plotting murder.”

“We’re fine,” you say, just to be petty.

“We’re not fine,” Reid snaps.

You smirk. “Wow, you sound upset.”

“You are infuriating.”

“You started it.”

Reid glares at you. “You started it.”

“You started it by hating me for no reason.”

The team watches this unfold like a ping-pong match.

“Okay, pause,” Elle interrupts. “Reid, why do you hate her?”

Reid crosses his arms. “Because she’s annoying.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“That’s enough of a reason.”

—

If the team was hoping that addressing it would fix things, they were wrong.

Now, it’s open warfare.

You start signing him up for unsolicited newsletters—scientific journals, conspiracy theory blogs, cat fact subscriptions.

He moves all your pens exactly one inch to the left every morning.

You convince Garcia to change his ringtone to the Barney & Friends theme song.

He leaves a 32-page thesis on the mathematical improbability of you ever besting him in psychological warfare on your desk.

The team is exhausted.

“They’re children,” Morgan says one day, watching as you and Reid glare at each other across the bullpen.

“No,” JJ says, “because children eventually grow out of it.”

Hotch looks like he’s considering transferring one of you just to get some peace.

—

The final straw is when you steal his coffee.

Which—okay. Maybe that’s fair.

But in your defence, you had no idea that Reid had some sort of special coffee blend that he kept in the breakroom. You’d run out of yours, saw an unmarked bag, and figured it was free game.

Apparently, it wasn’t.

Because the moment you walk around Reid’s desk with your coffee in hand, he scowls.

“You stole my coffee.”

“Yeah,” you say, blowing the steam from your mug pointedly in his direction. “What’s your point?”

His nostrils flare.

Reid doesn’t say anything. He just glares.

It’s a declaration of war.

Fine.

Bring it.

—

The rest of the team stops trying to intervene.

At some point, it just becomes a fact of life: the sky is blue, the BAU travels a lot, and you and Spencer Reid hate each other.

It’s not even professional rivalry at this point—it’s just petty.

You and Reid spend an entire plane ride passive-aggressively moving your seats to be as far from each other as possible.

When he lectures about a statistic, you purposefully contradict him—even when you know he’s right.

He takes your favorite pen? You take his entire stack of files and put them back out of order.

He switches the sugar in your coffee for salt? You swap his sugar for salt and take the last cookie from the breakroom.

It’s stupid.

It’s childish.

And it’s the principle of the thing.

If Reid is going to be petty, you refuse to be anything less than pettiest.

[cod-indulgences]

can you write something like this (i can’t make a link on anon sorry https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGMQ0pQMqM8/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ== ) for simon? with reader under the bed trying to scare him <3

Simon Riley x gn!reader, silly, no sex, scare prank, spanking

"Hey Si! Can you come here a minute?"

You muffle giggles against your palm, waiting. It was a tight squeeze under the bed, but you managed it, and couldn't wait to finally get one against Simon.

His feet appear in your field of view, silent in his socks, and your hands flex. Just a little closer....

"Love? Where you at?" He asked, and you swung your arm forward and clasped it around his ankle to yank.

The squeal you got from him made you laugh, the absolute ridiculous way he jumped and crashed onto the bed sent you into hysterics. You couldn't breathe between the laughter and the increased pressure on your back. Oh, you wish you'd thought to set up a camera, his face must have been incredible.

A growl is your only warning before big hands grip your feet and pull you back, dragging you halfway out from under the bed. "Fucking hell," Simon rumbles, "what the fuck was that for?"

"Its funny!" You giggle again, and kick your feet. Simon snags one of them and tickles it, making you shriek and kick harder. He lets go- he doesn't want a broken nose again- and instead you feel his weight shift on the bed. He doesn't pull you out any further though, and realize when he palms you ass that you might have....miscalculated.

"Wait, no Simon hang on it's just a prank-!" His hand comes down on your ass in a spank, and you yelp, trying to army crawl away. He grabs your leg in his other hand and keeps going, bouncing your ass cheek against his palm. "Ow, ow! Fuck, sorry, ok, I won't do it again!" He spanks you a few more times, because he's an ass, and lets you go. You sag into the dusty rug, whining. You're in love with an asshole.

You lay there for a minute, letting your heart settle down, Simon's fingers tracing the edge of your shorts. He huffs. "Was pretty good," he admits, and you giggle in delight.

You're free to move now, and slither out from under the bed, hooking your arms over the mattress to climb up. Simon is still draped over the other side, and you eyeball his ass.

Nice, big target. Plump and round. You wind up for the pitch, lock in your aim, and slam your palm down across his cheek with all your might.

Now this squeal is even funnier, and you get to see his face for it. Win-win, even while you scramble to escape his reach, laughing at the sight of your big boyfriend limping from the handprint on his pretty ass.

(Simon absolutely leathers your ass for it later)

[aninipanin1]

I love the manager x coaches. Would it be fine if Y/N brings her niece to job and little rascal pretends Y/N is her mom instead?

Niece: "You know my mama?"

Coaches and players: *Having heart attack.*

I'm not sure if it would be too out there or out of character. I just thought it might be funny. Hope you have inspiration 🩷

MAMA?!

Notes: Was legit abt to start the Little Mermaid fic for Chigiri but I suddenly had the urge to write for adult manager cause its been so long since I wrote one lmaooo and this was so cute so I just had to even though I said reqs are closed I JUST HAD TOOOOO

"There you are, Y/n! It's so good to see you!" Your cousin, Eina hugged you tight, patting your back softly. It has been a while since you last saw her due to both your busy lives with you as the manager of Blue Lock and her as a mother of two, as well as taking care of a small family business.

Coming from a family of businessmen and women was definitely not an easy responsibility, and you were just so happy that you did not get involved in the many drama when it came to your family's many businesses.

Eina was your cousin from your father's side and was the only one who did not spite or hated you for not being in the same calibre as your sister and other cousins. You loved her and always viewed her like the older sister you never had.

"Auntie! Auntie!"

You heard the familiar squeal, as you were immediately tackled by a toddler. Groaning in pain, you let out a small chuckle before kneeling on the ground to stare at the cute little girl eye to eye.

"It's been so long, Aina-chan! Look at how much you've grown! How old are you now, hm?"

"I'm this many!" She showed you four fingers, to which you smiled proudly.

"Wow, such a big girl! You're so cute, my little snookledum."

Carrying her in your arms while pretending to snatch her nose away, your cousin finally made you both turn due to her good natured laugh.

"Are you sure you and your boss are fine with it? I can always leave her to a nanny..."

The worried look on her face made you snicker, before shaking your head.

"Oh, of course it is! I wouldn't have said yes. Besides, I think this pretty girl deserves some aunty time for a few days! Whaddya say, my snookledum?"

"Yeah! Aunty time!" She cheered, engulfing you in a warm hug.

"We'll be fine. Worry more about the meetings okay? I'll take care of her as I always do."

"Auntyyyyy...Aina is bored. Let's play I spy!"

The little girl clung onto your arms the moment you both entered the Blue Lock facility where the four year old would be staying for a few days until her mother returned from her business trip in Singapore.

She definitely was a little sunshine, always wanting to play and not even flinching at the sudden change of location. If you were to be honest, in another life, you would want to have Aina's extrovetedness, and maybe then, you'll actuallh start having more friends and become more open when it came to different things.

"Hmm, how about later? It is lunch time, after all. Aren't you hungry, Aina-chan?"

Just as she was about to answer, a loud grumbling was heard from her little tummy which made you laugh.

"Welp, your stomach spoke for you. C'mon, let's eat!"

This went on for a few more days, with the only people who have seen Aina being Ego and Anri, mainly because even though the girl was energetic and an extrovert, she was easy to distract for hours on end. Just give her an interesting toy, and she won't drop it for a second until she realised that her bum hurt from sitting and playing for too long.

You toom advantage of that, leaving her to your office a few times to take care of the players while the rest of your day you will be cooped up inside your room, working and taking care of her at the same time.

However, in the midst of her stay, something else caught Aina's attention other than the toys you gave her.

She was with Anri (who she started calling Aunty too), who watched on from the monitors, overlooking some of the players for Ego while he went out somewhere to do 'something' apparently. Aina grew more attached to Ego than she did with Anri, and that is something most of you noticed. (Although Ego tries to pretend he hates the toddler)

It was probably because they do look eerily alike, with the same straight black hair and eye shape with along with a skinnier build and pale skin. The only exception was Aina taking the classic (e/c) colour everyone from your father's family had

You and Anri will secretly joked about how Ego was the real father and that somehow, the little girl was just swapped at birth or something, but it was all in good fun.

Back to the little girl, Aina looked at all the monitors, wanting to see if there were any familiar faces in them. To which she panned at one in the bottom and found you talking to Chris Prince amicably. And well, from that angle you did look a teeny bit like your cousin, Eina, hence why the little girl on the chair started to shout to call her mama, or who she thought was her mama.

"Mama! Mama! Youre back!"

Anri, seeing the cheering toddler could not help but smile fondly, however she did approach the little girl and told her that it was just you, her aunty and not her mama. Aina, just frowned at that, missing her mother dearly.

Well, that was until Anri had a brilliant idea, one that made her giggle mischievously.

"Hey, Aina-chan! Do you like pranks?"

The little girl's eyes brightened as she jumped from the chair she was in.

"Ooh! Yes! Yes please! Let's do a prank aunty! What are we gunna do?"

The smirk on the elder woman's face became wider as she started to whisper in the little girl's ear.

"That's all the JFU wanted to tell all of you. Now go."

Ego said coldly, dismissing the masters who all sat around the long table. The director of Blue Lock called for a very quick meeting with the rest of the masters. Since Anri was not free at the moment due to working with something that is related to the Neo-Egoist League (and also babysitting), you were the one called in to take notes.

The masters did not immediately leave, most of them approaching you to start small talks (ahem Chris and Lavinho ahem) while the others were busy taking the time to write down some things and cleaning up their things scattered on the table.

However, the automatic door suddenly opened, which made everyone look towards who was entering the meeting room, when a flash of long black hair and a small figure ran to your direction.

Flinching with a groan, you were definitely taken aback by the tight hug. You were suddenly attacked by a small figure. Small arms wrapped around your middle.

"Mama! I missed you!"

Crickets.

At first, it was just you who was in shock, not even sure why she called you her 'mama' when you are clearly not. But, it was not just you as gasps was heard around the room.

Chris gasped like he had just discovered the most scandalous gossip ever. Lavinho's looked like he was close to passing out. Snuffy's smile almost vanished as a vein popped in his forehead. Noa's eyes were colder than it usually felt like. While Ego just looked on emotionlessly, he was definitely more than confused, especially when you told him the child was your cousin's.

"Sweetie, wha-"

"Mama, you were gone for too long. I wanted to see you."

Aina hugged you tighter, her puppy eyes already on as she tried to look as innocent as possible which definitely worked on you.

"You have a daughter, Y/n-san?"

Loki was the only voice of reason amongst the quiet and heartbroken quiet adult men, as he just smiled at the young girl who is now in your arms.

"What? Oh, no! You misunderstand-"

But as if bad luck is not already on your side today, the little girl in your arms turned around to face Ego, who still sat calmly on his chair and called out to him in a name that you knew will legit get you in trouble.

"Papa! Hi! You're here too! Aina missed you!"

Now, that had everyone's mouth on the floor. Yes, even Noa and Loki had their mouths open, although not as exaggerated as the others.

"WHAT?!"

"Are you serious?!"

"Ego, you bastard-"

Ego just raised an eyebrow at the predicament, not even trying to stop and deny the claims. Instead, he even seemed to be enjoying it.

The coaches were definitely pissed. Out of all the men in the world you could have chosen (ahem themselves ahem) you chose to be with Ego?! And even worse, bear his child?!

Looking at the girl in your arms, she seems to be the perfect mix of you and Ego. Her hair, skin and build reminiscent of the man while her (e/c) eyes definitely came from you. So there was no doubt in their heads that it was not true!

You did look good holding a child, and you seemed to be very good with them. The little girl seemed to be enamoured with you, playing with the ends of your hair or pecking your cheek. You'd definitely be a good mother.

Now, if only you did not conceive with that four-eyed fucking asshole-

"Wait, I swear its not like that, guys-"

"No, don't worry, Y/n. You can tell us everything." Noa said stoically.

"Yeah. Did he force you or anything? We can call the authorities on him or even beat him up for you if you want." Lavinho added to which you blinked in horror at.

"What?! Please don't! Let me explain-"

"No, no, Y/n. You don't have to explain or remember the things he did. Seeing as to how he treats you and the lack of ring on your finger, I can see he does not give importance to you as a woman." Snuffy said, holding your shoulders gently, pushing you beside him and away from the ravenette man in question.

"You don't have to worry a thing, pretty. We'll take care of this." Chris said, cracking his knuckles to which you panicked even more.

"Um guys, maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions." Loki said, seeing you panic and the absolute irrational conclusions of the four coaches.

"You all are talking about me as if I'm not here." Ego finally responded on the accusations. Although his words did not help at all in making the situation worse.

"You have the audacity to even remind us you are still here." Lavinho said, walking closer to the man who still did not look like he feared for his life at all.

"Oh my god! STOP! I've been trying to tell all of you that it's not what it looks like! Aina over here is the daughter of my cousin! Me and Ego-san did not do anything disgusting! Now can anyone not fight in front of a toddler and a minor?!"

You said in a mini outburst, leaving Aina to Loki while you glared at all of them. Yes, even Ego who did not immediately deny the accusations.

All of them were of course taken aback by the outburst, used to your soft and kind countenance most of the time. So to see you mad for the first time definitely made them a little guilty.

And also gush because you looked hot-

Ahem, anyway. It took a bit of deeper explanation before they were fully convinced, and well, there was no apology at all for what they said to Ego. He's still an enemy for you in their eyes, so why would they become all buddy-buddy with their opponent?

For the rest of the day, the coaches just ended up watching you be maternal and soft from afar, thinking to themselves that you will indeed be a good future mother someday. And hopefully (and if you'd agree to it), they would be the one who will see that you every day.

ADDITIONAL TIME:

Unbeknownst to you, though, someone was eavesdropping, and that certain someone was Otoya. Running back to his room, he was cackling like an evil conspirator, chatting with the others on his phone:

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[damwynz]

𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀

𐙚🧸ྀི 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya, Ejiro Kirishima, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ 𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: nothing scary, just fluff. pet names, all characters are in a relationship with afab! reader, love languages with the core 5

an: thank you for over 100 notes on my last post!

Katsuki Bakugo: He isn't good with his emotions. No surprise to anyone, but he lovess giving gifts. Without a doubt, he would buy you the whole world if he could. He'd burn it into ashes if you asked him to. He would notice what you pick up in stores, then in secret, would buy it for you later.

"oi, I got you this or whatever." He handed you the stuffed animal you picked up earlier. You smiled and accepted his gift. Both of you blushing, you managed to get up and hug him. He insisted you let go, but he accepted your touch like he craved it from the start.

He also appreciates quality time. It doesn't matter what you two could be doing. It could be training, watching him cook, or even sitting beside each other in silence while being on your phones. As long as he knows you're safe with him, he's able to relax.

Izuku Midoriya: I think Izuku would show his love by showing acts of service and quality time. Without a doubt, Izuku would do anything for you. He appreciates the small tasks/favors you ask him to do, like tying your shoes, helping with homework, etc. If it makes him feel included in your life, he'd do it.

He dies every time you ask to hang out. He gets so overwhelmed when he's the one planning. I mean, where do I start? The poor boy goes into a spiral with the amount of date ideas and what he should wear- other stuff as well, but he goes crazy. However, if you were to plan the date, he'd be fine with anything. As long as you're with him, it doesn't matter.

Ejiro Kirishima: His love language is for sure physical touch and words of affirmation. I picture his s/o to work out a lot or have similar motives to become "manly", so you two would practically be touching up each other every time you two train. Despite training, he loves your touch. If you forget to hug or kiss him that day, he might actually die. Physical touch reassures him that you're there for him and you're here to stay.

On the other hand, he loves motivating his girl and what's better motivation than one's words?

"Good job!", "You're doing great baby", "Atta' girl!"

Shoto Todoroki: I personally think that Shoto is 100% on board with quality time with a hint of physical touch. He's not used to it but once he receives it, there's no going back. I mean, he's never gotten the love he deserved so when you came along, you finally filled that open wound.

Like Katsuki, he wouldn't mind some quiet quality time. Where the two of you remain in your own corners, doing whatever, while being in the same room. He would probably study your movements. Peeping over your phone to see what you personally find funny, sad, happy, etc.

With the help of his siblings, he buys meaningful gifts for you. Like something poetic y'know?

Denki Kaminari: I lovee writing for Denki so this might be long. His love language is everything on the scale. He'd want to do things for you, to please your needs and emotions. he values how you feel so much that he's probably put your needs over his but you have to remind him to himself first despite being his girlfriend.

Who can forget quality time? He wouldn't want to spend the day without his baby. He's hovering over you 24/7, waiting for your next move. When you're not with him, you can hear his cute whiny voice asking "where's [reader] :("

He never misses a moment to make you feel loved. Compliments is a major requirement. This obviously goes both ways, but he definitely does over do it sometimes.

If you're not in reach of him, he'll make sure to run towards you, arms wide and everything. It's even worse during y'all's alone time. Imagine cuddling and trying to use the bathroom but your stupid boyfriend won't let you go because he'll "miss your touch"

Finally, he loves giving you things he makes/finds. He'll even pick up flowers from the ground and put them in your hair because it reminds him of you. He's the type of boyfriend to go on Instagram or Pinterest for "homemade gifts" because he probably spends his money on food or his personal interests, but if he has extra money, he makes sure to get something for his loving girlfriend!

[demon-at-peace]

DP + DC ficlet

Hi just a short bit of an idea I had, totally non cannon, I basically had an idea and rolled with it,

----

Danny Fenton had died and no one even noticed, no one even cared. At 14 he had stepped into the portal and he died, and he lived. He died a thousand times, and he lived. He was a halfa, a curious being one from myths. No one noticed, and he continued, to live, to fight, except he was dead. He killed pariah dark at 16. He fought with everything he had. He became a king, the ruler of the dead. But he was too alive for the dead and too dead for the living.

At sixteen he died screaming, he died a second time, and he did not come back. Danny Fenton died that day and Phantom remained, and no one mourned either of them. He escaped, he ran, and he gave up in the living. No he served the dead. He gave them peace. He mourned them.

Perhaps he looked strange, but no one asked why he wore black, no one questioned his affinity for solving cases, they never did notice he was merely talking to the victim. He wasn't some genius. He was asked for help eventually, a cold case in Gotham he was asked to take a look at, and he complied, he took the case, and smiled at the shades. 

And the shades smiled back and they watched him with curious eyes. They were quieter than other shades Danny talked too, they didn't care about their murders they cared about their avengers, the Gotham shades didn't want revenge, they had already been revenged, by Batman.

Really it was funny the way they talked about him, they were so terribly fond of him. Red Hood would be even more popular if not for the fact that he killed some of the shades. Robin had a good reputation, but the newest robin, he was fear, he snapped and hissed, he was angry. Red Robin, who laughed and talked, who was ever so calm, he had the best reputation among the dead.

Even though they talked about the bats and birds, they still talked about their deaths, they gave him names and faces. It was a week after he'd come to Gotham that he finally reached the shade he needed to talk too. He didn't smile, he never smiled when dealing with death. "Pleasure to meet you, Tim Drake Wayne isn't it?"

The shades head snapped up, and Danny stared into icy blue eyes, "My name isn't Wayne!" he spits. Danny however is barely listening, the only thing he can think about is the domino mask on the shades face. Scratched and marred, covered in blood.  

"I  suppose not," Danny agrees still staring at the ruined suit, "I suppose this case is a dead end, assuming you died as robin?"

"Please, as if I'm still robin," he scoffs, "But who are you? Or perhaps what are you? After all you can see me and I'm dead," He asks curiously. 

----

Yeah not cannon at all, idk if I'll continue it but it was fun to write,

Bye :)