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harryspet · 8 months ago

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lonely little lamb | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!stepbrother!rafe x stepsister!reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader, dd/lg dynamic, mentions of violence/blood, somnophilia, stalker!rafe, DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: happy OBX4! This was written before the new season :) Dividers by @/ghoulbloggerrr

In which Rafe knows your secret and just how perfect you'd be together.

word count: 7.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe didn’t catch on immediately. At first, he just thought you were strange, his expectations already tainted by what he'd assumed about you. He’d been prepared for his stepmother’s daughter to be a brat, and on the surface, you fit that mold perfectly. But there was something off about the way you acted around him. You never played innocent, never tried to charm him or win him over like you did with everyone else. You gave him sharp glances at the dinner table when he talked back to Ward and even angrier stares when he disrespected your mother. You never hung around after dinner, always rushing to go back to your room, and “call your friends from back home”. Of course, Rafe listened at your door often and he never heard you making any calls. Having grown up in the house, he felt entitled to know what was happening within its walls.

Your behavior puzzled Rafe to the point of obsession. He woke up every morning to check if your car was still in the driveway and easily memorized your schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you attended classes in the morning at the local community college. On the other days of the week you sat through your online classes. You never ate too early, always going for a late breakfast that usually consisted of avocado toast, a bowl of fruit, and you always came down to refill your “sippy cup”. That’s what Rafe had dubbed it. It was clear, decorated with a stencil design of a baby lamb and had a flip-up spout for easy drinking. You didn’t go many places without it.

It was the small things that fascinated him. The comfort items you clung to, the simple routines that made your life feel organized and secure. You usually took a bubble bath about thirty minutes after dinner, and when you forgot to lock your door, Rafe would slip into your room, drawn by the intimacy of your private world.

He picked up items around your room, like the frame you kept beside your bed. It held a photo of you and your mom: you in your old high school cheerleading uniform, hair pinned back in pigtails, while your mom smiled widely beside you. Despite her cheerful expression, your eyes in the picture looked wistful and lonely. Rafe couldn’t help but imagine you now, with adult curves and eager eyes, wearing that outfit. The thought stirred something in him, making him hard, and he had to tuck himself away, cursing under his breath. At least if you walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in the act.

The more he learned about you, the harder it was to quiet these thoughts. He had always found you pretty, but now his body and mind were becoming obsessed with you. He made a habit of collecting a pair of your panties from the hamper before leaving. He needed them for later, for the release that he craved, driven mad by the scent of you.

The sound of soft, melodic music flowed into your bedroom from behind the bathroom door. Sometimes it was girly pop songs, other times classical, but more often than not, it had the gentle, soothing quality of nursery music. Your bed was always neatly made, draped in a floral quilt, and you kept the same stuffed animals on top, meticulously placed. A small chesnut brown teddy bear, white bunny, and a tiny stuffed lamb. Each one had their own white ribbon wrapped around its neck, tied into a bow.

One time he caught a glimpse of your nighttime skin care routine. You removed the light makeup you always wore and used about ten different products that Rafe didn’t recognize, nor could he guess their use. The last layer was always a light layer of lip balm and Rafe always leaned a bit closer when your puckered your lips in the mirror. His mind easily wandered to idea of your lips around him.

You wouldn’t look so lonely, little lamb, if you just let me in.

He had his suspicions about the secret, kinky things you were into. There had to be a reason you spent so much time by yourself. He didn’t get the answers he was looking for until one night when you’d left your laptop, unlocked on your desk. He took the opportunity to program his fingerprint into it too, just in case he needed to snoop again.

He combed through your social media, public and private, and started checking your messages daily, keeping track of who you talked to, what you were up to. Your public social media was perfect. A mix of selfies with soft lighting, photos of cute coffee shops, and other things you deemed as your “aesthetic”.

It was your camera roll that finally gave Rafe the answers he had been searching for. One folder, marked with a delicate pink heart, caught his attention immediately. Inside were photos of you, taken in front of your floor-length mirror. Each picture was eerily similar, the same vacant, wide-eyed expression on your face, as though you were lost in some faraway place.

You wore pajamas he’d never seen before, soft and childlike. Sometimes it was pastel-colored footie pajamas, other times it was nightgowns in soft shades of pink, lavender, or baby blue. In a few, you were bundled up in fuzzy socks or slippers with floppy bunny ears. Your hair was always styled with bows, either pink or white. There was a strange innocence in these details, one that clashed with the tension building inside Rafe as he scrolled through the images.

Sometimes you were biting down on your nails, others your thumb rested in your mouth, but most of the time you were gripping one of your stuffed animals tight to your chest.

You looked...adorable. But in a way that made Rafe’s pulse quicken with something darker. The softness, the vulnerability you displayed in those photos, fed his obsession.

Another folder marked with a unicorn emoji held more photos that you’d saved. He recognized some of the characters from children’s TV shows he remembered Wheezie watching. Others were pictures from Disney movies, and Rafe quickly realized you had a special preference for the princesses. You seemed drawn to Cinderalla, Belle, and Snow White. It offered a glimpse into your mind, into your fantasies, how you were drawn to things with an air of purity and sweetness.

Rafe’s heart slowed when a message popped up from someone named Mr. Hayes. Been thinking about you all day, sweetheart. The message said. A moment later, another one came. How was ur bath?

Rafe opened the text thread and began to scroll. Each word that he read made his blood boil. There were too many messages for him to read. You’d sent him photos of yourself, let him call you pet names, and you’d even gone so far as calling him… Daddy. He’d never sent you a photo but that didn’t seem to matter. You were willing to share the details of your life with him.

Rafe’s vision blurred with rage. Daddy. This virtual fantasy, a stranger who you didn’t even know, did not deserve your affection. He decided then you were his, whether you knew it or not.

Rafe decided then to also make it a habit to check your messages.

Several weeks later, you’d finally convinced Mr. Hayes to meet you in person. Rafe couldn’t let that happen. As your stepbrother and your protector, it would be wrong of him to let some stranger hurt you. Besides, he’d become obsessed to the point where now he was dying to know exactly who this man was.

You didnd’t know any better, but he did.

“Hey,” Rafe spoke to you the afternoon before your secret rendevouz, interrupting your fruit cutting, “My Dad just texted. Him and your Mom aren’t going to make it back tonight. There flight keeps getting delayed so they’re going to stay the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” You replied simply, returning back to your task again.

“Wheezie’s sleeping at a friends and I’m probably going to a party at Kelce’s,” You gave him a look, as if it was strange to be conversating with him alone without the presence of the rest of their blended family, “...Do you want to come? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head, “No, thank you. I’ll just stay in.”

Rafe leaned on the marble countertop, staring across the kitchen island at you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you go out one time since you moved in.”

Rafe’s sudden interest in your habits had become more noticeable lately, but you figured it was nothing, just him being Rafe, always lurking in the background, watching everyone, everything. Your mother had warned you that she thought something was off about him and living with him over the past nine months had sealed the fact that you didn’t trust him.

You didn’t trust many people at all, actually, never having had a stable home life. Your mother had always had money, or at least latched on to men who had money, but those men came and went. Even your mother wasn’t someone you could count on. She’d uprooted your life more than once, moving you across states just to be with a man who could give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

Mr. Hayes had offered you comfort in this transitional time. You had no one to confide your secret in accept for the communities you found online. It made you anxious to even think about finding a partner one day and having to explain this side of you. Friends on the internet wouldn’t judge you.

But online, the stakes felt lower. The people you spoke with, people like Mr. Hayes, didn’t judge. The risk of being truly seen, and rejected, was something you couldn’t handle. Not yet.

You paused what you were doing, knife hovering over a piece of strawberry, “You really want to spend the night alone. On a Friday night?”

Rafe sauntered around the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made a shiver run down your spine. He knew he was handsome. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes that always had a raging storm behind them. His gold ring and his gold watch. Most important of all, he knew he intimidated you, his size being enough to make you feel smaller than you actually were.

“I have to study,” You spoke curtly, trying to cut off the line of questioning you sensed was coming. You moved to keep cutting up your fruit but you paused again when Rafe reached out to grab a piece from the cutting board. You looked up at him as he popped the piece of strawberry into his mouth.

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe’s lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was thriving on that power, the uncpoken tension in the air. The way he could make your heart race in that mix of fear and something else he knew you’d never admit.

“Oh yeah?” Rafe placed a hand on the counter, “You have all weekend to study. C’mon, have some fun, princess.”

You took in a breath at the sound of the pet name. He hadn’t ever called you that before and for a moment it looked like he was seeing right through you.

“I-” Quickly, you turned your head away, refocusing on the task, as your cheeks heated with embarrassment, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to come out,” Rafe continued, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, “You got secret plans or something?”

“No,” You said quickly, “I told you, I’m studying.”

Rafe let out a dry chuckle, no real amusement behind it, “You sure you’re not just hiding?”

“It’s not your business,” You snapped finally, your tone icy, “And I… I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rafe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you, princess,” You dropped the knife, your heart beating too fast, and you quickly picked up your pieces of fruit and placed them in your bowl. Rafe leaned closer, watching your every move, and the intensity of his gaze was starting to unravel you, “You’re so jumpy. It’s just me. No need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” You muttered but your fingers trembled as you grabbed ahold of your bowl of fresh fruit and your lamb cup.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rafe took another step closer and you backed away from the counter.

“Stop it,” Your frustration flared, unsure of why exactly Rafe was trying to stir you up. Your lips pressed together and you tried to stop your reaction, but with him towevering over you, invading your space, you felt effectively suffocated. It wasn’t until your back was pressed into the stainless steal fridge, your bowl the only thing protecting you from being pushed against Rafe, that you actually flinched.

“Hey,” Rafe lifted on arm, casually bracing his hand on top of the fridge as he looked down at you, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. His voice was deceptively gentle, “Rafe–”

“I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Something flickered in his eyes, something you didn’t recognize, and for a moment, you questioned if you’d read this entire situation correctly, “I know how fragile you are. How scary the world can seem. I’m offering …you know …because I’d be there to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of him trying to talk down to you. Rafe Cameon almost sounded caring. “You don’t need to be so on guard all the time,” Rafe continued.

“I just …” You couldn’t stop the way your voice softened, “I like keeping to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people. I just don’t …fit in here.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding, and it was the first time you looked at one another as real people, “I get it. You’re not like the other girls around here. You’re smarter, quieter … softer. You can trust me though, yeah? You don’t gotta hide from me.”

For a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. Maybe Rafe had managed to see you and was willing to understand you, unlike anyone else you had met on this island. It all felt real until you focused more on his eyes. Your expression had softened, melted from frustration to wide-eyed curiosity, and that had caused a shift in his eyes. You saw that flicker of darkness that you’d seen before.

“I can look after you, ya’ know?” He said, voice dripping to a lower tone, “Help you. You don’t need to worry too much.”

Before you could respond, his other arm lifted, and you felt his fingers graze your cheek, the touch startlingly intimate.

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Rafe’s jaw tightened, the mask he was wearing beginning to slip, “Don’t be like that, princess.”

“Stop,” You managed to say, “Stay away from me.”

In just a few hours, you’d finally get to meet Mr. Hayes. None of Rafe’s games would matter then. When you went silent, you watched as Rafe’s hand balled into a fist and he turned his body away.

“Suit yourself,” He’d said coldly, his void devoid of any of the warmth that was there before.

You stared down at your bowl of fruit dumbfounded for a moment too long. Princess. How did Rafe know how desperately you wanted someone to call you that?

Rafe stayed at Kelce’s party until eleven He finished his last pabst blue ribbon, said goodbye to only a handful of his friends, before he made his way to his truck. Knowing they would find it strange for him to leave so early, he mad the excuse that he was going to meet up with a girl at the Island Club.

In reality, Rafe was headed twenty minutes away, towards Winward Beach. Mr. Hayes wanted to meet you at midnight. One of the many red flags Rafe assumed you had ignored. You probably thought it was romantic, meeting at a secluded beach in the middle of the night. Like the two of you were fucking Romeo and Juliet.

Stupid, Rafe thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Rafe parked his car in the small parking lot that sat near the boardwalk, turning off all of his lights, and waited for the creep to show up first. Rafe thought for a moment that neither of you might show when midnight started to approach. Maybe you’d wisened up, listened to your gut instinct that told you something wasn’t right. He didn’t believe it for long, you were too trusting. Too soft.

When a tan sedan that Rafe didn’t recognize pulled up in a parking spot close to the walkway, Rafe knew who it was. In the dark and without any streetlights, he only saw a dark figure carrying a backpack make his way towards the beachwalk. He waited until the figure made it halfway before he climbed out of his truck.

The moon was high, casting a white glow over the empty landscape.

Anger simmered beneath Rafe’s skin as he watched the man from a safe distance. He moved with a nervous energy, often glancing over his shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone. Wooden planks creaked softly under his weight but Mr. Hayes didn’t notice, not until he’d made it to the beach, and Rafe appeared behind him.

The man turned his head, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, this was all a coincidence. Rafe was a nobody, just a stranger taking a walk on the beach, until Rafe’s lips pulled into a smile, “Not what you were expecting?”

“Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Hayes was certainly not what Rafe was expecting. A completely unremarkable middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his thinning brown hair, pale skin, lightly freckled and a slight paunch that rested over the waistband of his dreams. A complete creep. Someone completely undeserving of even being looked at by you.

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Rafe was feeling, “You’re Mr. Hayes?”

“What?” Up close, Rafe could see the way the man's eyes started to dart around. He took another step further and the man stumbled back in the thick sand, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just–”

“You’re just a coward?” Rafe finished, his tone mocking, “I mean, I understand now why you hid your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Rafe interrupted again, snarling, his hand lashing out to grab the front of the man’s shirt. He yanked him forward and the man’s eyes went wild with panic, “Meeting up with an innocent girl in the middle of the night? Sneaking around like a creep? What’s in that fucking bag?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Hayes struggled. Rafe couldn’t believe how weak the man was. Strong enough to overpower you, maybe, but weak. As soon as the though of this man pinning you down in the sand crossed his mind, Rafe’s eyes went wild, “Nothing, I’m sorry!”

Rafe shoved him hard and the man stumbled backwards into the sand. He towered over the man, his shadow casting long across the beach. Waves crashed loudly in the background but Rafe’s voice boomed over the sound, “I don’t think you are! You probably thought you could just take what you wanted, huh? Fucking answer me!”

The man scrambled backwards, hands digging into the sand, backward hanging awkwardly from his shoulder. Why didn’t he just drop it …if he wasn’t hiding anything, he would let it go, “I wasn’t — I didn’t mean, I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what? That she was half your age? That she was too good for you?” Rafe’s lip curled in disgust. He knelt down, his face inches from Mr. Hayes’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “She’s not yours. She never will be.”

“Okay,” He nodded, holding out a hand as if to put distance between them, “I just wanted to meet her. I know I lied. I’m sorry. I won’t …it won’t happen again. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at the trembling man. Without another word, he grabbed for the backpack. The man resisted, of course, a series of “Wait, wait, wait,” leaves his lips. Rafe doesn’t leave space to argue because he pushed his palm into the man’s chest, pinning him down, before he lets his fist connect with the side of the man’s face.

The man gasps, whimpers, as he curls into a ball on the sand, “F-Fuck!” The creep moans. Rafe pulls away the bag, ripping open the zipper, and dumping the contents onto the sand.

A cheap blanket, a cheap bottle of wine, and then Rafe’s eye catches on the condoms and then then the thick, coiled string of rope. Without another thought, Rafe was tackling the man, grabbing a hold of his collar, pulling him up and slamming his head into the ground over and over again. Rafe didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into the man’s face harder and harder. Each blow left a sickening crack echoing in the air.

Crack. Groan of pain. Crack. Whimper, “You though you could hurt her? Touch what’s not yours? Brutalize her?” Rafe snarled, voice low and vicious. When the man finally went unconscious, his body limp, face bloody and unrecognizable, “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s chest heaved as he stared down at his work. Nothing about the blood and broken flesh bothered him. He looked down at his hand which were covered in the man’s blood and only felt satisfied.

He’d protected you. His pulse spiked even more as he heard footsteps on the boardwalk. You’d shown up. Rafe watched you kick off flip flops and run towards them. No matter how dark it was, you were easily visible in the baby pink dress you’d chosen. The contrast between you and the violent seen before you sente a surge of protectiveness through him. He stood from where he knelt in the sand and quickly crossed the distance towards you.

You slowed as you took in the scene before you, “Rafe?” you whispered, “Rafe, what’s … that’s not …oh my god.”

Rafe grabbed you by your arms, turning your shaking body away. It was a gruesome mess, nothing you should have to see, “He’s dead,” You spoke with wide, terrified eyes, “Wh-Why? You killed him.”

“He’s not dead,” Rafe said quickly, “He’s still breathing … I had to stop him.”

You didn’t listen, you turned your head and saw the unnatural position the man laid in, “Rafe, he’s dead!”

Rafe shook you slightly, “He’s not. I promise.”

“What did you do?” You cried, tears beginning to stream down your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He tried to assure you, “I had not. He was going to hurt you, Y/N. Look, he brought …he brought all that shit with him. There was rope in his bag, condoms … I did this for you!”

You shook your head, trying to pull away from Rafe’s bloody hands, “You beat him?” Your voice broke under the weight of your fear, “He’s not moving. You can’t …why would you–”

Rafe’s heart twisted in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were supposed to be afraid of, “He deserved it,” Rafe said, voice quiet and serious, “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Rafe tried to pull you but you resisted. Easily, he lifted you into his arms, bloody hands staining your skin and now your dress, “We have to call someone!” You shouted at him, hiccuping through your tears, “Rafe, put me down!”

Rafe ignored you, strides long and steady, carrying you back towards the beachwalk. It was better for Mr. Hayes if the police weren’t involved. Undoubtely, a man like that had a record. Rafe was doing him a favor by only leaving him bloody on the beach.

In his arms, you were powerless. Your mind was reeling. Even in his bloody state, you knew the man there was not who Mr. Hayes had described himself as. Rafe could be right about all of this but it still felt wrong.

In Rafe’s truck, you sat curled up against the door, your knees pulled to your chest. A dark and empty road stretched before you, yacht rock played at a low volume in the background, and Rafe’s heavy breathing was louder than any of your thoughts.

Every few minutes, you stole a glance at him. The tension had yet to leave his body, though he was coming down from the adrenaline. His breathing was heavy but deliberate, as if he was attempting to calm himself, “I didn’t want you to see that, you know that, right?” Rafe said suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence, “Like …I know that was fucked up. You believe me, right? About what I said?”

Your throat tightened so much that your words came out strangled, “I don’t know … what to believe.”

“He was going to hurt you. If I hadn’t stepped in — If I-I hadn’t acted proactively, he would’ve hurt you. He would be hurting you right now. You know that, right?” The brutality of Mr. Hayes’s alleged actions began to cloud Rafe’s actions. He said it over and over. You couldn’t help that now you were imagining it. Maybe this was the only way to rationalize the situation. Maybe you had to believe him.

You saw the items in the sand. You saw that he’d lied about his age, about his appearance, and his intentions. He was the monster. That was the better version. Everything was a lot less wrong that way.

“Y/N,” Rafe spoke again, his deep voice rattling your ear drums, “You know that.”

You finally nodded, “Okay,” You agreed.

“Good,” Rafe seemed to let out a breath of relief. Hands still tight on the steering wheel, he tilted his head back, “He wasn’t some innocent guy. I swear that to you. Like I wouldn’t lie about that shit.”

You nodded until your head started to hurt.

“I did this for you,” Rafe said, “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” You whispered as you wiped the wetness from your cheeks. Your eyes caught on the dried blood that wrapped around in a band on your arm, “...Rafe?”

“Yeah, baby?” Rafe voice turned gentler as he glanced over at you.

“Did you …look at my messages?”

Rafe’s demeanor grew casual, like the worst of his anxieties had passed, “I did what I had to do,” He said, like it was a simple explanation. He didn’t seem concerned at his obvious breach of privacy. Didn’t seem to understand that the pit in your stomach was deepening.

“Then you…”

“Then I know,” He finished and you watched a sinister smile pull at his lips, “Aren’t you relieved? I know and I’m not judging you. I’ve been wanting to figure you out since I met you. And now there’s no secrets between us.”

“Rafe…” You began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, “How could you?”

“I had to,” He insisted, “If I hadn’t, where would you be now? What if he had taken you? Killed you? What would that do to your mom?”

Your brows furrowed, trying to process his words, and the vile images that left in your mind, “The stuff on my phone is …private. It’s private for a reason. I don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” He countered, offering you a patronizing tone, “I know what you want, what you need. I’m happy to give you that. And I’d do a hell of better job than that waste of life on the beach.”

You connected the dots the moment those words left his lips. He wanted to be what Mr. Hayes had been to you. A caretaker. Someone to nurture your most innocent idea.

“Rafe … Ward is married to my mom,” The most logical reason that was a crazy idea came to your mind quickly.

“So?” He replied dismissevly.

“You’re my stepbrother,” Not even that registered with him, “I don’t think …it’s not what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Rafe reached across the console, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of your hand. You stared back at him with wide eyes, your fear obvious especially when he took his eyes off the road, “You’re confused. You were willing to trust a man on the internet when the perfect person to take care of you is right here with you. No one else. Me.”

Feeling trapped, your next thought became calming him down. For fear of him crashing the car or never loosening his grip, you forced your expression to soften, “I know you can protect me,” You nodded your head, “And thank you for that …I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was stupid. I’m …I’m glad you care about me like that.”

Rafe squeezed your hand gently, “Yeah?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I had no idea …I just thought you were usually annoyed with me,” You said and rafe seemed to exhale, his shoulders loosening, “I trust you, it’s just a lot to process right now.”

“I get it,” Rafe let go of your hand, but gave you no time to feel relieved, because next he placed his strong, large hand on your thigh, “I think we’re good for each other. I just have to show you, Y/N.”

Tannyhill was empty except the two of you. Your heart raced as Rafe led you upstairs to your room, hand firmly on the small of your back. When the door to the bedroom softly clicked behind you, closing the two of you in, you felt like throwing up.

You started to imagine Rafe wandering around, looking through all your things, all without your permission. He felt out of place there in your sanctuary but it was clear he’d made himself comfortable a long time a go. He led you over to the edge of your bed, and shakily, you sat down. He kneeled down in front of you, a position quite to vulnerable and intimate for you.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, voice deep in concerning. Lifting one of your heels from the ground, he looked closely at your legs, as if checking for an injury.

You shook your head, know the most your body had been through tonight had been at his hands, “I’m okay,” You spoke, your voice small.

Rafe looked up at you, “It’s okay if you’re not, yeah?” Rafe said, voice softening as his hand slid further up your leg. When you pulled your leg back, his grip remained firm, possessive, “Everyone’s gone. I’m asking you to lean on me, princess.”

With no hint of asking for permission, you stared back at your stepbrother. You couldn’t help but feel as if the timing of tonight had worked out eerily in his favor. Everyone in your family was gone for the night and there was no Mr. Hayes to text about your feelings.

“I’m going to run the bath for you,” Rafe decided, lips parted as if he was deep in thought, “Yeah, stay right here.”

“I’m fine, I can do it–” You began as Rafe made his way towards your bathroom.

He held out a finger and you stopped your movements quickly, frozen by the intensity in his gaze, “Stay.”

He didn’t have to raise his voice for you to feel the threat in his tone. Somehow, this version of him was scarier than the one that relentlessly struck a man until he was unrecognizable.

The sound of running water filled the room. Closing your eyes, controlling your breathing, the sound brought you to your routine. That sound of running water was always soothing to you. It was usually how your mind was able to slip into that comforting place on the other side of your mind. Things were lighter there, a place where you had no cares at all, and you enjoyed the things that you’d normally be embarrassed by. You pressed your feet into your fuzzy white carpet, your favorite place to listen to music and do one of your coloring books. You were almost there, the water having tricked you into falling deeper, until you caught a glimpse of Rafe standing behind the door, washing blood away in the sink.

You tightened your eyes even more, shaking your head. This was certainly not the time to let down your guard.

He appeared moments later, drying his hands with one of your pink washcloths, “Come on, let’s get you ready,” He said, his head tilted towards the bathroom, his voice deceptively warm.

Your feet betrayed you and you hesitantly crossed the room. Another door between you and your life before you knew Rafe felt this way. When it closed shut, you realized you’d sealed your fate. How could it be a mistake when this was the place in life where you felt safest? To accept something was wrong meant accepting that you had nowhere left to feel warm, innocent, or child-like.

Fingers caressed your skin, lifting the hem of your dress, gently raising your arms, until you were standing in your underwear. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again and it didn’t register how badly your lips were trembling until Rafe’s thumb caressed your bottom lip, “You’re okay,” He assured you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You’d wanted this desperately, for someone to see you and not want to run away. You wanted someone to take care of you, someone devoted to nurturing you. Your eyes locked on Rafe’s and you felt his palm against your bottom, fingers traveling beneath the fabric of your panties. You kept your head tilted up as he leaned down, pressing lips that were softer than could’ve ever imagined, against your neck.

You melted against him.

Vanilla and strawberry swirled in the air, strong but gentle hands caressed you, and your tears started to feel more like a release than a burden. He kissed the spot on your throat that had gone sore from all tears.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered and you felt it everywhere.

After removing your bra and panties, he helped you into the bath. Quickly, the blood and tears seemed to leave your skin, as if you’d imagined them. He touched you in a way that more natural, human, than expected. With deliberate care, he moved his hands over you, an act that felt practiced.

Everything dissolved there in the warm bath, the heaviness of the entire night. Bubbles clung to your skin, and your fingers moved lazily over the surface of the water. Rafe washing you, moving a soapy washcloth over your skin, should’ve felt strange but were left in that hazy place where things were simple.

“This is how things are going to be,” You heard him say, “We’ll make it work, okay? You get to be yourself and I’m the one who takes care of you now. I’m your Daddy.”

You’d never said that word out loud. Daddy. It was a faraway concept, a dream …just like the cloud you were floating in right now. You hugged yourself, mind wandering to that soft bed with all of your plushies.

“Say it, princess,” you turned your head to him, mouth parted, eyes curious.

“Say what?” You asked in a whisper, an innocent haze in your eyes.

He smiled. You had done something right. You gave him a soft smile too. He leaned closer, “Say ‘Daddy’,” He commanded softly, “Please, princess.”

Part of you hesitated, knowing you were giving away something precious. The other part wanted to please him, after all, he’d brought you this sense of peace. And maybe the sooner you made him happy, the sooner he’d tuck you into your warm bed, and let this long day finally end.

“Daddy,” You tested out the word on your tongue and though it sounded fragile, his eyes seemed to light up, “...since you said please.”

Nothing could smoulder that spark of satisfaction in his eyes. The look made your heart flutter, a sharp contrast from before when it felt like exploding.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Your cheeks warmed and you turned your face to hide from him. You couldn’t take it when he looked at you like that. That look made it feel like everything was okay.

“I made a mistake,” Your voice came out in a whine. Rafe ran the warm cloth across your back, a reminder of that peaceful bubble he’d created around you.

He shushed you, “You didn’t,” He assured you, “You’re a good person, a good girl. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His words made you sink deeper. The soft strokes of the warm washcloth, the vanilla-scent against your skin, and the pressure against your most sensitive areas. You felt the tension in your body melt away further.

Slowly, gripping your knees to your chest, you turned your face back towards him, “You can’t tell anybody, Rafe,” You whispered.

“Never,” He said, leaning closer, “Pinky swear?”

Rafe reached his other hand toward you, his pinky finger extended in front of you, moving like he was carefully dismantling some fragile, like a bomb. You stared for a brief movement, surprised and warmed by the gesture. You had no idea Rafe was capable of being so gentle. You unwrapped yourself a little bit, bring your closest pinky towards his hand. Your smaller finger wrapped around his and you were tethered together.

“There, I promise I won’t tell anyone, princess,” He looked at you deeply, “Okay?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, your hand falling gently back into the water, “Let’s get you out of here before you wrinkle up,” He decided and you watched him cross the room to grab your towel hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He walked back with a quiet confidence and his grip was completely sure, deliberate, as he helped you from the tub, “I’ve got ya’.”

He’d wrapped one arm underneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you gently. You imagined pressing yourself into him but a towel soon separated you. You shivered, and instinctually, you wanted to dry yourself but Rafe took responsibility of that as well. He was so close, so protective. It was awkward at first, being able to take care of that mundane task but not having to. You leaned into it, letting your body be soothed by the ritual.

You kept sinking.

“Arms up,” He’d said after bringing you back to your bedroom. He chose an oversized purple t-shirt, designed with small pictures of cartoon pandas. For your underwear, he chose a light blue pair decorated with rainbows. Your eyelids grew heavy and after your first yawn, Rafe lifted you onto the side of your bed, “There you go. All set.”

You crawled into your cocoon further, settling underneat your quilt. You watched Rafe as you settled there, as he moved across the room. Your sleepy eyes widened for a moment, realizing his shirt was gone and that he was fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

It was a threshold you’d never expected to reach, with Rafe or anyone else. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped beside you, your nerves sparked. You grabbed ahold of your lamb stuffed animal, letting that bring you a familiar comfort. Rafe nestled closer to you, his body at ease, relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you.

You did your best to do the same, trying to lean into that same vulnerability you felt when he was bathing you. Warm skin against yours, strong hands on your waist, warm breath against your ear, it was overwhelming, “I-Is this okay?” You asked, breaking the silence.

Looking for reassurance, you turned your head until your noses were almost pressed together.

“Yeah,” Rafe spoke low and smooth, “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, nervously, “I’m okay.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead and you took a deep breath, letting the feeling sooth your anxiety, “I’ve got you,” Rafe’s fingers ran down your arm then to your waist. He held you there, feeling your flesh there, squeezing, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

He touched you in new ways, gripped you hard in some places and softer in others. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your nose and then he placed soft lips against your cheek, “Relax,” He whispered in your ear, “I know you’re sleepy. I’ll do all the work.”

In your state of mind, his words felt like a riddle. What did he mean? You knew you liked his touch and that you wanted to sleep. Rafe knew more than you, clearly, maybe that’s what makes him a good Daddy. You should trust him.

You closed your eyes as you let him press his face into your neck. He kissed you there, finding the most sensitive spot on your skin, and it made your lips part in a soft moan, “Call me Daddy,” He spoke against your skin, “Please, baby? Just say it and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” You whispered back hesitantly and Rafe groaned, “D-Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Rafe cursed, grabbing a handful of your bottom, “That’s exactly what I want from you.”

You felt hardness pressing against your upper thigh and you gripped your lamb tighter. You leaned into sleep, letting Rafe move your body as he pleased, only moving your lips to whisper, “Daddy” in Rafe’s ear. He seemed please and you felt a warmness in your center that you wanted more of.

Soon he was on top of you, your legs spread as he sat in between them. He rubbed you there. His rhythm was perfect, his accuracy impeccable, so much that you didn’t have to even move your hips to get the friction you needed. You panted and when you reached your peak, Rafe swallowed your moans, putting his mouth on your lips.

It didn’t fully register to you when Rafe pushed your underwear aside and started to push inside of you. He was so gentle and you were so tired. He pulled your arms to the side, pressing his front against you, but you kept one hand wrapped around the arm of your stuffed animal, “Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy”

You winced when you felt all of him, and instinctively, you pushed at his heavy arms, “You’re okay,” He said, and his voice was louder to you than his heavy breathing or the sound of his skin hitting against yours, “You’re doing so good. Daddy’s almost done. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, Y/N. Shit.”

The satisfaction and pride in his words brought almost enough warmth to mask the pain of being stretched by him. You slowly grew used to the feeling but the feeling was so intense and you had so little energy to withstand it, to take all of him.

“Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

His thrust slowed but his weight kept you pinned there. He grabbed ahold of your chin and you blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth was parted, his eyes holding a darkness that you thought had gone away, “Jesus, baby.”

As he shifted to his side, all you could muster was to turn away, pulling your lamb close to your chest and allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Rafe nestled against you once more, his hands gripping your hips until your bottom was pressed firmly against him. You felt the warmth of his lips against your hair, and then his sleepy voice whispered, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Reblog and comment if you enjoyed, would love to know your thoughts!!

#dark fic #rafe cameron #little space #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader

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purplereina11 · 4 months ago

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You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

Coach called an end to the practice with a satisfied smile. "Cool down and stretches, then you're free to go," she announced, adding under her breath to you, "Nice work today. Funny how motivation works, isn't it?"

As the team dispersed for cool-down exercises, you noticed a small commotion near the bleachers. Several fans had approached Alexia for photos and autographs, which she was graciously providing while her teammates formed a protective semicircle around her.

You deliberately took your time with your stretches, uncertain of the protocol for this unprecedented situation. Was she going to approach you? Should you go to her? The questions buzzed in your mind as you toweled off the sweat from your face.

Liv appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow. "Security's asking if you want to go out another door after you shower. Apparently, there's quite a crowd waiting outside."

You nodded, trying to appear casual. "Yeah, that works."

"You know," Liv said thoughtfully, "I've never seen you play like that before. It was like watching someone who'd been possessed by the basketball gods."

You shrugged, unable to explain the surge of energy that had carried you through practice. "Just a good day, I guess."

"Uh-huh," Liv replied skeptically. "Nothing to do with your number one fan over there." You smiled as Liv laughed at you coach shouting about after showering you all needed to remember to help clear the gym up.

In the locker room, you showered quickly, then spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding between your casual outfits. Maya watched with amusement as you discarded a third shirt option.

"It's just a conversation," she reminded you, though her smile suggested she knew better.

"I know that," you replied, finally settling on a simple black top and jeans. "I just don't want to look like I just finished practice."

"Even though you literally just finished practice," Liv pointed out, watching you with amusement as you ran a hand through your damp hair.

"I'm just being professional," you muttered, knowing how unconvincing you sounded.

Maya snorted. "Right. Professional. That's definitely the vibe between you two."

You ignored her, checking your phone instead. Social media was already exploding with clips from practice—your three-pointer at the buzzer, Alexia's reaction, the moment your eyes had met across the court. The hashtag #BasketballMeetsFútbol was trending.

"Security says most of the crowd has dispersed," one of your teammates announced, reading from her phone. "But there are still some media hanging around."

You nodded, suddenly uncertain. What exactly was the plan here? Had there ever been a plan?

As you stepped out of the locker room with Maya and Liv flanking you like self-appointed bodyguards, you were surprised to find the gymnasium nearly empty. A few staff members were taking down equipment, and your coach was deep in conversation with—your breath caught—Alexia's coach, who you recognised immediately.

"Where is she?" Liv whispered, scanning the space.

You felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Perhaps she'd left already. Perhaps this whole thing had been blown out of proportion. You should have expected this. After all, you were the one who started the leaving game. And now Alexia had flipped it right back on you. A strategic exit.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as Liv and Maya grinned at your reaction.

"Oh, that's fucking petty," Liv declared, crossing her arms. "I love it."

Maya nudged you with her elbow. "I think she just called checkmate."

You couldn't even argue. Because, really this was brilliant. After all the teasing, the lingering glances, the online back and forth she’d played you at your own game. She’d left you waiting. And you hated to admit it, but it was working. Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you already knew who it was.

Alexia: Had to leave me wanting more, huh? 😉

You scoffed, but your lips twitched in amusement. Liv peeked over your shoulder, laughing. "Oh, she knows exactly what she's doing."

You shook your head, typing back.

You: Coward move.

Three dots appeared instantly

Alexia: Bold words for someone who left my game first.

Damn. Maya whistled lowly. "She's got a point."

Liv smirked. "So, what now? You gonna let her win?"

You exhaled, staring at your phone. No. No, you weren’t. Because if Alexia wanted to play like this, you’d play better.

You weren’t going to let her have the last word. Not this time. She wanted to be bold? Wanted to leave you waiting? Fine. But you’d make sure the ball was back in your court. Without hesitating, you typed out your next move.

You: Since you like watching so much, maybe you should see a real game up close.

A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared.

Alexia: Oh? Are you inviting me to one of your games?

You grinned, already imagining her reaction to what you were about to say next.

You: No.

You: I’m inviting you to sit court-side.

It took her longer to respond this time.

Maya, who was still watching over your shoulder, whistled. “Oof. That’s a power move.”

Liv snorted. “That’s a checkmate move.”

And then, finally, your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Court-side, huh? Special treatment?

You smirked, typing fast.

You: Just making sure you have the best view. Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.

Another extended pause from Alexia.

Alexia: You better not disappoint, then.

Oh, she had no idea.

Game on.

Warm-ups passed in a blur. The arena filled steadily, the energy building as tip-off approached.

After days of the online war, flirty comments, strategic posts, and a fanbase that was now obsessed with whatever was happening between you and Alexia, you felt like you had the upper hand. You had kept her on her toes. You had left her wondering what you’d do next. But apparently? You had underestimated her. Because Alexia Putellas, she wasn’t the type to stay on the defensive for long. And tonight, she proved it.

It was a home game. A big one. Your first real test against a title contender, and the atmosphere inside the arena was electric. You were locked in from the moment warmups started, laser-focused as you hit your shots, feeling the crowd’s energy.

You were stood singing along to the music playing in the Palau Blaugrana, a ball tucked under your arm, Until you heard a commotion from the stands. Not the usual pre-game noise, something else. You looked up at the big screen above you still sining along to High School Musical blasting over the speakers, your expression plain, then you saw them.

You were expecting Alexia. What you weren’t expecting was half of the Barcelona Women’s team walking in with her. The moment they stepped into the arena, the energy shifted. People noticed, of course they did. Because Alexia alone was enough to turn heads, but with her entire entourage. The place erupted.

Your teammates nudged each other, whispering. The coaching staff exchanged amused glances. Fans pulled out their phones, capturing the moment as Alexia led her teammates to their court-side seats.

She was calm, too calm. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. There coach in tow, seemed team building involved an outing to the basketball, and at the front of the group of course Alexia. Looking smug as hell. Your stomach flipped. She was here. She was actually here. With company none-the-less. You watched the screen hips moves slightly as you kept singing through it all, the cheer that went up when it faded from Alexia taking her seat to a view of you from the side far from you looking up at the screen, who was on the screen, that’s when you spotted she was right opposite you. Your smirk was captured by a camera coming now on your face you popped your chewing gum and wandered away.

Liv leaned over with a low whistle. “That’s not just showing up—that’s making a fucking entrance.”

Maya smirked. “She wants you to know she’s watching.”

Yeah. Loud and clear. You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, willing yourself to focus. If she wanted to test you, You’d give her something to watch. She just had to sit court side in her little mini skirt and bralette combo a black jacket finishing the look, a bit of mystery as she sat in sun glasses and something about those hoop earrings made your brain a little fuzzy.

You took a deep breath, centering yourself. If Alexia wanted a show, you were damn sure going to give her one. And from the very first whistle, you dominated. From the jump ball, you set the tone.

Your first shot? A clean three-pointer—nothing but net.

Your second? A fast-break dunk that had the crowd on their feet.

And every time you scored, every time you locked down on defence, every time you made something happen on the court, you felt her watching. You didn’t even need to look. You just knew. Still, when you finally glanced her way, she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Alexia sat back, arms crossed, lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t far off either. Her teammates were clearly enjoying the whole thing. You caught Patri pointing something out to Alexia, nudging her with a grin. Mapi said something that made Alexia shake her head, but she was still watching. You used it to your advantage. On a fast break, you drove to the basket, elevating over your defender. Before you even landed, you looked at her. Just for a second. Just long enough. The message was clear. This one’s for you. Alexia’s lips parted slightly, the first crack in that composed exterior, but before you could soak in her reaction, the camera crew had caught everything.

The broadcast cameras kept cutting to her. Every time you scored. Every time the crowd went wild. Every time you did something worth noticing. It didn’t take long for Twitter to explode.

@SportsCenter: Alexia Putellas court-side at tonight’s game. We know she’s here for a good time, but who else is enjoying the view? 👀🔥

@BarçaBasketball: Nothing but respect from one captain to another—Putellas reacting to THAT dunk. #BallersRecognizeBallers

@FútbolFandom: Can someone check if Alexia is still breathing after that last play? 😂

@FansUnhinged: WHY IS THIS THE MOST INTENSE FLIRTING WE’VE EVER SEEN??

The whole arena felt it. The tension. The game within the game. And you weren’t stopping now.

The next play was perfectly set up. Your teammate lobbed the ball ahead in transition, and you took off, blowing past your defender. One dribble. Two. Then, liftoff. You threw down a dunk so clean, so explosive, that the entire arena erupted. And when your feet hit the ground again, you didn’t hesitate. You turned. Found her immediately. And with the smoothest confidence you’ve ever had you winked.

Alexia’s Reaction. Caught In 4K. The camera zoomed in just in time to catch her reaction. First, the slight widening of her eyes. Then, the tiniest tilt of her head like she wasn’t sure if you really just did that. Then, the sharp exhale through her nose the telltale sign of someone fighting a smile. Mapi slapped a hand over her mouth, clearly laughing. Patri openly pointed at Alexia, saying something that made her shake her head and look away. But it was too late. The damage was done. And the internet? Absolutely lost its mind.

Twitter Went Crazy

@UnhingedSports: Did [You] just WINK at Alexia after dunking on someone’s soul?? HELPPPPP

@FútbolFandom: Alexia fighting for her life in that seat rn 🤣🤣

@BarçaBasketball: The duality of this woman. On the pitch: cold-blooded. Court-side watching [You]: blushing.

@SportsGossip: WE NEED A POST-GAME INTERVIEW IMMEDIATELY.

#PutellasWatch #BasketballMeetsFútbol #FlirtingThroughSport were all trending before the game even ended.

Liv ran past you during the next timeout, grinning. "Oh, you’re SHOWING out now."

You just smirked, hands on your hips, catching your breath, Alexia, still watching from court-side, gave you a slow nod. Almost like she approved. Like she was saying, Okay. I see you. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Halftime

As you jogged off toward the locker room, you knew you should keep walking. Keep your head down.

Your move. Echoed around your brain. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you jogged toward the tunnel. But one thing was very clear.

You weren’t going to make it easy for her.

Alexia had turned up to your game, had taken your move from you and flipped it on its head. She had sat there, court-side, looking smug as hell while you ran up the scoreboard fully aware that her presence was distracting the hell out of you.

And you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of reacting. Not yet. So when the buzzer sounded, and you walked off the court. You didn’t even glance her way. You jogged straight toward to your bench, grabbing a towel and drink. You felt her eyes on you. You knew she was watching. And still? You didn’t look. Not when your coach clapped you on the back. Not when the press cameras followed your every move. Not even when you knew she was lingering by the tunnel, waiting for something. A glance. A smirk. Anything. And you gave her nothing.

You walked straight past her.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t let her bait you.

And when you disappeared into the locker room. You could almost imagine the frustration flickering across her face.

You took your seat raising your head, Maya staring at you, “You’re EVIL for that.”

Liv never one to not enjoy drama also commented before coach arrived,”She literally waited for you at the bench and you just—walked past. ICE COLD.”

And it wasn’t just your teammates who noticed. The internet had caught on, too. Fans had spotted the moment. Clips were already circulating. Side-by-side comparisons of how Alexia had searched for you after her game versus how you had straight up ignored her after yours. People were losing it.

Tweet: "Alexia put on a masterclass for her basketball player, but when the tables turned? They didn’t even LOOK at her 😭😭 This is insane."

Another Tweet: "Did y’all see the way Alexia was WAITING near the tunnel? She thought she had it in the bag lmaooooo."

Fan Reaction: "We’re witnessing history. This is better than any drama series."

You smirked. Maybe it was petty. But it was fun. And now? You were curious to see what Alexia would do next. You didn’t have to wait long. Because Alexia, she never backed down from a challenge. Your phone buzzed with a new notification next to you.

Alexia: So that’s how it is?

You let it sit for a moment. Made her wait. Then, finally,

You: Didn’t see you there.

A lie. A blatant, obvious lie. She knew it. You knew it. And when those three little dots popped up, you knew she had something to say about it.

Alexia: Oh, you saw me.

Alexia: You just decided to be difficult.

You: Did I?

Alexia: Careful, cariño.

Your breath caught. Cariño. She was pulling out the big guns now. But you weren’t going to let her win that easily.

You: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Nothing after that. Just silence. But you knew she wasn’t going to let it go. Not after this. And now? It was just a matter of waiting to see how she planned to strike back. You had ignored her. Walked right past her like she was just another spectator in the stands.

Alexia was not the type to let something like that slide.

You jogged back onto the court, rolling your shoulders, feeling the shift in the air. The game was still up for grabs, but the energy had changed. Alexia was watching. Everyone knew she was watching. But you didn’t look. Not once. You wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

The third quarter started strong, but the opposing team had made adjustments. They pressed harder, closed passing lanes, and forced you into tougher shots. Your rhythm faltered slightly as fatigue began to set in. During a free throw, you found yourself glancing toward Alexia again. This time, she wasn't watching you with that playful challenge, she was leaning forward, elbows on knees, studying the game with intensity. When you missed your second free throw, she winced slightly, as if feeling it herself.

The fourth quarter transformed into a battle of wills. With three minutes left, your comfortable lead had dwindled to just four points. Coach called a timeout, gathering the team in a tight huddle.

"They're targeting you," she said directly to you. "Using your fatigue against you. We need to adjust."

You nodded, breathing hard, sweat dripping down your face. As the huddle broke, your eyes drifted involuntarily toward Alexia. She was no longer seated but standing at the edge of the courtside area, her focus absolute. When she caught your gaze, she gave you a small, determined nod—not flirtatious or playful, but supportive.

Something shifted in that moment. The noise of the crowd faded, and a calm clarity settled over you. This wasn't about impressing her anymore. This was about the game you loved.

The final minutes were a masterclass. You slipped into a zone where every movement felt predestined, every pass connected perfectly, every defensive read anticipated. When the final buzzer sounded, your team had pulled ahead by twelve points, sealing a decisive victory.

The locker room erupted in celebration. Coach gave her usual post-game speech, praising the team's resilience while highlighting areas for improvement. Throughout it all, your thoughts kept drifting back to that moment—to Alexia's nod, to the way the game had suddenly crystallised around you.

The media was waiting for you. You knew it the second you walked into the post-game press conference. The usual questions about tactics, fitness, and upcoming fixtures were gone. Instead? All eyes were on you. And it wasn’t hard to guess why. You had been baiting Alexia online for weeks now. She had finally flipped the script. And the entire sports world?They were eating it up. So when the first reporter finally asked the question. You weren’t surprised.

You barely had time to sit down before the first one fired away.

Reporter 1: "We have to ask, your interactions with Alexia Putellas have been getting a lot of attention lately. Fans are calling it one of the most entertaining storylines in sports right now. Any comment?"

Your teammates, sitting beside you, snickered. Your coach sighed. You just leaned forward, adjusting the mic slightly, keeping your expression neutral. "I wouldn’t call it a storyline," you said smoothly. "She’s a footballer. I play basketball. Not much to compete over, is there?"

Laughter rippled through the room, but they weren’t going to let you off that easy.

Reporter 2: "Right, but she did show up to your game tonight with some of her teammates. Would you still say there’s nothing to comment on?"

You exhaled, fighting back a smirk. "She’s free to attend any game she wants," you said simply. "I’m sure she enjoys basketball."

Your coach muttered something under their breath. Probably unbelievable.

Reporter 3: "So it was just a coincidence that you ignored her completely? Even when she was clearly waiting for you near the tunnel?"

Your teammates were loving this. You could hear Maya barely holding in her laughter.

"Didn’t see her there," you said, deadpan. The entire room erupted. Your coach put her head in her hands.

Reporter 4: "You’re saying you didn’t see one of the most famous athletes in Spain, sitting court-side, watching your game?"

You shrugged, playing it cool. "The crowd was pretty packed."*

Reporter 5: "So, just to clarify, are you two friends? Or is this something… more?"

That was the one. The question. Your teammates froze. Your coach stared at you. And you? You leaned into the mic, heartbeat hammering, and said, “You should ask her."

The reporters lost it. More questions were hurled at you—

Reporter 6: "So you’re saying it’s up to Alexia to define it?" Reporter 7: "Are you waiting for a response from her?" Reporter 8: "Will she be at your next game?"

You just grinned, pushing back from the table.

"Alright," your coach interrupted, finally stepping in, "I think we’ve had enough TMZ for today. Let’s keep it basketball-related, yeah?"

And just like that, the press conference was over. Within minutes, the clips were everywhere.

Tweet: "‘Didn’t see her there’ STOP THE LIES."* Tweet: "‘You should ask her’ NOOOOO THIS IS TOO GOOD."* Fan reaction: "I love how the coach just gave up mid-interview."* Comment: "Alexia saw this and started plotting, I KNOW IT."*

Alexia had seen it because twenty minutes later, she liked the clip. And then she posted something of her own.

A black screen.

White text.

"Just a fan, huh?"

With a thinking emoji.

And at that point this was bigger than just teasing each other. Because now the whole world was waiting for the next move.

Part 4

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

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Holy CRAP the UN Cybercrime Treaty is a nightmare

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If there's one thing I learned from all my years as an NGO delegate to UN specialized agencies, it's that UN treaties are dangerous, liable to capture by unholy alliances of authoritarian states and rapacious global capitalists.

Most of my UN work was on copyright and "paracopyright," and my track record was 2:0; I helped kill a terrible treaty (the WIPO Broadcast Treaty) and helped pass a great one (the Marrakesh Treaty on the rights of people with disabilities to access copyrighted works):

https://www.wipo.int/treaties/en/ip/marrakesh/

It's been many years since I had to shave and stuff myself into a suit and tie and go to Geneva, and I don't miss it – and thankfully, I have colleagues who do that work, better than I ever did. Yesterday, I heard from one such EFF colleague, Katitza Rodriguez, about the Cybercrime Treaty, which is about to pass, and which is, to put it mildly, terrifying:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/07/un-cybercrime-draft-convention-dangerously-expands-state-surveillance-powers

Look, cybercrime is a real thing, from pig butchering to ransomware, and there's real, global harms that can be attributed to it. Cybercrime is transnational, making it hard for cops in any one jurisdiction to handle it. So there's a reason to think about formal international standards for fighting cybercrime.

But that's not what's in the Cybercrime Treaty.

Here's a quick sketch of the significant defects in the Cybercrime Treaty.

The treaty has an extremely loose definition of cybercrime, and that looseness is deliberate. In authoritarian states like China and Russia (whose delegations are the driving force behind this treaty), "cybercrime" has come to mean "anything the government disfavors, if you do it with a computer." "Cybercrime" can mean online criticism of the government, or professions of religious belief, or material supporting LGBTQ rights.

Nations that sign up to the Cybercrime Treaty will be obliged to help other nations fight "cybercrime" – however those nations define it. They'll be required to provide surveillance data – for example, by forcing online services within their borders to cough up their users' private data, or even to pressure employees to install back-doors in their systems for ongoing monitoring.

These obligations to aid in surveillance are mandatory, but much of the Cybercrime Treaty is optional. What's optional? The human rights safeguards. Member states "should" or "may" create standards for legality, necessity, proportionality, non-discrimination, and legitimate purpose. But even if they do, the treaty can oblige them to assist in surveillance orders that originate with other states that decided not to create these standards.

When that happens, the citizens of the affected states may never find out about it. There are eight articles in the treaty that establish obligations for indefinite secrecy regarding surveillance undertaken on behalf of other signatories. That means that your government may be asked to spy on you and the people you love, they may order employees of tech companies to backdoor your account and devices, and that fact will remain secret forever. Forget challenging these sneak-and-peek orders in court – you won't even know about them:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/un-cybercrime-draft-convention-blank-check-unchecked-surveillance-abuses

Now here's the kicker: while this treaty creates broad powers to fight things governments dislike, simply by branding them "cybercrime," it actually undermines the fight against cybercrime itself. Most cybercrime involves exploiting security defects in devices and services – think of ransomware attacks – and the Cybercrime Treaty endangers the security researchers who point out these defects, creating grave criminal liability for the people we rely on to warn us when the tech vendors we rely upon have put us at risk.

This is the granddaddy of tech free speech fights. Since the paper tape days, researchers who discovered defects in critical systems have been intimidated, threatened, sued and even imprisoned for blowing the whistle. Tech giants insist that they should have a veto over who can publish true facts about the defects in their products, and dress up this demand as concern over security. "If you tell bad guys about the mistakes we made, they will exploit those bugs and harm our users. You should tell us about those bugs, sure, but only we can decide when it's the right time for our users and customers to find out about them."

When it comes to warnings about the defects in their own products, corporations have an irreconcilable conflict of interest. Time and again, we've seen corporations rationalize their way into suppressing or ignoring bug reports. Sometimes, they simply delay the warning until they've concluded a merger or secured a board vote on executive compensation.

Sometimes, they decide that a bug is really a feature – like when Facebook decided not to do anything about the fact that anyone could enumerate the full membership of any Facebook group (including, for example, members of a support group for people with cancer). This group enumeration bug was actually a part of the company's advertising targeting system, so they decided to let it stand, rather than re-engineer their surveillance advertising business.

The idea that users are safer when bugs are kept secret is called "security through obscurity" and no one believes in it – except corporate executives. As Bruce Schneier says, "Anyone can design a system that is so secure that they themselves can't break it. That doesn't mean it's secure – it just means that it's secure against people stupider than the system's designer":

The history of massive, brutal cybersecurity breaches is an unbroken string of heartbreakingly naive confidence in security through obscurity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

But despite this, the idea that some bugs should be kept secret and allowed to fester has powerful champions: a public-private partnership of corporate execs, government spy agencies and cyber-arms dealers. Agencies like the NSA and CIA have huge teams toiling away to discover defects in widely used products. These defects put the populations of their home countries in grave danger, but rather than reporting them, the spy agencies hoard these defects.

The spy agencies have an official doctrine defending this reckless practice: they call it "NOBUS," which stands for "No One But Us." As in: "No one but us is smart enough to find these bugs, so we can keep them secret and use them attack our adversaries, without worrying about those adversaries using them to attack the people we are sworn to protect."

NOBUS is empirically wrong. In the 2010s, we saw a string of leaked NSA and CIA cyberweapons. One of these, "Eternalblue" was incorporated into off-the-shelf ransomware, leading to the ransomware epidemic that rages even today. You can thank the NSA's decision to hoard – rather than disclose and patch – the Eternalblue exploit for the ransoming of cities like Baltimore, hospitals up and down the country, and an oil pipeline:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EternalBlue

The leak of these cyberweapons didn't just provide raw material for the world's cybercriminals, it also provided data for researchers. A study of CIA and NSA NOBUS defects found that there was a one-in-five chance of a bug that had been hoarded by a spy agency being independently discovered by a criminal, weaponized, and released into the wild.

Not every government has the wherewithal to staff its own defect-mining operation, but that's where the private sector steps in. Cyber-arms dealers like the NSO Group find or buy security defects in widely used products and services and turn them into products – military-grade cyberweapons that are used to attack human rights groups, opposition figures, and journalists:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/breaking-the-news/#kingdom

A good Cybercrime Treaty would recognize the perverse incentives that create the coalition to keep us from knowing which products we can trust and which ones we should avoid. It would shut down companies like the NSO Group, ban spy agencies from hoarding defects, and establish an absolute defense for security researchers who reveal true facts about defects.

Instead, the Cybercrime Treaty creates new obligations on signatories to help other countries' cops and courts silence and punish security researchers who make these true disclosures, ensuring that spies and criminals will know which products aren't safe to use, but we won't (until it's too late):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/if-not-amended-states-must-reject-flawed-draft-un-cybercrime-convention

A Cybercrime Treaty is a good idea, and even this Cybercrime Treaty could be salvaged. The member-states have it in their power to accept proposed revisions that would protect human rights and security researchers, narrow the definition of "cybercrime," and mandate transparency. They could establish member states' powers to refuse illegitimate requests from other countries:

https://www.eff.org/press/releases/media-briefing-eff-partners-warn-un-member-states-are-poised-approve-dangerou

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/23/expanded-spying-powers/#in-russia-crime-cybers-you

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/files/banner_library/cybercrime-2024-2b.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/

#pluralistic #cybercrime treaty #un #cybercrime #treaties #eff

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goldfades · 3 months ago

Note

i love crash out queen obv but i also adored your sensitive/shy reader w luka 🥺would you write more of that? maybe with her with rowdy fans at a game or reading comments online? ily🩷

this may be one of my fav dynamics<3 i hope you enjoy, love!

The arena hummed with a restless energy, waves of gold and purple rippling through the stands. Even from the plush courtside seats, everything felt overwhelming—the flashing lights, the roar of the crowd, the way the bass from the speakers thrummed in your chest.

You shifted, fingers tightening around the sleeves of Luka’s hoodie, the one you’d stolen straight from his duffle bag before the game. It still smelled like him—clean, warm, a little like the cologne he always spritzed too much of before heading out. It helped, kind of. But not enough.

“Hey, you good?” Mark, one of the Lakers staff members, leaned down to check on you, his voice barely cutting through the surrounding noise.

You nodded quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, just… loud.”

Loud was an understatement. LA fans had a special kind of unhinged energy, and tonight—against the Mavericks, against Luka’s old team—they were ruthless.

A group behind you had been running their mouths the entire first quarter. Something about traitors, about how Dallas "never needed him anyway," about how he'd "never be Kobe." The words weren’t for you, but they still pressed in close, like sharp elbows in an already too-tight space.

You kept your eyes on Luka, on the way he moved—fluid, effortless, the way he always did. Like the noise didn’t touch him at all. You wished you had that. That armor, that ability to tune it all out.

A sudden chorus of boos erupted around you, jarring and sharp. Luka had just sunk a three, and the jeers rained down like a storm. Your stomach tightened.

Then, one voice—mean, sneering, just loud enough to make you flinch—cut through the chaos:

“Sit down, bitch,” someone snickered.

And this time, it was aimed at you.

The night air outside the arena was thick with leftover adrenaline, charged like the moments before a storm. Even with security flanking the tunnel leading to the parking lot, the crowd still loomed, restless and buzzing. Luka had played out of his mind—thirty-seven points, ten assists, a win against his old team. But none of that had dimmed the aggression from the Mavericks fans who still lingered, waiting to get the last word in.

You stayed close to Luka’s side, his warm palm pressed firmly against your lower back as you walked. He hadn’t stopped touching you since the game ended—little things, a hand on your wrist, his fingers brushing yours, like he needed the reassurance that you were okay. But even though the game was over, the tension still coiled tight in your stomach, the memory of the voices in the stands lingering like an ache you couldn’t shake.

You should’ve been used to it. The scrutiny, the way fans thought they had free reign to say whatever they wanted just because they were in the stands, hidden in the safety of a crowd. But tonight had been worse. More personal.

And Luka knew it.

He hadn’t said much on the way out—just gentle touches and quiet glances, his body language heavier than usual. You could feel it in the way his fingers flexed against your back, in the way his other hand stayed clenched at his side.

The crowd outside the tunnel thickened. Cameras flashed, fans in Mavs jerseys called Luka’s name—some cheers, some taunts, all of it bleeding together into an overwhelming mess of noise. You kept your head down, your hoodie pulled up over your hair, hoping to go unnoticed.

It didn’t work.

“Damn, she really looks like she’s about to cry,” a voice jeered from somewhere to your left.

You exhaled sharply, setting your jaw. Luka tensed beside you.

And then, clearer, louder, sharper than the rest—

“Yeah, keep walking, bitch.”

The word cut through the air like a blade, ugly and deliberate.

Luka stopped walking.

Your heart stuttered. His hand, the one that had been so warm against your back, dropped away. And before you could process it, before you could even think to pull him back, he was turning.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Luka’s voice was sharp, low, dangerous in a way you’d never heard before. It wasn’t the usual on-court trash talk, not the playful arrogance he carried during games. This was different.

The group of guys who’d been running their mouths stood there, all cocky smirks and bad attitudes, clearly not expecting a reaction. But Luka wasn’t just reacting—he was moving, stepping toward them, shoulders squared, his entire body vibrating with restrained fury.

“You wanna say that shit again?” Luka’s accent thickened when he was angry, his words clipped, rolling sharp off his tongue. His eyes were locked on the guy who’d said it, the one who suddenly wasn’t looking so smug anymore. “Say it again. I dare you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Security was already stepping in, moving fast, intercepting before things could escalate further. One of the guys reached for Luka’s arm, but he yanked away, shaking them off.

“Nah, don’t touch me,” Luka snapped, still glaring daggers at the guy. “You’re a real tough guy, huh? Sitting behind a fucking barricade, running your mouth at a woman? That make you feel big?”

The guy muttered something, but it was lost under the voices of security, the buzz of the crowd growing louder as people pulled out their phones, sensing something about to go down.

You pushed past the knot in your throat and stepped forward, fingers finding Luka’s wrist. “Luka, let’s go,” you murmured, tugging gently. His skin was hot under your touch, the tension rolling off him in waves.

He didn’t move right away. His jaw was tight, his chest rising and falling unevenly, still glaring like he was debating whether or not to throw a punch. And Luka wasn’t the type. Not really. Sure, he had a temper—he got chippy on the court, barked at refs, played with that sharp, competitive fire. But this was different. This wasn’t about basketball. This was about you.

And Luka didn’t let people mess with you.

You squeezed his wrist again, firmer this time. “Baby,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

That did it.

His eyes flicked down to you, and for a second, his anger cracked, just enough for hesitation to slip in.

Security was still trying to herd him away. The guys who’d been heckling you were retreating now, murmuring amongst themselves, looking far less brave under Luka’s unrelenting stare.

Luka exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the urge to swing. Then, finally, he let you pull him back.

The rest of the walk to the car was silent, Luka’s arm locked tightly around you again, his pace quicker now, more urgent. The air between you still buzzed with residual tension.

When you reached the car, he yanked open the passenger door for you, waiting until you were inside before shutting it with a little too much force.

The second he slid into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel, you reached over and placed your palm over his.

“Luka,” you said softly.

He exhaled through his nose, his head falling back against the headrest. His fingers laced through yours, squeezing tight, like he needed something to ground him.

“I hate that shit,” he muttered, voice still taut. “I hate—” He exhaled again, shaking his head. “People don’t get to talk to you like that.”

Your heart squeezed. “I know.”

His jaw ticked. “I should’ve—”

“You should’ve ignored it,” you cut in, gentle but firm. “I’m okay, Luka.”

His eyes finally met yours, still stormy but softer now. His fingers flexed against yours, like he was testing your pulse, making sure you really were okay.

“You’re too good to deal with that shit,” he muttered. “You don’t deserve that.”

You smiled a little, squeezing his hand. “Neither do you.”

He huffed out a humorless chuckle, looking away for a second before shaking his head. “Yeah, well.” A beat of silence. Then—quieter, more raw— “I hate when you look like that. When they get to you.”

You bit your lip. “I hate when it gets to you, too.”

He sighed, finally shifting, lifting your intertwined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles. His lips lingered there, warm and apologetic.

“I won’t let it happen again,” he murmured.

You knew he meant it.

Even if you both knew that, in this world, in this life under the spotlight—people would always talk.

But Luka would always have your back.

#luka doncic #luka doncic x reader #nba x reader #luka dončić #luka dončić x reader

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d3adbr3inc3lls · 6 months ago

Note

Friede x reader (maybe spinel?)

Reader and spinel used to be rivals when they were younger but lost contact to only battle later on in life when reader is in the RVT and spine gets incredibly jealous to see reader and friede together.

(Srry if that was a bit confusing, I don't normal request stuff)

Friede x Reader who's Spinel's past rival | Headcannons

Just like any normal 10 year old who's going out on a journey, you had a rival.

Sure he was a bit chronically online, but that's okay, he still battled you to test eachother's strength.

After beating each gym, you'd battle - just like a regular rivalry would go - but unlike a regular rivalry, you slowly began to drift apart.

By the time you've gotten upto the elite 4, the two of you were barely on speaking terms. If anything, you considered him more as an annoying stranger that got in the way instead of a rival.

Fast forward, 10 years or so, you're 20+, a young adult.

Life has been treating you well. Sure, your goal to become a champion didn't work out as well as you wanted it to. But you succeeded in defeating two of four elite 4 members which was a win for you.

You also moved into a cosy home which had enough space for you and your 'mons to live in.

By this time, you've forgotten all about the blue haired rival that you once had.

Just as things couldn't be getting better- you began to date someone, Friede.

He was everything you wanted for in a man. Sure, he was rather forgetful at times, but he'd always make up for it in other ways, (usually getting you gifts or doing chores around your house that you procrastinated on).

After he began to travel around a lot more, your relationship became long distances, but he always promised that he'd come over the second he got to.

One day, he was complaining about how a girl on his ship was missing and you offered to help him search for her- you couldn't help but fear the worst, so many things could happen to a missing kid.

You helped him and his crew look around Artazon city, but when you checked the comments on Dot's post, you could immediately feel that something was off.

By the time you mentioned it- Dot found it out herself. It was one person behind the accounts.

When Liko was secure, you couldn't help but wonder who was behind it all.

She was missing her pendant too- but Friede did point out that Amethio would've attacked them, so it was someone else.

When you finally find out that Spinel was behind all of it- you were suprised. The soft curves on Spinel's face have sharpened a bit more, giving him more of a mature look, and despite everything, he looked more feminine than he ever did when he was younger.

By the time Friede had arrived, everything had died down and Spinel was nowhere to be seen and when you told Friede about Spinel and what has happened between the two of you, he made sure to keep a closer eye out on anyone from Spinel's team.

Spinel definitely felt a pang of jealousy when he saw his ex-rival being so close to someone. He couldn't help it but he did.

After seeing you with Friede, Spinel would definitely start doing more things to target Freide out of some weird jealousy he feels as a result of you two being rivals in the past.

A/N: Hope that this is okay ^^

No img creds because everything is from offical pkmn stuff, (I'm pretty sure the last img is from twilight wings or smthng,,)

#I think I need to rewacth HZ and take notes on what happens each ep so i can go back to it when I need to #Friede x reader #Pokemon Friede #Pokemon Friede x reader #my work #my story #original post #Pokemon x reader #Pokemon HZ x reader #Pokemon Horizons x reader #Pokemon HZ #Pokemon Horizons

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

Text

The Devil Wears Armani 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

—posting to the correct blog lol—

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The appletini at girls' night does little to ease you through a restless night. You’re not a traveller. You’ve never flown before. The only reason you have a passport is it was required for the job. You didn’t expect to actually use it.

You give into consciousness around 3am and double check your bag for everything you need. You forego your usual coffee as you fear an anxious bladder adding to your addled state. You still can’t figure out why Mr. Stark told you to come along. You don’t have anything blocked into his calendar. He’s had weekend meetings before but you usually pop into zoom to take notes and nothing else.

You spare the fare for a cab as the streetcar isn’t in service yet and you don’t feel like venturing into the underground at this hour. The ride is swift in the dead streets of the city. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so empty.

You arrive at the airport and realise you’re missing a very important piece. A boarding pass? Terminal information? Any sort of direction to find where you need to be. Well, it never hurts to ask for help even if you don’t get it.

You enter and go to the counter. The woman behind it looks tired as dark rings stain her sockets and she fixes her smile to greet you. You nervously clench your jaw and exhale through your nose.

“Hi, I... I’m supposed to be flying, er, private? I work for Tony Stark?” You creak out through your dry throat. You need water.

“Mr. Stark?” She lowers her brow, “do you have proof of employment?”

“Erm, yeah,” you unhook your keyring from your purse and shove it towards her. Your company ID is hooked onto the cluster of novelty attachments and keys.

“I need to make a call,” she says as she examines your identification.

Great.

You bob nervously on the other side of the counter as the attendant speaks quietly into the speaker. Your phone buzzes and you jingle the keys as you find it. Stark has sent you a simple message; ‘Terminal 1, tarmac. Now.’

As you peek up over the counter, the woman hangs up. “You need to head up to Terminal 1. Find an employee there, in a white shirt like mine, and show them this.” She kits a few keys and her printer grinds with great effort. She hands you a boarding pass but most of it is empty. There’s only a code at the bottom.

You thank her and head off. You scramble through security, walking through the scanner as your bag rides the conveyor through and x-ray. You retrieve your things on the other side and run off to reach Mr. Stark before he gets too impatient. He’s probably already agitated.

You check your watch. It’s only 5:01am. You’re on time, right?

You follow the signs to terminal one and find a large man standing by a ramp entrance. You approach him and show him the pass. He points you to another employee at the far end as he talks over his walkie talkie to them. You cross the tiled floor to meet the man and he beckons you towards another ramp.

You’re led down to the tarmac and left to shuffle across it on your own. You’re only told to approach big jet waiting by a tower set of stairs. There’s an attendant at the bottom who greets your brightly and you show the pass again.

“Mr. Stark is expecting you. May I take your bag?” She offers.

“No thank, I can handle it,” you nod and lift the bag off its wheels.

You climb a stair at a time and pass another attendant at the top. She directs you to leave your bag in the front carriage and you roll it behind the wall of webbing there. You turn to the ivory curtain and peek through tentatively. The movement of fabric draws Mr. Stark’s gaze from his phone.

“Get in here,” he demands, “about time, George. I was about to fall asleep.”

You push through and near him, “sir, did you need coffee?”

“They got the long-legged ones for that,” he waves away your offer with his lecherous allusion to the pretty, tall attendants. “Sit.”

You look at the chair on the other side of the table, across from him, and you hesitate. You lower yourself into the cushy seat and cross one leg over the other, your foot bouncing anxiously. You clutch your hands together and stare at Mr. Stark.

“You look tired as hell,” he cackles.

“Sir, it’s early.”

“Ah, don’t let that ruin an all-inclusive. Tell me, Georgie, a girl like you, are you jet-setting every weekend? You got billionaires flying you to the Caribbean on the reg? Didn’t think you were the popular type.”

“No, sir, I--” you try not to wince at his insinuation. You are all too aware that you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder he sits atop of. “Thank you for this. It’s very nice of you to bring me along.”

“You are very welcome,” he says smugly, “move.”

He points to the seat next to him.

“Oh, uh,” you pull your hands apart and push yourself up with the armrests, “sorry.”

He grunts, irritated, and signals with two fingers. As an attendant approaches, you sidle around the table and in front of Stark to get to the other seat. You feel a brush on your thigh but ignore it. It’s a tight squeeze.

He asks for an espresso as you lower yourself down. He reaches over and pinches the fabric of your pants, just at the top of your knee. He sniffs.

“This isn’t very Caribbean-friendly. You’re gonna sweat your tits off,” he derides.

You try not to show your embarrassment, ignoring the urge to cover your chest at his comment. Out of habit, you put on your usual attire. A cardigan, a tidy blouse, and slacks. He huffs again and tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Get rid of this,” he demands.

“Oh, uh...” You sit forward as you undo the single button and you shrug out of the wool. He swipes it away and tosses it on the floor.

The attendant returns with his espresso and gathers up your cardigan as you send her an apologetic look. Stark takes his coffee and tastes it before setting it on the table. He turns to you and clucks again. You let out a squeak as he reaches to pop the top button of your blouse, then the next. You flatten yourself to the seat helplessly.

“Better, gotta let those things breathe,” he winks and sits back with a smirk.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #the devil wears armani #series #drabble #au #bad bosses #iron man #avengers #mcu #marvel

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muddyorbsblr · 5 months ago

Text

my whole life in a moment

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: pre-dating era; years before the events of 'one look and they'll know'

Summary: Your boyfriend presented you with a challenge to "walk a mile in his shoes"…imagining what life would be like if you weren't in a relationship with him

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader (but not quite yet); OC x Reader (toxic…and soon to be ex)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning/s: toxic boyfriend with more than questionable loyalty; condescending side characters (hissss); language [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Reader in her sad era

It doesn't mean anything, everyone does it, your boyfriend's words tauntingly echoed in your mind. Right before you two had gone on to attend separate conventions for work, yours in Anaheim, and his somewhere closer to Big Bear, you'd caught a glimpse of his phone, seeing all the pictures of half-naked influencers in the making that he was liking and commenting on like his life depended on it.

And somehow it was your fault that you found out about how he moved around online, "because if you trusted him, you wouldn't even have reason to look". Even if he was the one who just left his phone face up and unlocked for anyone to see.

Joshua even made it seem like you were the "weird one" for admitting that you never have and you never would do that. You would never imagine what life was like with someone else because you were already in a relationship. Loyalty meant something to you, and his actions were borderline maliciously blurring the lines to the point that you had this sinking feeling in your gut.

That one day he'd blur the line so much that he would feign innocence even if he was caught with his whole three and a half inches inside someone else.

Shouldn't the only thing that matters be the fact that no matter what happens, we come home to each other? His words practically had you seething. Of course not. What mattered was that even if you were far apart, you could still manage to feel secure enough in the relationship that he would never do anything that might betray your trust.

He presented you with a challenge for this weekend, to try it out, even if just to yourself. You didn't have to talk to anyone, like anyone's posts, you just had to imagine. To just meet eyes with a random stranger and imagine what life with them would be like, how the story would play out.

To walk a mile in his shoes, he said. Which bothered you more than you cared to admit. How many lives did he already envision with other people? How many times did he look at some random stranger, or God help you, someone you already knew, and fantasized about how life would be if he were with her instead of you?

"Iced americano for Y/N!" the barista called from the counter. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the way he shamelessly checked you out. "Pretty girl like you, you're probably here for the Marvel thing upstairs? Let me guess, you got the hots for a certain blond super soldier? Or maybe a blond god?"

You gave him a tight-lipped smile…or maybe it was a grimace. "Yeah no…I'm actually here for the convention next to theirs."

Joshua's challenge began to rear its ugly head in your mind again, almost daring you to assess the leering man and what life would be like if you entertained his cheesy quips. Of course, all those thoughts were shot down immediately after he opened his mouth a second time, snorting before letting out a condescending laugh.

"The stuffy nerd assembly? What, you got a thing for rickety old men with pocket protectors talking about loop-the-loops and conditioners?"

Wouldn't even get past the first date. I'll happily waste a glass of Balkan and pour it on his pants and light the fucker on fire. But then of course I'd get arrested, probably assault, possibly attempted murder. Not worth it, you thought to yourself. Damn I hate this game already.

You gave him an equally condescending smile, shifting your stance to one you were much too familiar with, having to stand up straight and square your shoulders so that the men with over-inflated egos would actually shut up and listen to what you had to say. "I'm guessing you were a jock in high school…a popular one. Maybe even Prom King. Best four years of your life?"

His smile immediately dropped, looking like you injected pure ice into his veins. Good. "H--How--?"

"You're too easy to read," you said dismissively. "For the record, it's loops and conditions. If you're gonna make fun of an entire profession, at least get the words right so you don't look too much like an idiot when words come out of your mouth. And also, I'm one of the stuffy rickety old bats presenting in the 'nerd assembly'. Have a day."

You walked away from the coffee kiosk shaking your head in disbelief. You couldn't fathom how visibly unremarkable people found the sheer audacity to pass judgment the way they did. Especially to people who worked in the very industry that was steadily taking over the world.

The very websites these people used to poke fun at people they deemed lesser to them were quite literally built by the nerds they were talking down about. With the way the world was advancing, it wouldn't be long before scams started popping up left and right that would drain people like Mr Glory Days back there of every cent of his life savings.

Hell, with the skills you had, it would just be a few keystrokes away.

You decided against playing the challenge on passing strangers, considering that the glimpses that you were getting from your two to five second eye contact with them already unsettled you.

Two dates maximum, then he'd lock eyes with someone prettier and way out of his league and stop replying to texts. Not worth it.

Clingy, mama's boy that probably wants me to quit my job and my career and all my hobbies so my life revolves around morphing into some sexualized version of his mother. Definitely not worth it.

Would beg me not even six weeks into dating to try anal, and leave me on Week 7 for his male best friend. Week 8 if I peg him. For sure not fucking worth it.

All of them led to you internally yelling "absolutely not" in the solace of your mind, and ultimately opting out of the game altogether. It was steadily turning you into a cynic, and that was the last thing you needed to be considering how you chose to spend your free time.

If you kept at this path, the next time some random actor or musician or public figure reached out to you in the dark recesses of the internet begging you to keep their debauchery secret and protect them from the scrutiny of the public eye, you might just choose to leak it yourself. That particular part of your life needed you to hold on to compassion. Needed you to remember that just because some people chose to be extra freaky behind closed doors, it didn't necessarily make them deserving of being exposed.

The only time you needed to step in was when they were actively doing harm.

So instead of the strangers passing you by, you turned the challenge on its head, in Joshua's direction. With what you knew about him, how would your life play out?

You had just moved in with him last month, although most of your belongings still remained packed in boxes because he couldn't find space in "his place" yet for some of your "girly shit". He set aside about half of one of his dresser drawers for your clothes and your instincts told you it was wise to keep a police baton there for easy access.

Just in case he'd come home a little too drunk, a little too disorderly, and a little too wishy washy on consent.

The near incendiary conversation that you two had just before you parted ways on your separate conventions served as the largest red flag that you weren't in the right place. It wasn't just the likes and the comments to the bikini-clad women, it was the text message notification that popped up before he could swipe the phone off the desk and guilt trip you into apologizing for "snooping".

It was from Tracy, one of your coworkers that was assigned to the same convention as him. I can't wait to see you later! x

Seemed innocent enough, if you hadn't known for a fact that she'd been putting the moves on him for the last few months. If you hadn't glanced upon his desk at just the right second while they were talking and you saw her hand on his leg.

His words played back in your mind again. Shouldn't the only thing that matters be the fact that no matter what happens, we come home to each other? If that was his mentality, then perhaps you had every reason to be suspicious about the times when he wasn't home.

And right in those thirty seconds that you placed your relationship under that big of a microscope, the conclusion made itself crystal clear. "I have to leave him. He's gonna betray me and I have to leave him," you said with a defeated sigh.

At least I haven't unpacked yet, you quipped at yourself. You decided to go into the large function room that was booked for your event, carving out a few minutes to make sure that your resume was in order. That was the next logical step, leaving the company. Working with him wasn't going to be an option; you knew he would twist everything to make it seem like you were belligerent and someway somehow the downfall of your relationship fell squarely on your shoulders.

And people would believe him. Why wouldn't they? He put in insurmountable amounts of effort -- not to mention money -- to shower everyone in praises and gifts and free coffees to make sure they remembered him when promotion season rolled around. He was the self-proclaimed king of small talk, and you preferred silence over menial conversation.

Of course you would have to leave the company, too. Your self-respect all but demanded it.

You pulled out your little flashcards once you finished your coffee, mentally going over your points and anticipating any jabs from Nick that might throw you off. He was the unfortunate soul that was assigned with you, and he seemed hellbent on making sure you "knew your place" being one of the younger developers on the team.

As if it was age that had anything to do with experience.

It was in having your head buried nose-deep in the cards that had you violently bumping into someone walking straight into you, knocking the cards out of your hand and nearly making you fall off balance.

"I'm sorry I wasn't looking--" you sputtered, already moving to pick up your cards.

You didn't expect for the other person to crouch down with you and lend a helping hand. "Neither was I, luv, I apologize."

Good God, what a voice, your inner whore was practically moaning in your head. That voice turned into an all out scream when you looked up and realized who you bumped into. No one could scroll on any website the last few months without his face popping up on the page at least three times in five minutes.

The knowledge that the actor actually dyed his fucking hair and now the sharp angles of his face were even more prominent being framed by the onyx curls nearly took you out. And then he looked at you, stormy blue eyes widening just the slightest as he took your own features in and you could hear his breath hitch.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said again, offering his hand to you once he stood to his feet.

Once you placed your hand in his, you could feel sparks spreading up your arm, and then quickly through the rest of your body. You couldn't help but keep his gaze with how there was this tenderness in his eyes, only breaking when he looked down to place your cards back in your hand.

"You're speaking in the convention next door, I see?"

"I uhh…" Dammit Y/N, pick your panties off the floor and use your big girl voice, you're embarrassing yourself. "I am," you told him. You couldn't fight the urge to smile, even if part of you was still bracing yourself for a reaction similar to Mr Glory Days earlier.

"Fascinating, perhaps if there are still some available seats I could stop by."

Your eyes nearly bugged out your head. "Really?" you blurted out. "You don't think they're boring and stuffy?"

He didn't miss a beat in telling you, "Not when they're facilitated by interesting people. It's always rather enlightening to get to see intelligent people in their element." He placed his hand over yours, holding them for just a moment before stepping away, as if he had to break himself out of his own thoughts. "Well erm…best of luck with your speech."

Play the game, your inner whore taunted you. Come on, it's the hot actor from Avengers, play the fucking game. You're never gonna cross paths with him again.

"You, too. Good luck, I mean. I mean you'll do great, of course you will, y'all have so much training for this--" You bit your tongue, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I mean, thank you."

Come on, Hiddles, your pessimistic side reared its ugly head. Give me a red flag, I can't be swooning over you and your stupidly pretty face, seriously what the fuck that face with that voice shouldn't be legal.

A moment passed, and another, before his eyes flickered for a fraction of a second to your lips. But never lower. He took another step back once he broke eye contact, letting out a nervous chuckle. "I'm Tom, by the way."

"I know." The words burst out of you like you had zero filter left between your brain and your mouth. "I mean, I'm--"

"Dammit, Y/L/N, now how did I know you're dawdling about out here trying to score with an actor?" The shrill sound of Nick's ornery voice broke the moment. "Your generation really doesn't know the first damn thing about being a professional, huh."

You took a breath, clutching your cards to refrain from reaching in your bag and giving in to an intrusive thought of stabbing your coworker with a dull pencil. When you looked back at Tom, he was slowly taking a few steps backwards, pointing to the much larger hall room of the convention center. "I'm this way."

"That way," you shot back, jabbing your thumb in the opposite direction. You'd given each other an awkward wave goodbye before you finally turned and walked toward the comparatively quieter room.

Play the game, that whorish inner voice pleaded. You know you want to.

The images you allowed yourself to indulge in painted a decadent future. Picturesque date nights balanced with perfectly blissful quiet nights in. Constantly checking in on you when you were in social gatherings to make sure you were still doing alright. Goodnight and good morning and "just because" calls throughout the days, especially when you were apart.

And sweet mercy, the sex would have probably been something out of the filthiest books you'd ever read. You knew what stories about him were floating around in the forums. No stone unturned, no corner unchristened.

And he sure as shit would be packing more than three and a half inches, the voice finished off. Conclusion? Absolutely would have been fucking worth it. Now look back and see if you can check out his butt.

You decided to indulge the voice one last time, looking over your shoulder to see if you could still make him out among the crowd. And when you found him, your heart jumped straight to your throat, rendering you speechless.

Because he was looking back at you, too.

A/N: Who's gonna tell these flirty babies that they reunite again in a few years and get married? 🥹👀 Also I've been thinking on what Reader's backstory before crossing paths again with Tom at the set of Ragnarok would be, and so some of the bits that I'll write for the series will be Reader-centric, kind of building on her character and touching on the ways she was constantly going "Yeah no way I get with someone like him" only to end up with Tom at the end of her sad meow meow era 💖

Also…Tom's basically the only male character in here that I didn't want to pummel with a baseball bat, and I can confirm that I have had "men" in my life that treated me the way Joshua treats Reader, scoffed at me the way Mr Glory Days barista did, and belittle me the way Nick the coworker did. It's been a rough 8 years 🤪

Ooh, also this is the song that inspired this story:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie

@superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #one look & they'll know #muddyorbs writes

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 month ago

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waves of feelings

Adam Karadec x fem!detective!reader request, brief angst to fluff, emotional vulnerability, 3.2k+ words

You don't realize that you like Karadec and he feels the same until Morgan points it out.

High Potential Masterlist | Directory | Request Rules

Karadec is pretty like the ocean during a thunderstorm. At first glance, it seems dark, dangerous, all choppy waves waiting to pull you under and sharp rocks. But, if you wait a moment, linger in the cool sand beneath the clouds, you can find peace in it. The grey clouds reflect off the dark blue water, painting the horizon in a mysterious yet mystifying collision of danger and growth, spouting from the same precipice.

“No, she’s gone,” someone says, drawing you from your daydream.

You blink, and the Major Crimes bullpen comes into focus as the image of sitting on a beach with Karadec fades to the back of your mind. Daphne and Oz are watching you, smiling as you try to catch up with the conversation.

“What?” you ask.

“Oz wanted to know if you had the security footage from the 7/11 across the street from our stabbing scene,” Daphne answers.

“Oh,” you murmur, shaking your mouse to wake your computer. “Yeah, I’ll forward it.”

“Thank you,” Oz says. “Care to share what you were thinking about?”

You shake your head as you focus on finding the video. “Just zoned out.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Daphne jokes. “Here I thought it was daydreaming.”

“Fine,” you sigh, smiling over your shoulder at her. “I was on a pretty beach, far from murder and mayhem, with nothing on my mind but the beauty in front of me.”

Daphne nods as she pulls herself back to her desk, reaching for a lollipop. “Better answer. Which beach? Bahamas?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Daphne sighs, then begins typing, drawn back into the real world. You’re lucky to have this team, you think. You can joke with each other and have fun, but you’re also there for each other when things turn serious. This job is hard enough as it is, and you can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

“Shouldn’t Karadec be back by now?” Oz wonders.

“He’s with Morgan,” Daphne reminds him.

“Yeah, so however long it would take Karadec, double it and add half an hour,” you add.

“What’s the half hour for?” Morgan asks as she enters the bullpen.

“Fun facts, sightseeing, replacing the lollipop you stole,” Daphne lists.

“Hey, I apologized.”

“Doesn’t replace it,” you muse.

You spare a glance at Karadec, then turn back to your computer. He’s been different lately, and not just because of Morgan. Or maybe it is because of Morgan. Either way, you think he’s found something or someone that has made his life different. You’re happy for him, of course, but you can’t help but wonder why you don’t have that. Flexing your fingers over your keyboard, you remind yourself to focus, then open the video feed from a traffic camera less than a mile from the crime scene.

“Find anything?” Karadec asks, stopping beside your desk.

“The 7/11 had Monster energy drinks on sale,” you answer, leaning back to see him. “Four cans for $5.”

“Ooh,” Oz murmurs. “I might need to find a 7/11.”

“There are approximately 1,900 7/11 stores in California,” Morgan informs, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Or one store for every 21,000 people.”

“That’s a lot of stores that don’t even sell the best sour candy,” Daphne says.

“TOD was around 11, right?” you check. Karadec nods, so you continue, “Two cars drove by at a high rate of speed at 10:23 p.m., heading toward the scene. I’m trying to find them on other cameras to see if maybe they stopped around there.”

“Good work,” he applauds, nodding. “Let me know.”

“Sure,” you agree, releasing a breath when he steps away.

“Morgan and I found the store where he bought the knife,” Karadec says. "A hunting and fishing store in Rancho Cucamonga confirmed that the knife was purchased there. Apparently, they’re the only seller in the contiguous U.S., and it isn’t sold online in the states. Their legal team is prepping a list of buyers to send over.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down much,” Oz responds.

Karadec shakes his head, his gaze wandering to you. You’ve been distant lately, distracted. He'd ensure you were okay if he could find the right time or place. At the end of the day, when you all go home and the cases are supposed to be pushed out of your mind until you return to work or catch a break, he realizes that it isn’t his business. Karadec has enough going on in his life that it’s easy to forget to wonder about you when he actually has time to slow down and think. Like now, this stabbing case is familiar, almost too familiar, so when he looks away from you, that worry disappears, and he begins analyzing his own past for an idea of why he can’t seem to move past this stall point in the investigation.

“Still a John Doe?” Morgan inquires.

“Oh!” you exclaim, glancing at the clock above Karadec’s head. “I have to go. Meeting with the ME.”

“Need a second set of eyes?” Morgan offers.

“I’m okay,” you answer, gathering your things. “Thanks.”

After you leave, it’s as if a scale has been removed from Karadec’s eyes. Everything is a little clearer, the pieces of the puzzle fit together, as he opens the case file and turns his back to your desk.

While you’re gone, Karadec remembers why the case seems so familiar, why it’s bringing up memories of his field training days. He realizes that the sudden influx of nightmares must be related. Turning toward Oz and Daphne, Karadec prepares to tell them what he knows.

“My first year on the job, there was a series of stabbings,” Karadec begins. “Every victim was left on the side of the road with no wallet, no keys, and no clues as to how they got there.”

“A serial killer?” Daphne asks.

“The Rager,” Morgan says, snapping as she remembers. “They discovered the victims were run off the road and attacked by a man with intense road rage.”

“Right,” Karadec replies. “The speeding cars in the 7/11 video could indicate a similar situation.”

“Is the original killer still in prison?” Oz wonders. “If he got out, started driving again… could be the same guy.”

“He died,” Morgan answers. “Prison riot a few years ago, he was stabbed, passed away the next day. Right?”

Karadec nods, tapping his fingers on his thighs. In his nightmares, people he cares about turn up dead, killed in different ways by the criminals he’s locked up over the years. The vengefulness of wrongdoers has permanently marred his mind. If he had a chance to work some of his past cases again, he’d approach them differently. Maybe this is that chance.

Looking toward your desk, he asks, “Did the traffic cams show anything close to the scene?”

“Closest one was a half mile away, between the scene and the 24-hour grocery store east of it,” Oz replies.

“So, the other side of the 7/11. If the same car or cars passed it, we could get some more information.”

“How did the Rager get rid of the other cars?” Daphne asks.

“He came back for them,” Karadec answers. “Had a friend bring him back, claiming he was picking it up for a friend with a car repo business or something. It was a different time.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Today, you can’t just leave a car on the side of the road without someone taking notice.”

“Two killers,” you announce, returning from the ME’s office. You drop your bag in your chair and lean over your desk to pull up the video from the traffic camera. “I’d be willing to bet that we’ll see both cars driving by, going the speed limit, not riding each other’s tails, just going.”

The team gathers around your monitor as you press play, and it’s just as you suspected. You replay the clip, then pause it as the second car enters the frame.

“The bumper is damaged,” Morgan realizes. “They ran him off the road, killed him, then took his car.”

“Run the plates, Oz,” Karadec instructs. “Find our victim’s name and who own the killer’s car.”

“ME confirmed that the stab wounds were inflicted by two different people,” you say. “Likely one man and one female.”

“Nice work,” Karadec applauds.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Oz calls. “Killer’s car is registered to Rager’s nephew.”

Lying sideways across your bed, you let your head hang partially off the side, your hair loose and cascading toward the floor. You move your feet to the rhythm of your favorite song, playing on repeat as you try to clear your mind.

Across town, Karadec looks out of his window, spinning a glass between his hands as he pretends he can see the stars past the smog and city lights. The case is closed, so he could probably sleep without nightmares tonight, but his mind won’t quiet. It’s been years since he worked the Rager case, but he feels like he’s in the same place, back at the beginning, stuck in a continuous cycle.

He looks at the clock as your song ends, and you both sigh before you stand. Sleepless Los Angeles nights call for one of two things: finding someone to spend it with, or a midnight walk on the beach with a prayer you don’t get caught while it’s closed to the public.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you exclaim, pulled from your wonderings about why your life looks so much different than you imagined it would.

Karadec turns away from the ocean, facing you as your mind reminds you of what you’d thought about this morning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he guesses, walking toward you.

“I’m surprised any of us can these days,” you muse, forcing yourself to look at the dark waves rather than Karadec.

“What’s your excuse? You closed the case, you should be taking a victory nap,” he teases.

You scoff, walking slowly beside him, dragging your feet through the loose sand. “Right, because solving a case is the key to turning your mind off. If that were true, you would never complain about sleep deprivation.”

“Those complaints are our right as detectives,” he argues.

“You… you might have a point there.”

Karadec shakes his head, a close-lipped smile gracing his features as the lights of a pier come into view.

“Come out here often?” he asks.

“Not as much as I used to,” you admit. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately – too much, maybe. The waves drown out some of those thoughts.”

Karadec nods. “Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”

“What does that mean?” you inquire, laughing.

“I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing toward you as if he answered your question.

“I’d prefer not to,” you reply.

“Seriously,” he continues. “You’re a good detective, got a stable job, a nice place to live, you’re pretty. Other than the hazards of our job, you’ve got it pretty good.”

“Yeah,” you agree facetiously. “If that were true, I’d be in a committed relationship, not considering adopting a cat just so I’m not completely alone between shifts.”

“Better to be alone that haunted by past arrests in your dreams,” Karadec murmurs.

You quiet, letting your smile fall as you nod. He’s right, of course, but there has to be a halfway point, where the good and the bad outweigh each other and everything is at the very least okay.

“What do you normally do on beach nights?” you inquire.

“Besides avoiding the patrol trucks?” Karadec counters.

“Obviously.”

“Usually go get coffee or something, stroll through a neighborhood.”

“Okay, midnight coffee is terrible for you, and I’m going to assume that you stroll through a moderately safe neighborhood.”

Karadec shakes his head. “Then what do you do? If my routine is so bad.”

You smile, pointing towards a break between beachfront buildings. “I’ll show you.”

Sitting across from Karadec, you lean back against the cracked red vinyl. The table between you is inlaid with newspapers and magazines from the 1900s, and Rhythm of the Rain by The Cascades plays on the jukebox by the door.

“I thought coffee was a no go,” Karadec says, opening the menu.

“We’re not here for coffee,” you argue.

“Hey, sweetie,” the singular waitress working at midnight greets. “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, smiling kindly. “And the same for my friend.”

“You got it.”

“The usual,” Karadec repeats. “My midnight go-to is unhealthy, but you can go to a diner every night.”

“You’re very judgy for someone getting a free treat,” you muse.

“I can pay for it.”

You wave, glancing out the window as you fold a napkin on the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Karadec invites.

“Not at all. Do you?”

He shakes his head, and you sit in comfortable silence until two bowls piled high with vanilla ice cream are delivered to your table. A long plate with various toppings accompanies them, and you smile as you say, “Thank you.”

“Midnight sundaes,” Karadec says, his brows lifted. “Much healthier than coffee.”

“You’re just jealous I thought of it first.”

It’s nearing two a.m. when you exit the diner and stop out into the parking lot.

“I’m a mile that way,” Karadec says, pointing straight ahead.

“I’m a mile that way,” you reply, pointing over your shoulder.

“Come on,” he invites as he begins walking.

“I just said I’m the other way,” you argue, following him anyway.

“It’s a mile regardless. This way, you don’t have to walk alone at this hour, and I’ll drive you back.”

“But I was walking alone before I found you,” you point out.

“Which is terrible for you,” Karadec deadpans, drawing a chuckle from you as you jog to catch up with him.

The following morning at work, which is only a few hours after you left Karadec, you feel oddly rested. You’ve still got a lot on your mind, but it doesn’t seem as pressing anymore, and you can see where you’ve succeeded in life. Like midnight sundaes, a brilliant advancement from your college years. Karadec comes into the bullpen while you’re scrolling on your phone, and he’s clearly thinking too, not greeting his team as he usually does.

“Are we case-free right now?” Morgan asks. “This is weird, right?”

“It’s never long,” Oz assures her. “We’ll get a call soon.”

“While we’re waiting,” Daphne begins, smiling at you.

You lock your phone and pinch your brows as you say, “I don’t like your tone, Daph.”

Karadec unlocks his computer, then turns his chair, looking between you and Daphne.

“I want to set you up with this guy I know,” she explains. “You’re single, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer slowly. “But I don’t think I want to date anyone right now. I… It’s not the right time.”

“Unless it’s Karadec, of course,” Morgan interjects.

Your eyes widen as you look at her, and Karadec clenches his jaw so hard you can see the muscle in it tighten.

“What?” you whisper.

“You like Karadec,” Morgan says, lifting her hands. “He likes you. You like each other.”

You look away from Morgan, your eyes bouncing left to right as you think. You’ve been evaluating every area of your life over the last few weeks, picking apart your feelings to find what was missing. It makes sense now that you somehow brought Karadec into every musing. When you thought about needing a break, Karadec was on the beach with you, a lighthouse in your storm. When you considered your career success, Karadec was solving cases beside you. It’s so obvious now that Morgan has said it. You like Karadec.

Karadec watches you as you think. He’s more composed following Morgan’s intrusion into your private life, thinking about all the instances in which you invaded his thoughts. After a nightmare, he’d open your text thread, type a message, then delete it, opting to sit with himself and feel hopeless until the sun rose on a new day. Even last night, you’d been on his mind as he stared out at the ocean and asked himself if he was doing a good enough job as head detective.

“I’m going to take this as a no,” Daphne drawls, sitting back in her seat.

“Morgan, I think you broke them,” Oz chides, looking between you and Karadec.

“Gillory,” Karadec begins. “We’re at work. There is never a time or a place for you to interject yourself into your personal lives.”

“Got it,” she replies, nodding. “I won’t be so blunt next time.”

“I just said-" Karadec cuts himself off with a sigh, closing his eyes as he shakes his head.

“I- I’ll be right back,” you murmur before you stand. In the privacy of the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You’d convinced yourself that Karadec would never like you, and it didn’t take much. Then, you let yourself believe that your entire life was running off the rails. Maybe if you’d just admitted that you had feelings for Karadec, you could have solved cases faster because you wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.

Rushing back into the bullpen, you don’t notice how Oz, Daphne, and Morgan look up, wide-eyed and ready to eavesdrop on whatever moment you and Karadec are about to have.

“We need another case,” you declare. “I think we can crack a cold case.”

Karadec watches you for several breaths, then asks, “Did you have coffee while you were gone?”

“No, that’s your thing,” you reply, smiling. “Tell me I’m wrong. This team can do it, and we don’t have anything else to do today.”

Karadec can’t interrupt you to say that Morgan was right, not with the others watching, so he smiles and agrees. Morgan already has a cold case in mind, and the board is filled with details as you talk everything over, sparing glances at Karadec every chance you get.

You knock on Karadec’s door long after the sun goes down and a cold case has been reopened, solved, and closed. In your cooler, you’ve brought ice cream, your favorite sundae toppings, and everything you saw Karadec use last night. You need to talk, need to clear the air, and address what Morgan pointed out today, but there’s no movement inside, no answer to your knocks. Letting your smile fall, you wonder if Morgan was wrong. The thought doesn’t linger long before the elevator opens and someone clears their throat behind you.

Turning, your smile returns when you see Karadec lift a grocery store bag.

“You weren’t at home,” he says.

“You weren’t either,” you reply softly. “I, uh, I brought sundaes.”

“I brought coffee.”

You scrunch your nose, and he steps past you to unlock the door. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He pushes the door open, and you step inside, looking around as he sets his bag on the counter. Karadec takes the cooler from your hand, pulls the ice cream out, and sets it in the freezer.

“Morgan was right,” you blurt out. “About me liking you. I guess I didn't realize because I was caught up in the waves of my own feelings - trying to keep them from pulling me under.”

Karadec pushes the freezer closed before he returns to your side. Standing in front of you with only inches separating you, he raises his hand to your face. His touch is warm and gentle, his hand strong and calloused.

“I get it. Don’t tell her, but Morgan was right about more than you liking me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you as he kicks the front door closed.

#adam karadec #adam karadec x reader #adam karadec x fem!reader #adam karadec fic #adam karadec fluff #adam karadec oneshot #high potential #high potential x reader #high potential abc #hanna writes✯#fem!reader #requests #🍎 anon

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pathologicalreid · 1 month ago

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Criminal Minds: Evolution (Recap)

next on CME

providing the people of tumblr with a recap of CME before the episode with Spencer airs, since I know a lot of people are only watching that episode. the goal isn't to have you know everything about the show by the time we get there, it's just so you can watch that episode and understand what's going on without watching the preceding two seasons. spoilers for episode one and two ahead.

Episode 1: Just Getting Started

Written by Erica Messer Directed by Nelson McCormick

Starts in Yakima, WA, we see a man in a storage unit doing some hinky shit with knives. we don’t know him and then we flash forward to 2022.

Good old criminal minds showing you a crime before anything else. We see a girl get kidnapped from her house.

We then flash forward to Yakima but this time in the present day! My beautiful wife Tara Lewis is here checking out that shipping container.

There are embalmed bodies and stuff but the most important thing they find is a polystyrene case of equipment. There are dead bodies in there that are more recent kills and also skeletons.

The FBI has benched the jet! Rossi is the unit chief! Emily is section chief!

The FBI split the BAU up because they say the agents solve twice as many cases when they’re more individual. they were only supposed to be operating like that for six month but it’s been almost 3 months.

Brief mention Reid and Simmons are NAWT with the BAU at this time.

Rossi is obsessed with this case in Virginia. He’s also kind of lost his shit. He’s living in a hotel with crime scene photos and newspaper clippings pasted to the wall.

He’s the first character to swear in Evolution! He says “holy shit” while watching bodycam footage.

Rossi calls JJ about a case in Silver Spring where a guy has a severed spinal cord, and he’s convinced that his case in Alexandria is serial but he doesn’t have evidence.

He goes to a case in Bethesda! He’s with Luke, the killer left a baby alive and kidnapped the teenage daughter. Killed both parents.

The deputy director (Doug Bailey) wants the whole BAU on the missing girl but Lewis is on the case with the shipping container. Mildly reminiscent of the Linda Barnes plotline.

All energy goes to finding the teenage girl (Chrissy).

Dave yells at Luke he’s really gone off the rails and tensions are high between the team. Krystall died at some point between the end of the main series and the beginning of evolution, hence his crash out.

We see the UnSub texting someone about $10,000. This is the first inclination that we really see of the main story of the season. He has Chrissy in the trunk of his car.

First Garcia mention while they’re looking at security footage, there are FOUR people trying to do the job that she did.

Back to Yakima! The local police officer proposes that the killer stopped because he died of COVID and Tara wonders if he stopped because the entire world “stopped” during the pandemic—there was no one to stalk or abduct so he simply… stopped. They need a better lab to analyze everything that was left in the container, Tara proposes bringing it to Quantico.

Luke and JJ decide to look into the family and specifically Chrissy, only to find that her only active internet presence is on a website called SOAR “Safe Online Acquaintance Revolution.” Both teenage girls whose families were victimized only used that platform for social media.

SOAR is highly protected, but Penelope is one of the people who designed it to keep kids safe online. Luke proposes asking Garcia, JJ reminds him that they promised they wouldn’t bring her back to the BAU. In the end, Luke goes to talk to Penelope (he lost a bet). He shows up at her apartment and she is less than thrilled to see him.

She tries to get him to leave, but he hits her with a “I don’t know who else can help.” So… she makes her baking club leave.

She tells one of the members that she and Luke thrive as frenemies. Luke says “We’re friends. Why do I have to be your enemy?”

Luke tells her that her office is still empty, he’s never even met her replacements! (COVID)

The UnSub takes Chrissy to an RV in the middle of nowhere.

They profile why the UnSub befriends the girls first and also the improvement from the first crime to the second crime. JJ proposes it’s almost like he read a manual on how to improve his crime.

Penelope finds someone who communicated with both daughters, a teenager trying to reconnect with his birth family. They use the messages between the boy, RJ, and the daughters to figure out he’s taken Chrissy to a remote area. Garcia then finds a property that was seized by the state and finds that the parents of a young boy, Rory James Gilcrest, OD’d fifteen years ago and the boy was the only survivor.

Chrissy figures out that the person who kidnapped her is the person she’d been talking to on SOAR, she then finds out that he killed her parents, so she attacks him with a hammer. He pulls a gun on her, but thankfully the BAU is right outside. She blames herself for the death of her family and puts the gun to her head. Rossi talks her down.

“None of this is your fault, okay? You hear me? Right now, you can make a choice. You have to choose to fight. You have to want to survive. Listen, I can’t promise it’s gonna be okay, but it’s been almost a year since my wife, Krystall, died, and it still hurts like hell. It’s the little things they don’t tell you. The quiet in the house. I can’t stand it, but in that quiet, I’m reminded of her.”

Ballistics say that the UnSub shot himself, even though he didn’t profile as suicidal.

In the trunk of the car that RJ ended up with, he had a polystyrene case that’s caked in mud like it was buried. JJ says it’s sophisticated for a 19 year old kid. Luke brings up her comment about how it’s like. A how-to manual. The show cuts to Tara looking through photos from the shipping container, including a polystyrene case. The news in Yakima shows that the BAU found the missing girl and in the background, they see an officer moving the case.

Tara sends Rossi photos of the polystyrene case and he calls her, he tells her they need all eyes on this.

The episode ends in Whitfield County, Georgia, where we see someone burying another one of the cases. This person is Elias Voit.

Episode 2: Sicarius

Written by Breen Frazier Directed by Nelson McCormick

The cuck episode <3. As soon as I saw the man being wheeled over on a gurney, the episode came rushing back to me. The UnSub is severing spinal cords, this is the UnSub briefly mentioned by JJ in the previous episode. He places his victims on a massage table and puts his phone on the ground with the front facing camera so he can watch their reactions (he’s also recording, important for later).

We see Penelope, starting the episode in true pandemic fashion with a Microsoft Teams meeting for SOAR. Then we see JJ and Will being domestic and cute, and JJ cancels date night for work and Will says it’s fine but they have a talk about it.

Will has a weird line saying JJ has been really busy “since we got back” and I have never figured out if he’s referencing anything specific or if it’s just an allusion to the pandemic.

Back to Quantico! Rossi is still looking ragged as fuck and living out of the hotel, but they kind of move on from that really quickly and talk about the case. Good looking men in their 30s are being found in Silver Spring, MD with their spinal cords severed. They also both had some apps like Tinder and some more… nefarious (?) apps on their phone.

They are bulls who take part in the kink known as cuckolding and I am not going to explain it to you but they do in the show.

The UnSub took similar steps to the UnSub in the last episode, down to selling his car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. So they’re like we have to take this case and they wonder how it’s connected to the shipping container.

Tara and Emily have successfully gotten the shipping container from Washington state to Quantico, the evidence is being processed. Doug Bailey is displeased.

Back to Whitfield County, GA! Elias Voit is back and he’s fiddling with something in the dirt when he gets an encrypted message and is sent the video from our UnSub of him torturing his most recent victim. There’s a text exchange that follows. Voit asks the UnSub if he followed the rules. This is the first real indication that Voit is the person who has been guiding these UnSubs.

They’re talking more about the case and I don’t have it in me to talk about the kink. They’re led to a politician and decide to bring him and his wife in.

Reid and Simmons mention! Rossi says he misses them.

Penelope gets a message from an anonymous user who tells her how SOAR was compromised, he won’t tell her who he is but sends her details about the case that the BAU is actively working on.

The team questions the couple about the kink. Next.

Emily and Tara try to defend the choice to move the shipping container to Doug Bailey and he’s kind of ridiculous. Tara asks if Emily wants a “friend” from the DOJ to ask around about what’s going on with the brass (It’s Rebecca, her gf).

There is no consistent MO with the shipping container victims, one of them had sicarius spiders poured down their throat. This is how the UnSub gets the name Sicarius.

The cuck couple was sent the same video that Voit was sent earlier, the team watches it. Toward the end of the video, the UnSub accidentally reveals that he has one of those polystyrene cases, the team starts to call them “kill kits.”

Bailey is an expert in “efficiency” and wants to eventually become Attorney General, so he’s marching his way through the BAU and other parts of the FBI in order to get there.

Emily clocks the fact that Tara and Rebecca are dating IMMEDIATELY.

Next stop is Hamilton County, TN, we are stuck with Voit again and he gets a call from the UnSub (Robert) because the UnSub wants to kill again, but since Voit is his serial killer guru, he can’t kill until Voit says it’s okay.

He says he’s in network security, this is also what his family thinks he does.

Luke brings up Penelope again ohhhhh my god he’s obsessed.

When Rossi finds out the lab techs named the UnSub Sicarius he says “I’m not gonna name this jag-off! Fuckhead! Okay? Call him that!”

Okay peepaw let’s get you to bed.

Penelope calls Rossi and gives him the information that the anonymous user gave to her, and Rossi tries to get her to come back to the BAU.

Brief mention, Krystall died from an unnamed disease. Did I say that already?

The anonymous user calls Penelope and she tells him she gave the information to the FBI. He insists she needs to be the one to decrypt it or else people are going to die, so, Penelope comes back to Quantico. Everyone who does her job works from home, so her office is virtually untouched. It’s been 1,009 days since she last logged into the system.

The scene where she first logs in is set to “It’s Tricky” by Run DMC, and it’s just so incredibly Penelope.

The anonymous user has mapped out the locations of thirteen different kill kits. It sets out a homing signal in the kit in Tara’s shipping container. That’s how the UnSubs find the kill kits; they each have a transponder.

An APB is put out for Robert Harris, and Voit sees it. Now he knows that Robert didn’t wait like he said. Robert broke the rules. The rule is that the person who gets caught has to either kill themselves or Voit will find them and kill them instead. In this case, Robert kills himself.

The kill kits slowly shut down, meaning Voit is shutting them off so the BAU has no way to track them anymore.

In her office, Penelope finds the note that she left right before she left the BAU in the series finale and reads it. We don’t get to know what it says, but whatever it says motivates her to remain with the team.

In Seattle, Voit returns to his wife and children. We see that he kidnapped a dog (Freak) and lies through his teeth to his wife.

Fun fact, his TV wife his played by his IRL wife.

JJ asks Will is he thinks “our fears come out in our sex life” (In reference to something Rossi says earlier in the episode) and Will’s immediate response is “Am I in trouble?” They more or less commit to work on their relationship and that’s kind of their theme for the season.

Rossi cleans up (and checks out of his hotel) and then JJ comes in being chipper, leading Emily to ask “is everyone around here getting laid except me?” and Rossi “Oh, I’m not.” (OUCH).

End scene!

the recaps will get a little shorter, but these first episodes are so exposition heavy that this was unavoidable

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #cme #criminal minds: evolution #criminal minds evolution recap #cme recap #criminal minds season 16

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robinsegghead · 1 year ago

Text

Danny's Daycare Part 4

[Master List]

Mrs. Bianchi hadn’t been lying when she’d said he would see an influx in children. Within a week of visiting her, he had seven more kids, a total of thirteen. He definitely needed to hire some help- he couldn’t keep duplicating without exhausting his powers and despite Ember’s help, they wouldn’t be able to handle thirteen kids on their own. He could afford to hire help with all the money the Ghost King apparently had.

“Danny!” A happy little shriek sounded from across the room, quickly growing closer. A small body crashed into his leg and a little ‘oomph’ came from the child who fell to the floor. “Danny! Look! Look, look!” Maru, an unusually energetic four-year-old, shoved a picture she’d drawn towards his face.

The picture was of two stick figures, the smaller one was crying, and the bigger one was… comforting her? “Wow, Maru! It’s really creative!” He nodded sincerely. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the bigger stick person, assuming the smaller one was her.

She sighed dramatically. “That’s you silly! Cause I was sad being left home alone all day but now I don’t have to cause mommy said you’re good!”

He masked the frown that threatened to overtake his face when she mentioned being left alone all day. She didn’t want him to be sad, she wanted him to appreciate her art and reassure her that he’d be around for a while, so she didn’t have to be alone. So that’s what he did. “I like having you around too, Maru!” Her story was just like Marco’s. How many other parents left their children home alone all day just so they could afford to put food on the table?

A little bell rang alerting him to someone standing in the entrance. He glanced at his watch (which he’d connected to the very thorough security system) and saw a couple of parents waiting to pick their kids up.

“Allegra! Tommy! Your parents are here!” The two kids groaned, both totally immersed in their activities and not wanting to be dragged away. “Five minutes okay?” He smiled, opening the door for Mrs. Reik and Mia. “They’re finishing up what they’re doing, I’ll grab their bags.”

They’d fallen into a routine, he, and the parents. They would show up, give their children a few minutes to finish what they were doing, and he’d grab their bags (which he often slipped a book, toy, or snack into without their knowing). Tommy’s bag was a little worn down and he made a mental note of the brand and color so he could replace it.

When he made his way back to the two women they were each holding a child. “Danny are you still looking for help?” Mia asked, shifting Allegra on her hip.

He nodded brightly. “Yeah, I haven’t had much time to look, and I don’t know many people yet, so it’s been difficult. If you’re interested or know someone who is, let me know!”

Mrs. Reik thanked him, grabbed her son’s bag, and was on her way, but Mia lingered.

“Do you have applications or…?” She trailed off, embarrassment clinging to her frame.

He nodded, considering the tired look on her face. “I do. It’s mostly a formality,” he moved towards his filing cabinet and pulled out some papers. “and so I can run a background check and such. Do you have experience with kids?”

She shifted Allegra pointedly. “Mama and- and papa were always working. I raised this one and Georgie too. Now that papa is… anyway, mama needs a little help with money and my schooling’s all online, so I was going to start working anyway.”

“Well, fill this out, I’ll run the check, and we should be able to get you working real soon.” The bell rang alerting him to another parent. “You have my number if you have any questions.”

After Mia left most of the parents arrived with the exception of only a few who worked much later. Danny’s daycare was open from seven thirty to six -which was, admittedly, a very long time. But he wanted to be as available as he could for families in need. With Mia’s help he wouldn’t feel so worn down at the end of his eleven-hour day.

And worn down he was. When he got back to his apartment he didn’t even realize it had been infiltrated. Usually he would notice something like that immediately, but Ancients he was tired. So tired he didn’t even react when his eyes finally landed on the vigilantes in his living room. He added two more to his list of people who’d managed to sneak up on him and also a mental note to brush up on his observational skills.

“Oh. Hey.” He nodded slightly, dropping his bag on the ground and crouching to pet the cats, noting Curiosity’s energy. Good, the medicine was working. “Give me a second,” The vigilantes squinted, looking between each other in confusion. “I need coffee.” One of them nodded in understanding, the other sighed dramatically. “You guys want anything?”

“Coffee sounds great.” The red one responded. Red Robin, his subconscious provided.

“Agent A banned you from coffee, Red. “The purple one -Spoiler- groaned.

Red shrugged. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him- or me. Besides, he offered, it’d be rude to turn him down!”

Deciding this argument had nothing to do with him, Danny began brewing a fresh pot, poured two mugs, and grabbed a water bottle. Returning to the living room he found Red examining his pictures of him and his Fraid, and Purple collapsed into his couch. “You didn’t ask for anything, so I got you water. It’s still sealed.”

She looked touched, grabbing the bottle, unsealing it, and taking a tentative sip. Red didn’t hesitate when grabbing the coffee and taking a large gulp, not even wincing at how hot it was.

“So. What can I do for you guys?” He collapsed into the armchair across from Purple and began sipping on the coffee. Gross, he should have added sugar.

Red squinted. “You don’t seem terribly shocked about our presence.”

Danny shrugged, tiredly. “Hey man, it’s Gotham. I would have been annoyed that you guys broke my four-month streak of not running into any vigilantes or rogues except Nightwing ruined that streak a few nights ago so…”

“You ran into Nightwing?” Red asked.

Before Danny could answer, Spoiler spoke up. “What the hell’s going on with your pants?”

He glanced down, considering the right leg of his jeans which, he now noticed, was covered in doodles, and sighing. “I should know better than to wear my nicer jeans to work, huh? Allegra probably did that while I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, as fun as this is, I’m sure you didn’t come here for refreshments and conversation?”

“Actually, that’s exactly why we’re here.” Red Robin placed his now empty mug on the coffee table (seriously, how did he drink it that fast? It’s literally a thousand degrees!) and sat beside Spoiler. “Just wanted to get to know the new guy in the Bowery.”

Danny snorted, taking another sip before closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the ceiling. “More like, you wanted to get to know the guy who is doing a good thing for seemingly nothing in return and wondering if it’s a front or if he’s a rogue in the making. Am I right?” He slid one eye open and took in their surprised faces. “I’m not an idiot, I know what I’m doing is going to raise some questions. It took forever to get anyone in the community to trust me.”

“So-”

“Who’s your mystery donor?” Spoiler asked, cutting Red Robin off.

He smirked. “You’re looking at him.”

Tucker had added an egregiously wealthy relative to Danny’s backstory when recreating him. He’d forged a death certificate, a will, bank transfer’s, a charge for cremation and an urn, everything one could need to convince the world that his money was earned in a normal way and not through combat for a ghost throne. He even displayed the urn on a bookshelf in his living room.

The two vigilantes stared, glancing at the run-down apartment, and back to him. “No really, who is it?” Red asked.

Danny rolled his eyes. “I have a pretty big inheritance, just using it for something good. No one would trust me if I told them it was me though, definitely makes me seem like a rogue out to traffic their kids or something. Which,” He looked at them pointedly. “is not the case. I’m just doing what I can as a favor for a friend.”

“Pretty big favor.” Purple whistled.

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have free time. But after finishing my bachelor’s and not needing to work, I was getting bored.” Technically, that was only partially true. Danny still spent more than his fair share of time working in the Infinite Realms as their king. But they didn’t need to know that.

The vigilantes looked at each other skeptically before Red spoke again. “You decided to open up an entirely free daycare, paying for everything out of pocket, as a favor to someone because you were bored?”

He shrugged.

“No matter how much money you have that’s not sustainable!” Red threw his hands up in the air.

Danny considered this for a moment, taking another drink. “You know Bruce Wayne?” The two froze only for a moment, so short that it would be hard to catch unless you had experience reading people’s micro expressions. Which he did. “The amount of money I have makes Bruce Wayne look impoverished by comparison. That’s not a brag, it’s disgusting, and I’m trying to get rid of it. So. There. I can keep this daycare running for the rest of my life without putting a dent in my inheritance.”

“How the hell do you have that much money!?” Purple shouted.

“Listen, Purple, can I call you purple? I’ve been calling you Purple in my head this whole time, you didn’t exactly introduce yourselves.” Sure, he knew her name was Spoiler, but she didn’t need to know that. “Anyway, Purple, I inherited the money, don’t ask me how I have so much, ask the guy who gave it to me- well, you can’t, I guess, cause he’s dead, but that’s not the point.” He paused, realizing he’d been going several sentences without breathing which was definitely suspicious. “I have a shit ton of money; my friend raised me better than to be a rich capitalist scumbag so I’m doing my best to make her not hate me for my wealth.”

Maybe that would be enough breadcrumbs to keep them busy for a while and off his back. He was rich, he inherited it from someone who was dead, he had a friend who hated the rich, he might as well give them his social security number and childhood home address while he was at it! Tucker could find someone more mysterious with less.

He heard the distinct voice of a woman coming from their ears (probably a comm?). “You two done with RR’s weird obsession? We have actual crime to deal with.” It was an amused but stern voice, and it reminded him of Jazz the few times she’d joined Tucker on his comms.

Red was grumbling something, but Purple seemed amused. “Well… I’m Spoiler, but Purple is fine too I suppose. Aaaaaand while this has been -fun- and all, we should probably get going. Thank you for answering our questions and for the drinks. Sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

He grunted in response, the exhaustion of the day seeping into his weary bones. The sound of his window sliding open and shut signaled their departure and while he had intended to take a shower and eat dinner, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. This daycare thing was a lot more exhausting than he’d thought it would be.

The thought he’d been having on and off since opening the place up reappeared. How long was he planning to keep this up? He’d done it all on a whim and by the time he realized what he was doing, it was done. He was now the (maybe proud?) owner of a free daycare in the middle of the Bowery and also the king of the infinite realms and how long was he going to be able to do both?

Hiring Mia would help (would he be able to explain Lunch Lady and Ember?) but he had had so many ideas on how to help Gotham, he wanted to do it all. While he wasn’t a true Gothamite, hadn’t grown up here, had barely been here a few months, he’d grown to like the rough city, this wasn’t simply a favor to Lady Gotham anymore. It was something he really wanted to do. The people here needed help; he could provide it.

Teaching some classes at Gotham U could be interesting but he hadn’t decided if he wanted to or not. He already had so much on his plate, could he really add something as big as teaching college level classes? And if he did want to teach, would his teaching be better off at Gotham U or maybe a younger level? If he could hire enough trustworthy people to watch over the daycare and run it themselves, he could work on some of this other plans for Gotham.

Their education was extremely lacking anywhere that wasn’t Gotham Academy (for rich snobs) and he’d double majored in Engineering and Biochemistry, surely his knowledge would be useful to teenagers?

Great. If he followed his usual pattern of following through on whatever whims he had, he was likely to build a whole Ancients damned school in the Narrows next. Although…. It would help with the exorbitant wealth thing….

~~~

Danny had definitely prepared for messes. He’d stocked his cabinets with different cleaning supplies and tools for all kinds of spills. He’d expected food, drinks, and bodily fluids, but he didn’t have a cleaning product to get melted crayon out of carpets- he didn’t even know how Allegra had managed to melt the crayon!

It hadn’t been that big of a deal, honestly, but the carpets were new, and Danny liked when the place looked organized (the same could not be said for his apartment or bedroom) and the large dark red stain on the light blue path of the carpet looked suspiciously like blood which was not a good look for the daycare.

That was how Danny found himself searching the convenience store down the street for some kind of cleaning product for melted crayons. It was only after he’d gone to three convenience/grocery stores in the area that he decided he would make the trip across the river to the Upper East Side and search one of the ‘nicer’ stores.

Despite his desire to get rid of his wealth, he didn’t like shopping at the fancier stores in the area, for the same reason he didn’t live in a penthouse in the Diamond District. He couldn’t help Gotham without putting himself in the shoes of her people. And while he wasn’t truly in their shoes (being an incredibly wealthy king meant he’d never truly understand their suffering) he also refused to live lavishly.

But he really wanted to get the red crayon out of his carpets. There were… so many cleaning products. Staring at the shelves, Danny began mentally crossing out each one he knew wouldn’t work before picking up individual bottles and checking what they were meant for. It took a long time. He was only halfway through the search when he felt someone approaching.

An older man in a suit of some sort (who goes grocery shopping in a suit?) stopped a few steps away, picking up a couple of cleaning products and placing them in his cart. He began to move away before stopping once more.

“I noticed you seem unsure about the cleaning products. Perhaps I could be of assistance?” His tone was polite, but Danny felt a blush spread across his cheeks anyways. He was supposed to be a responsible adult, but he couldn’t even find a cleaning product correctly.

Nodding appreciatively, Danny faced the man. “I need to get melted crayon out of a carpet and apparently my closet of cleaning supplies wasn’t prepared for that.”

The man nodded. “That sounds like quite the mess.” He plucked a bottle from the shelf that Danny had yet to look at. “This will do the trick. Pour a generous amount onto the affected area, let it sit for fifteen minutes, then scrub it out, repeat, and rinse.”

Danny grinned. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’m Danny.” He offered the man a hand.

“Alfred Pennyworth, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They shook hands before Danny stepped away. “Well this is all I needed and I’ve gotta get back to take care of this as soon as possible. I really appreciate your help Mr. Pennyworth.”

“I’m glad I could help you. Have an enjoyable evening, Mr. Danny.”

And an enjoyable evening he had. Once he’d gotten back to the daycare, Danny managed to scrub out the stain (Thank you Mr. Pennyworth) until the carpet looked almost good as new and definitely not like blood had been spilled on it. Afterwards he made his way home with a bit more energy in his step than he was used to.

Jazz had insisted on Danny having one of those large family calendars due to his crazy schedule and tonight being a Thursday night meant it was time to plan out the following weekend and week after. Things were generally the same every week- Daycare from seven thirty to six, Monday through Friday, the evenings were spent recharging, Saturdays he slept in and went to the Infinite Realms from eleven to eleven, Sunday mornings he got brunch with Jazz, Sunday nights was the group call with Tucker, Sam, Val, and Jazz, and then it repeated.

But he hadn’t made it to the soup kitchen in a while and he had really enjoyed volunteering there while the daycare was under construction so tomorrow he was going to get up early, go to the Realms from six to six and make it back in time to help with the dinner crowd. He hadn’t seen the two brothers in a few weeks but there were few days he didn’t think about them.

~~~

Mia was an incredibly helpful addition to the daycare and Danny thanked the Ancients she was so reliable. Although he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her entirely alone at any point throughout the day, he did get to take a few hours in the afternoon to get paperwork done in his office while she watched over the kids. On busier days he wouldn’t even do that. They had eight kids every day, guaranteed, but there were many families with less regular schedules that would drop their kids off once or twice a week and on those days, Danny wouldn’t leave Mia alone for even a moment.

The best part about her was that she didn’t ask questions. She’d taken one look at Lunch Lady, paused, looked at the menu, nodded, and didn’t say a word. When Ember introduced herself Mia acted as though it were a completely normal situation, completely ignoring the green/gray skin and getting to work.

She didn’t work the entire day, he couldn’t (and wouldn’t) ask her to stay for an almost twelve-hour shift. She came in around nine in the morning and left around three, taking Allegra with her. When he told her how much he’d be paying her she nearly had a heart attack, but working with children was a difficult and demanding job and he refused to underpay her for her work.

“Hey boss, you looking for more help around here?” She asked in the middle of cleaning up for naptime on an unusually busy Friday afternoon.

He dumped his armful of toys into the bin and pushed his hair out of his face. He really needed a haircut. “Yeah. Your help has been great, but I’m hoping to eventually have enough people here that I don’t have to actually be here all day every day anymore, you know?” She nodded thoughtfully. “You have someone in mind?”

She wiped down the tables still covered in crumbs from snack time and took a moment before responding. “I have a friend who mentioned an interest. He doesn’t live around here but he’s a friend. I’ve known him a long time, he’s good people.”

He shrugged. “Give him an application and I’ll look it over. And if you’ve got more friends like that, feel free to give them applications too. Like I said, I’m looking to hire quite a few people. Although, I’d like to hire people slowly, make sure everyone gets trained well and gets along before hiring another person.”

She hummed in agreement and at the end of her shift took three application packets, stuffing them into Allegra’s backpack before picking the girl up and toting her away. Mrs. Reik was the last person to pick her son up that day and she ended up staying a bit to chat.

“I can’t tell you how helpful your daycare has been for our family.” She started, a sentiment that many of the parents had conveyed to him many times. “I was wondering if you’d like to come by for dinner sometime, so we can properly thank you?” Her offer was shy, slightly guarded, but definitely genuine.

He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. He’d been told that his smiles could be unnerving (too many teeth) so he channeled all the appreciation he could into this one while still keeping it small. “I would love to, Mrs. Reik.”

“Oh please, call me Diane. Would next Friday work? My husband will be home all day with Tommy, and he makes a mean lasagna.”

As long as his food didn’t come back to life, he wasn’t too picky about it. “That sounds great. The daycare is open until six, is seven all right?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you again, Mr. Nightingale.”

“Please, if I’m going to call you Diane, you can call me Danny.”

Apparently, Jazz was right, making friends wasn’t so difficult. The formula was as easy as opening a free daycare, putting yourself out there, befriending every person you meet so they spread the word about you and your business, and working twelve hours a day five days a week chasing after energetic demons. Easy.

~~~

The good part about being able to open portals to the Infinite Realms was that he didn’t need to wake up extra early to get to work. He rolled out of bed (which he’d actually made it to before taking one of his power naps, thank Ancients) at 6:02 in the morning, ripped open a portal, transformed, and BAM! He was at work.

Stepping directly into his office (seriously he needed to get rid of a few offices how did he have so many?), he settled in for a few hours of paperwork before taking a break. He had quite a few requests to schedule a time to spar which he scheduled first- putting those off only meant his rogues would come find him and he didn’t want to explain to Gotham why he was fighting ghosts- before moving onto other matters.

The Observants knew not to bother Danny in his office after an incident where Danny had refused to do work for a day for every disturbance he received. It was a three weeklong strike that finally ended in them leaving him alone and Danny eventually catching up on his paperwork.

Three hours later he experienced a moment he thought he’d never see. There wasn’t any paperwork on his desk. He was free! Free! Standing up in the hopes to leave the Infinite Realms early, a pile of paperwork materialized in front of him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Collapsing back into his chair, Danny regretted every moment of his miserable life. He just had to stop Pariah from destroying the world, didn’t he? But guess what, Danny? No world, no paperwork! He could be nonexistent right now, oblivion, dead, but instead, he was half dead and one hundred percent responsible for copious amounts of paperwork.

There would be no rest for the dead it seemed.

Prev. Next

#fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom/jason todd #danny's daycare #dp x dc #dead on main #Infinite realms #alfred pennyworth

157 notes · View notes

magic-shop-stories · 2 months ago

Note

Hello there, I just wanted to say how much I love your writing. I don’t use Tumblr that often, but I find myself checking in just to see your posts. The details are absolutely amazing!

I was wonder if you could write about the boys and how they’d be as parents with children who’s the opposite of their personalities.

Example: Yoongi who’s a introvert with a child that’s an extrovert. Taehyung who’s a extrovert with a child that’s an introvert etc etc

I’d really love to read your take on this.

Please and thank you. ❤️

💌 Reply:

hiii, lovely... first off THANK YOU so much for your kind words and for trusting me with this gem of a request! 💜 it’s readers like you who make my lil writing heart do backflips, even when my brain is mush ... i’ll be honest; the maknae line kicked my butt this time, especially taehyung... but i hope the headcanons are still what you wanted if anything feels a lil underbaked, please yell at me 💜 – c –🍪✨

BTS as Parents to Opposite-Personality Kids - Headcanons

↳ BTS!Dad's x Daughter/Son

Pairings: none (parent-child focus)

Rating: G (family fluff, mild angst)

Genre: family fluff, Angst to fluff/comfort, emotional growth,(domestic AU)

Warnings: minor angst (parent-child misunderstandings), brief mentions of social anxiety

NAMJOON - Philosopher-Dad

quiet rebellion & love that bridges worlds

CHILD DESCRIPTION

Name: Soo-Min (they/them) Age: 13 Personality:

storm of contradictions

genius-level intellect (inherited from Joon)

zero interest in academia

prefers skateboarding (instead of cycling)

graffiti kid

dismantling toasters to "see how they scream"

quietly defiant

allergic to attention

fiercely protective of their anonymity

wears a black hoodie like armor

scribbles existential haikus on their shoes

“I’m not a leader. I’m a… ghost with opinions.”

Secretly Like Namjoon

obsessively journals (but burns the pages)

writes poetry online

titled “How to Disappear in a World That Demands Fireworks.”

hates being compared to their father

then quotes Nietzsche when angry

LIFE & CONFLICT

Public vs. Private

at home:

Soo-Min builds elaborate Rube Goldberg machines that end with a middle finger popping up

Namjoon stares

equal parts impressed and horrified

“Is this… commentary on capitalism?”

Soo-Min shrugs

“It’s commentary on you.”

in public:

refuses to attend BTS events

when forced, wears a mask (+ noise cancelling headphones)

glares at fans’ cameras

trends as “RM’s Emo Shadow”

Joon’s Google search history: “How to parent a tiny anarchist.”

Namjoon’s Concerns

“What if I’ve suffocated them with expectations?” “What if they’re too much like me terrified of being seen?”

buys parenting books titled “Raising Rebels” and “Teenage Existentialists.”

highlights passages with trembling hand at night

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Soo-Min spray-paints “F*CK YOUR LEGACY” on HYBE’s back wall

security catches them

Namjoon arrives, tie askew

their hood is down for the first time in years

their face splattered with paint and tears

Argument

Soo-Min: “You lecture about authenticity, but you’re just a brand. A mascot.” Namjoon: “You think I don’t hate it too? The speeches, the smiles? I do this so you can scream!” Soo-Min: “I don’t want your sacrifice! I want a dad!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

Namjoon cancels shoots

takes Soo-Min to a secluded temple in Jeju

no phones, no fans

they don’t speak for days

Breaking Point

Soo-Min finds Namjoon’s old journal in the temple

pages filled with 19-year-old Joon’s fears

“I’m a fraud. A leader who can’t lead himself.”

Conversation

Soo-Min: “You… felt like this too?” Namjoon: “Every day. Still do.” Soo-Min: “Then why do you pretend?” Namjoon: “I don’t. I just… choose what to fight for. Like you.”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Namjoon helps them graffiti HYBE’s approved “activism wall”

their tag: “REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (BUT WITH A DAD).”

Soo-Min agrees to one public appearance (monthly)

= RM’s indie poetry reading (on Weverse)

they sit in the back

hood up

but comments from time to time

Growth

Namjoon

releases a solo track sampling Soo-Min’s machine noises

lyrics: “My greatest creation isn’t art; it’s us.”

Soo-Min

posts their poetry under a pseudonym

Namjoon anonymously comments:

“This writer gets it. Proud of you. – A Fan.”

JIN - Glamorous Goofball

quiet contradictions & love that dances to a different beat

CHILD DESCRIPTION

Name: Ji-Yoo (she/they) Age: 10 Personality

storm cloud in a sequined jacket

shy

fiercely independent

allergic to glitter

wears band tees under jeans/leather jackets

scribbles angsty song lyrics on their converse

spends hours dissecting rock albums in their noise-canceling headphones

“I’m not cute. I’m… complicated.”

secretly plays guitar in their closet

composing rage-fueled ballads about cafeteria tuna sandwiches

Secretly Like Jin

inherited his stubbornness

refuses to admit they love his kimchi fried rice

uses sarcasm as a shield

laughs at his dad jokes when no one’s looking

has his cheekbones

hides them under a curtain of black hair

LIFE & CONFLICT

Clash of Worlds

at home

Jin hosts “Family Talent Shows” where he performs Super Tuna 2.0 in a shark costume (younger siblings love it)

Ji-Yoo hides under the couch

“This is emotional terrorism.”

in public

Jin tries to hype them at school events

“Ji-Yoo’s the next BIGBANG! Right, kiddo?”

they fake a stomachache

Jin finds their crumpled note:

“Stop embarrassing me.”

Jin’s Concerns

“What if she thinks I don’t see her?” “Why won’t she let me in?”

buys a book called “Parenting Your Tiny Rebel”

doodles sad faces in the margins

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Ji-Yoo’s school talent show

Jin surprises them with a “Father-Daughter Rock Duet”

complete with light-up guitars)

they freeze

mortified

they bolt offstage

later they scream at him

“I’m NOT your accessory! I hate your stupid songs!”

Argument

Jin: “I just wanted to share the spotlight!” Ji-Yoo: “Your spotlight burns! I’m not you!” Jin: “But… I’m proud of you!” Ji-Yoo: “You’re proud of yourself for having a kid!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

cancels a variety show appearance

takes Ji-Yoo camping

no cameras

no costumes

they don’t speak for two days

just eat burnt marshmallows and listen to crickets

Breaking Point

Jin finds Ji-Yoo’s hidden playlist: “Songs My Dad Would Hate (maybe)”

featuring BTS’ Ddaeng and Nirvana

he listens

awkwardly air-guitars to Smells Like Teen Spirit

Conversation

Jin: “I… like this? It’s… loud. But good loud?” Ji-Yoo: “You’re terrible at headbanging.” Jin: “Teach me?”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Jin learns her favourite songs

writes a punk version of Super Tuna

Ji-Yoo records it

posts it anonymously

“Worldwide Handsome’s Midlife Crisis (Pls Send Help).”

Ji-Yoo agrees to one dad joke per day

Jin uses it wisely

“Why did the rockstar cross the road? To avoid his dad!”

they groan

but they smile

Growth

Jin

releases a SoundCloud collab with them

“Tuna Meltdown (feat. Angry Ghost)”

lyrics: “I’m not your shadow / I’m your mirror.”

Ji-Yoo

wears a “WWH” pin upside down on their backpack

“Irony...”

Jin knows better

YOONGI - Reluctant Softie

loud legacy & love composed in minor keys extrovert prodigy & love that drowns out doubt

CHILD DESCRIPTION:

Name: Yumi (she/her) | nickname: "Bam" (after her chaotic energy) Age: 15 Personality:

neon hurricane in human form

ADHD-fueled

loud!

thrives in crowds

dreams of being a K-pop idol (tho does she really?)

despite Yoongi’s quiet disdain for the industry’s glitter

wears sequined jackets and rainbow hair clips

“to blind the haters”

posts dance covers online with captions like “Suga Who? I’m the Main Character.”

Secretly Like Yoongi

practices choreography until her feet bleed (hates making mistakes)

hides it under sparkly bandaids

writes angsty lyrics in a password-locked Notes app

“They see the glitter, not the glue.”

craves validation but calls it “cringe”

snaps at fans who say: “You’re just like your dad!”

LIFE & CONFLICT

Home vs. Stage

at home:

blasts TWICE at 3 a.m.

drags friends into Yoongi’s studio for “dance emergencies”

Yoongi grumbles

“This is a workplace, not a daycare"

tho leaves snacks out “for the raccoons”

in public:

calls herself “Bam-ssi”

avoiding the “Min Yoongi’s Daughter” tag

posts TikTok rants

“I’m not a legacy act. I’m a revolution.”

trends for clapping back at a troll

“My dad’s a producer, not a prophet. Fight me.”

Yoongi’s Concerns

“She’s too young to know how this industry eats souls.” “What if she thinks I’m ashamed of her?”

buys noise-canceling headphones and concert earplugs “for her safety”

secretly bookmarks her videos

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Yumi auditions for a TV show without telling him

her clip goes viral

“Why should I care about nepotism? My dad’s old news.”

Yoongi watches it on loop

his jaw clenched

Argument

Yumi: “You’re just scared I’ll beat your records!” Yoongi: “You think I give a shit about records? I care about you getting chewed up and spit out!” Yumi: “You don’t get it! I need to be seen!” Yoongi: “I see you. Why isn’t that enough?!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

Yoongi cancels a production deadline

takes Yumi to his childhood home in Daegu

no Wi-Fi

no mirrors

just the piano he learned on

Breaking Point

Yumi finds his old notebooks

lyrics scribbled with “I’m not enough” and “Who am I without music?”

she plays his first mixtape on her phone

“You were… scared too?”

Conversation

Yoongi: “I still am. Every damn day.” Yumi: “Then why’d you let me hate you?” Yoongi: “Better me than the world.”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Yoongi produces her debut single “Glitter Blood” under a pseudonym

lyrics: “I’m my father’s shadow / and the sun that burns it off.”

Yumi agrees to keep her stage name “Bam”

adds “Prod. SUGA” in tiny font

“For the clout...”

she smirks

he rolls his eyes

“Respect your elders.”

Growth

Yoongi

wears a sequined keychain she made

“It’s… reflective. For safety.”

Yumi

lets him attend her first concert

he stands in the back

hood up, crying into his coffee

“She’s… good.”

J-HOPE - Sunshine Cheerleader

silent storm & love that finds rhythm in chaos

CHILD DESCRIPTION

Name: Min-Jae (he/him) Age: 12 Personality:

stoic

grounded force of nature

introverted, observant

allergic to attention

prefers the crisp snap of a taekwondo belt to any pop beat

spends weekends covered in mud on a rugby field

dresses in monotone sweatshirts and tactical boots

rolling his eyes at Hobi’s wardrobe

secretly steals his hoodies when no one’s looking

“Fashion’s pointless. But… his sweater is soft.”

Secretly Like Hobi

organizes his rugby gear with military precision

inherited Hobi’s obsession with order in his wardrobe at home

hum’s “Dynamite” while studying

denies it

“The walls are thin, Appa. Not my fault.”

keeps a hidden sketchbook of jersey designs (neon accents, hidden rainbows)

LIFE & CONFLICT

Clash of Worlds

at home:

Hobi tries to teach Min-Jae “just one dance move!” during laundry-folding

Min-Jae deadpans

“I’d rather eat broccoli.”

Hobi retaliates by blasting “Boy With Luv” while vacuuming

in public:

Min-Jae ducks behind Hobi at red carpets

scowling at cameras

trends as “J-Hope’s Shadow.”

Hobi’s search history: “How to parent a tiny soldier.”

Hobi’s Concerns

“Did I… smother him with too much joy?” “What if he thinks I’m embarrassed of him?”

buys parenting books titled “Quiet Kids, Loud Love” and “Raising Rebels Without Rainbows.”

dog-ears pages on “validation without pressure”

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Hobi surprises Min-Jae with a speech to him during“Hope on Stage.”

Min-Jae storms out mid-show

texts: “Stop trying to make me you.”

Hobi finds him hours later

punching a rugby tackle bag until his knuckles bleed

Argument

Min-Jae: “You’re embarrassing. Always smiling, always on. I’m not your backup dancer!” Hobi: “I just want you to feel what I feel... alive!” Min-Jae: “I am alive! Just… not your way!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

Hobi cancels a photoshoot

takes Min-Jae camping

no music

no mirrors

just a tent and a first-aid kit (Min-Jae’s request)

they don’t speak but hate it too much after a few hours

Breaking Point

Hobi finds Min-Jae’s sketchbook

pages of rugby jerseys with hidden Hope Wolrd flair

inclusing neon stitching (“Hope” in morse code)

Conversation

Hobi:“You… like my stuff?” Min-Jae:“It’s functional. The neon helps visibility.”

a lie

they both know it

Hobi: “Can I… design your next jersey?” Min-Jae: “Only if it’s subtle.”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Hobi learns rugby rules

cheers from the sidelines in a custom jersey

black with glow-in-the-dark constellations

Min-Jae scores a try

he nods at him

= their version of a hug

Min-Jae agrees to one dance practice with BTS

Hobi teaches him to “two-step like you’re tackling a beat”

it’s awkward

they all cringe but laigh

Hobi keeps the video

Growth

Hobi

releases a merch line for “Quiet Warriors”

hoodies with hidden symbols/sequins...

Min-Jae wears his daily - “For visibility”

Min-Jae

leaves a sticky note on Hobi’s mirror

“You’re annoying. But… your smile’s kinda cool.”

JIMIN - Affectionate Nurturer

reserved rebel & love that finds its own language

CHILD DESCRIPTION:

Name: Ji-Eun (she/her) Age: 11 Personality:

stoic

analytical introvert

prefers logic over emotion

she’s a chess prodigy who solves advanced math puzzles for fun

keeps a “Feelings Spreadsheet” to track her moods

spoiler: 87% labeled “neutral”

dislikes physical touch, crowds, and “unnecessary noise"

wears noise-canceling headphones everywhere

answers questions in monosyllables

secretly writes dry, sarcastic fanfiction about historical figures

Secretly Like Jimin

performs random acts of kindness

=fixing a classmate’s broken pencil case

claims it’s “just efficiency”

whispers song lyrics under her breath when stressed

“Promise” is her go-to

hates attention

tho blushes when Jimin calls her “my genius”

LIFE & CONFLICT

Clash of Love Languages

Jimin’s Approach:

morning hugs

surprise gifts (sparkly stationery, plushies)

daily “How Do You Feel?” check-ins.

Ji-Eun’s Reaction:

shrugs off hugs

donates plushies to charity

answers check-ins with: “Functioning at 73% capacity.”

Jimin’s Concerns

“Does she even like me?”

texts Taehyung at 2 a.m.: “What if I’m too much?”

buys a parenting book titled “Raising Robots?”

highlights the chapter “Emotional Encryption”

panics when she requests a “logical birthday”

= no cake, no singing

just a spreadsheet of gift options

Public vs. Private

at BTS family events, Ji-Eun hides in closets

avoiding "Jimin’s affectionate friends"

“Uncle Tae tried to high-five me. Why.”

Jimin laughs nervously

“He’s… practicing.”

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Jimin surprises Ji-Eun with a front-row ticket to her favourite artists concert

imagining a heartwarming father-daughter moment

she spends the entire show in the bathroom

calculating Pi to calm her anxiety

Argument

Jimin: “I just wanted you to see… how much I love you, our time...” Ji-Eun: “You love attention. I don’t. Stop forcing me to be like you.” Jimin: “I’m not...! I just… want to share my world with you.” Ji-Eun: “Your world is loud.”

"BRIDGE"

Catalyst

Ji-Eun’s homeroom teacher emails Jimin after noticing her "unique learning style"

= her chess mastery, aversion to group activities, meticulous spreadsheets tracking classroom noise levels...

suggests an evaluation

framing it gently

“She’s brilliant, but I think she experiences the world differently. This might help her thrive.”

Jimin’s Reaction

panics

calls Namjoon

“Did I miss something? Is she… unhappy?”

researches autism until 4 a.m.

scribbling notes

“Sensory overload… routines… literal thinking.”

realizes her headphones, spreadsheets, and “tolerable hugs” weren’t defiance

= they were survival tools

books an appointment with a neurodiversity-affirming psychologist

hands trembling as he fills out forms

Diagnosis Journey

Ji-Eun’s Assessment:

dismantles the psychologist’s Rubik’s Cube in 30 seconds

“Patterns are easy. People aren’t.”

psychologist smiles

“You’re right. Let’s talk about your patterns.”

Jimin’s Guilt:

overheard in the waiting room

“What if I pushed her to be ‘normal’? What if she thinks I’m disappointed?”

Conversation

Ji-Eun processes the diagnosis like a puzzle solved

Ji-Eun: “So my brain has a different operating system. That explains the… glitches.” Jimin: “You’re not glitched, baby. The world just… buffers sometimes.” Ji-Eun: “Can we upgrade the software? Like, mute unnecessary sounds?” Jimin: “We’ll write the code together.”

AFTERMATH

Understanding & Adaptations

Sensory Safe Space

Jimin soundproofs her bedroom

fills it with weighted blankets and dimmable LED stars

Ji-Eun labels it “Efficiency Zone 1.0.”

Communication Tools

they create a color-coded system

Red Light: “No touch, no talk.”

Yellow Light: “I can listen, but my eyes need a break.”

Green Light: “You have 3.5 minutes to discuss feelings.”

Jimin’s Growth

learins to replace “Why won’t you hug me?” with “How can I help?”

texts the group chat

“Turns out, love isn’t loud. It’s… listening.”

Yoongi replies: “Took you long enough...”

Ji-Eun’s Growth

writes a school presentation: “Autism: A User Manual.”

includes a slide titled “Why My Dad Cries a Lot (But It’s Okay).”

lets Jimin teach her a dance move - once

“Your form is 62% adequate.”

he sobs into her hair

TAEHYUNG - Whimsical Artist

silent observer & love painted in shadows and light

CHILD DESCRIPTION

Name: Ji-Hoon (he/him) Age: 10 Personality:

quiet

observant boy who shrinks from crowds

hides under oversized sweaters

hates cameras, loud noises, especially flashlights

harsh beams make him feel "like a bug under glass"

prefers sketching in the margins of notebooks to speaking

capturing the world in delicate pencil strokes

secretly adores astronomy

refuses to visit planetariums

“Too many people staring at the sky instead of their feet”

Secretly Like Taehyung

inherits his dad’s eye for beauty

expresses it in whispers

= pressed flowers in textbooks, origami stars hidden in drawers

creates intricate charcoal portraits of strangers

then tears them up (fearing attention)

humms Tae’s songs under his breath when he thinks no one’s listening

LIFE & CONFLICT

Public vs. Private

at home:

Tae fills the house with art supplies, jazz records, impromptu photo shoots...

Ji-Hoon retreats to his “fort”

= a blanket-covered desk with fairy lights

Tae pokes his head in daily

“Let’s paint the walls rainbow!”

Ji-Hoon grimaces

“...Pass.”

in public:

Tae’s Instagram is a lately a kaleidoscope of fashion and fans

Ji-Hoon wears noise-canceling headphones and a hat pulled low

trends once as “V’s Mystery Shadow” after photographs snap him glaring at a flashlight

Tae’s caption: “My little eclipse 🌑✨”

Taehyung’s Concerns

“Am I smothering him? Or not seeing him enough?”

buys every “introvert parenting” book

scribbles notes like “Quiet ≠ Broken” in the margins

tries bonding through art

Ji-Hoon’s sketches stay locked in a tin box labeled “DO NOT OPEN.”

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Tae surprises Ji-Hoon with a “father-son gallery showcase”

showcasing his secret sketches

room floods with flashlights and fans

Ji-Hoon freezes

he bolts, knocking over a display of his own art

Argument

Ji-Hoon: “You ruined it! My art is mine... not your content!” Tae: “I just wanted the world to see how amazing you are!” Ji-Hoon: “I don’t want the world! I just want you!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

Tae cancels all schedules

takes Ji-Hoon to a secluded cabin in the woods

no electricity

no cameras

just the Milky Way sprawling overhead and a telescope

Breaking Point

Ji-Hoon finds Tae’s old sketchbook in the cabin

pages of younger Tae’s anxieties

“What if they only love the idea of me?”

Conversation

Ji-Hoon: “You… felt invisible too?” Tae: “Every day. Still do, sometimes.” Ji-Hoon: “Then why do you shine so much?” Tae: “Because shadows need light to exist. Like us.”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Tae builds Ji-Hoon a private studio in the attic

no flashlights, no visitors

Ji-Hoon hangs a sign: “Appa Allowed (Sometimes)”

Ji-Hoon lets Tae display one piece

= a charcoal sketch of their cabin under the stars

Tae’s caption: “Our Universe 🌌 (Shared with permission)”

Growth

Taehyung

starts a midnight astronomy ritual with Ji-Hoon

pointing out constellations with a laser pen

“See that one? Looks like your sneaker.”

Ji-Hoon snorts

“That’s Orion, Appa.”

Ji-Hoon

gives Tae a folded origami star with a note

“You’re my favorite galaxy.”

Tae wears it as a necklace until it falls off

JUNGKOOK - Golden Retriever Dad

quiet contemplation & love that finds common ground

CHILD DESCRIPTION

Name: Min-Jun (he/him) Age: 10 Personality

thoughtful

introverted bookworm

prefers the quiet corners of libraries to soccer fields

deeply sensitive

a knack for poetry, fear of crowds

carries a sketchbook everywhere

filling it with delicate drawings of clouds, insects, imaginary worlds...

Min-Jun shrinks from Jungkooks spotlight

finding solace in solitude

“Why run when you can sit and wonder?”

mutters when his dad suggests a going out

Secretly Like Jungkook

inherits his dad’s stubborn determination

channels it into mastering origami or memorizing constellations

has a hidden competitive streak

beats Jungkook at chess every time but never gloats

loves music but prefers composing haunting piano melodies over pop anthems

LIFE & CONFLICT

Clash of Worlds

at home

Jungkook’s gym is littered with Min-Jun’s origami cranes and half-finished puzzles

“Appa, your dumbbells are crushing my art!”

sighs, rescuing paper dragons

Jungkook responds by doing bicep curls with the dragon on top

“See? Functional art!”

in public

Jungkook’s attempts to share his world end in disaster

= like bringing Min-Jun on stage during a concert encore

Min-Jun freezes under the lights

dropping his sketchbook

fans coo over “JK’s shy angel”

Min-Jun cries himself to sleep

“I’m not a prop”

writes in his journal

Jungkook’s Concerns

“What if I’m failing him? What if he thinks I’m embarrassed he’s not… like me?”

buys parenting guides like “Raising Sensitive Souls” and “Quiet Kids, Loud Hearts”

dog-earing pages about “validation”

secretly envious of Taehyung’s artsy bond with his own kid

“Hyung, how do you… talk about feelings?”

"THE SNAP"

Incident

Jungkook signs Min-Jun up for a father-son boxing class

hoping to “build confidence”

Min-Jun spends the session crouched in a corner

sketching the other kids’ shoes

when Jungkook jokingly calls him “my little turtle” Min-Jun snaps

Argument

Min-Jun: “Stop trying to fix me! I’m not broken!” Jungkook: “I just want you to be strong!” Min-Jun: “I am strong! You just don’t see it!”

"BRIDGE"

Retreat

Jungkook cancels a photoshoot

takes Min-Jun camping in the mountains

no cameras

no crowds

they don’t speak for the first night

Breaking Point

Jungkook finds Min-Jun’s sketchbook open to a page titled “Things I Wish Appa Knew”

drawings include a tearful boy trapped in a shadow labeled “EXPECTATIONS”

giant hand (Jungkook’s tattoos visible) gently holding a origami heart

Conversation

Jungkook: “You… think I don’t see you?” Min-Jun: “You see your version of me.” Jungkook: “Show me yours. Please.”

AFTERMATH

Compromise

Jungkook converts a corner of his studio into Min-Jun’s “Art Cave”

stocked with watercolors, “No Dumbbells Allowed” sign...

Min-Jun agrees to play piano with Jungkook

Jungkook’s first composition?

= clumsy but heartfelt tune titled “Min-Jun’s Clouds”

Growth

Jungkook

late-night Live rambling about “invisible strengths”

fans spot Min-Jun’s origami dragons/cranes on his shelf

“My kid’s the real superhero”

murmurs grinning

Min-Jun

secretly submits a poem to a contest

wins

title: “My Dad, the Quiet Warrior.”

Jungkook frames it next to his awards

51 notes · View notes

kiragecko · 2 years ago

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A few weeks ago, I flew to visit my grandma with my little brother and sister. My little brother had never been on a plane, and my sister only has once, almost a decade ago. It was an experience.

All three of us are in our 30s and neurodivergent¹. My little brother has Down’s Syndrome² and is probably autistic. He communicates mostly through echolalia³.

I suspected there might be challenges, so I tried to contact the airline before purchasing tickets. This did NOT work. The Westjet agents weren’t allowed to discuss anything with me until I had booked a flight. I was purchasing nonrefundable tickets. The website was quite clear that they could kick us from the plane if they couldn’t support our needs. And they wouldn’t tell me if they could support our needs!

I ended up calling around 8 times. Finally, after purchasing tickets and jumping through all the hoops, someone was willing to talk. They mostly said that everything was up to the people letting us on to the flight, but at least they talked to me!

My main concern was the pacing. My brother’s favourite activity is pacing in circles and repeating movie/song quotes to himself. Once we got on the plane things would be fine (we had movies for him to watch), but I was concerned that other passengers waiting to board would find this stressful. Like - that isn’t our problem, it’s their’s - but flying is hard! If there was a way for us to not add more stress, I wanted to find it!

The airline was zero help, so we did our best to prepare on our own. My uncle died the day before the trip, and that increased stress levels. My autistic sister was dealing with that, a sense of responsibility for my brother, and also anxiety about a mostly-new experience (flying).

And then the plane gets delayed.

By an hour, at first.

The airline said we should be there TWO HOURS early for domestic flights. Which is ridiculous. TWO HOURS??? Especially since everything before security can now be done online? But we obediently turn up two hours before the new flight time, and are immediately directed to the priority security line. Which is good. Even the short line is boring for my brother, and I can’t let him pace in the few open spaces. But ten minutes later we’re at our gate, ready to leave.

Now we just have to wait for an hour and fifty minutes!

We had hoped my brother would want to watch his first movie. But he's riled up from lines and crowds and gets right to pacing. A few people have to slow down as they pass, but he’s not hurting anyone, so I let him be.

I’m more worried about my sister, now. She lives with the aunt that found my uncle. She hasn’t slept in days, worrying about the trip. She isn’t handling the noise and crowds. So I keep an eye on my brother (at least 50% to make sure he doesn’t take some of the chocolate he keeps eyeing when he passes the gift shop), occasionally ask if he wants to watch a movie, and watch my sister slowly descend into a panic attack. Not fun. Eventually I send her to the bathroom, hoping that it will be quieter and she can calm down.

BUT! Events have happened during this time! The plane has been delayed another 15 minutes! It is explained that they have had to replace the plane with one they haven’t yet finished retrofitting. This new plane doesn’t have as much overhead baggage space. They need at least 15 pieces of carry-on luggage to be checked. If the passangers aren’t willing to do this, there will be large delays once loading starts, as people are FORCED to check their luggage. Also, there’s no first class on the new plane. Or charging ports. Or meals. Or in-flight entertainment. First class passengers can request some money back. And if anyone misses their connecting flight due to the delays, tickets to their new flights will be provided upon landing.

People start to get tired and stressed. The intercom keeps threatening them. Now it’s 30 bags that need to be checked. Delays will be even longer if this doesn’t happen!

At this point, security shows up. They ask if anyone will take responsibility for the pacing guy. I do. They show visible discomfort with the situation, and his disability. Can I make him stop pacing? I can try, but probably not. Please do that, it is bothering the other passengers. Oh? Really?? Who could have guessed that?!

My brother is NOT willing to sit down. We stand in the concourse, while I talk to him about sitting down and he makes annoyed sounds at me. I’m not about to force him. I don’t want us to get kicked out of the airport, but can they do that for something as minor as acting weird in public? Mostly, I’m worried about all our electronics, which I abandoned in the open when security showed up. I’m not sure if security will try something with my brother if I leave him to pace while I clean things up.

And now, the hero shows up. The head of security has been called, and he comes over and asks me if there’s anything my brother needs. No, there isn’t, he’s quite happy to pace. It’s everyone else that is being bothered.

“I don’t care about them. He has just as much right to this space as they do. I just want to make sure you guys have everything you need. Would he like a sensory package?”

He wouldn’t like a sensory package, but this guy’s offer of the chapel as a quiet space IS interesting. Mostly because my sister is off in sensory shut-down somewhere, and needs a quiet space. But also because I could relax a little nobody would be watching us, and I could relax if my brother had an enclosed room to pace in. (No chocolates!)

As I’m agreeing to this, my sister returns. Head of Security respectfully tries to explain the situation to her. I look at her hunched body language and tell him to just talk to me. Then I send her to pack up our stuff. He wants to Include Her. She really, really does not want to be included.

He also wants to Include my brother. It’s kind of cute. He’s overflowing with good intentions, but obviously hasn’t had a lot of chance to put them into practice yet. He’s incredibly respectful, but in ways that would work a bit better for people who are more interested in their own decision making than my brother. I’m charmed.

Another person shows up. She is introduced as the Accessibility Specialist, and we are asked if we’re okay with her support. Oh yes, I am very okay with this. After she gets caught up - and she reiterates that everyone else can suck it, my brother is allowed to inhabit this space how he wishes - we get ready to head for the chapel. But the plane is about to land. There probably isn’t enough time to transition there and then back. So instead, we all wait around and listen to our two heroes conspire.

Accessibility Specialist has had the job for a month. Or, at least, she's been PAID to do this job for a month. She's been doing it unofficially much longer. She has IDEAS. So that’s where all the unpolished We Respect Everyone energy is coming from. Head of Security is one of her co-conspirators!

In-between plotting, Accessibility Specialist asks me questions. She hears about the amount of phonecalls, and the unsatisfactory answers. The complete lack of support. The fact that I had told the airline that this exact situation was likely to happen, and then got security called on us anyways. She tells me that this information is very helpful. Her plans will benefit from specific examples.

She tells me how unsatisfactory it is to have to send people to the chapel. They're pushing for a quiet room. I agree that this would have been helpful. My brother would probably have been calmer in a quiet space, which would have helped us AND reduced the stress for others. (Also, both me and my sister would have benefited from the quiet. But I didn’t say that.)

In all the commotion, I’ve forgotten to talk to the boarding people about priority boarding. But Accessibility Specialist is on the ball! We stand off to the side, behind a rope, while the plane disembarks. (My brother starts off pacing RIGHT in the way of the disembarkment, so sneaking into the roped off area is a good idea.) We’re going to be the very first ones to board, even before the people in wheelchairs. I pray that my brother is willing to walk onto the plane – he hasn’t been willing to follow me since we got out of security.

The boarding people are on their best behaviour. They make a special trip over to us to scan our tickets. They send someone down the ramp to check on the plane’s status. We are now VIPs. And we seem to have made the Accessibility Specialist’s day. She is so SMUG as she whispers with the Head of Security!

They ask if we’re okay with them accompanying us to the plane. Sure! I’m having a great time watching their excitement. It’s changed a very difficult experience into a pleasurable one. (For me. They are thankfully respecting my sister’s desire to be ignored. She is still not having fun. And my brother is pretty done with this experience. He’s found some quotes about ‘going home’ and ‘not doing this’ to share with me.)

Finally, we get the nod. My brother calmly follows us down the ramp. We get to the plane and are asked to pause for a moment while they finish moving some storage carts around. Seems reasonable to me, but Accessibility Specialist darts forward and takes photos, documenting SOMETHING. And then we get on the plane.

The plane itself would have been great. My brother happily took a seat. Enjoyed looking out the windows. And was excited to watch Shrek. My sister relaxed. And I LOVE flying. But, sadly, electronics must be stowed during liftoff and landing. My brother did NOT take these unreasonable demands from me well. He eventually forgave me for the take-off misdemeanor, especially after I put on my own headphones and quoted the movie with him. But my sins at landing were too much. For half an hour after he left the airport, he kept repeating, “NO more flying!” and “Not like this!” Any comments about flying for the next day got his hackles up.

So, I won’t do that to him again. But it was a very interesting experience for me! I am glad I got to have it.

And if anyone has flown through Winnipeg’s Richardson International Airport⁴ in the last while, and wants to tell them about any good or bad accessibility experiences, I think there’s someone there that would appreciate it. I want to see what she can accomplish.

PS. She’s also started a program where you can practice getting ready to board a plane! You sign up and they take you through the whole experience, from signing in to walking the boarding ramp. (Or, possibily, just whichever portion is concerning you.) I wish I had thought to contact the airport itself, rather than just contacting the airline and looking at the government’s resources. Good things are happening there.

¹ neurodivergent – brain works in a non-typical way

² Down’s Syndrome – an intellectual disability

³ echolalia – communication by repeating/echoing things heard, either right after hearing them, or a long time later

⁴ Winnipeg is in Manitoba, Canada

#accessibility #disabilities #airplanes #airports #I got a response from her yesterday #after sending in feedback (so she'd have more documented examples)#saying she's going to be 'sharing it widely'#so I decided I'd tell this story one more time #she deserves to succeed

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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The loneliness epidemic in the United States is so bad that even federal agencies have begun to pay attention. Today, half of adult Americans report experiencing feelings of loneliness and isolation, and some of the highest rates are seen among young adults.

That’s a painful social problem—but it’s also a national security threat. I get laughed at sometimes when I try to explain this concept to old-school bureaucrats. Who can blame them? Evolving threats are a headache, so it’s easier to pretend that nothing ever changes. But consider how easy it can be to compromise the lonely and desperate.

Take Sweet Dave, as he’s come to be known among security professionals, otherwise known as David Franklin Slater, a retired U.S. Army lieutenant colonel-turned-civilian Air Force employee. Earlier this year, Slater was charged with passing on classified information to an individual—who claimed to be both a woman and Ukrainian—via email and an unnamed online messaging platform.

Documents included in the federal indictment against Sweet Dave read like a Saturday Night Live sketch: “Dear, what is shown on the screens in the special room?? It is very interesting,” the alleged Ukrainian woman is quoted as saying to Slater at one point.

“You are my secret informant love!” Slater’s beloved coos after checking in to ask about how NATO representatives travel.

Judging by these messages, Slater wants to feel special. The person he is corresponding with makes him feel like a hero, not just a retired soldier in Nebraska. Who doesn’t, at the end of the day, want to feel like a hero?

It’s easy to dismiss Slater as foolish and horny, and while he definitely seems to be both of these things, I was curious to see a fellow open-source intelligence expert unearth his Facebook likes: Here’s a guy who’s completely awash in images of unattainable fantasy women to an embarrassing level, and it follows that he would lose all common sense if approached by one online.

Sex is an old motivation for espionage, but the current rash of cases is about far more than lust. Take Air National Guard member Jack Teixeira, who leaked highly classified information to impress his fellow nerds on Discord, a social messaging platform. He, too, wanted someone to think of him as a badass.

Foreign intelligence has always preyed on the lonely and romantically vulnerable, from the West German women targeted during the Cold War by East German “Romeo” spies to the French diplomat who believed that his lover, a Chinese man, was a woman who had birthed his son.

But the internet allows a degree of connection—or the illusion of connection—that facilitates exploitation on a scale never before seen. Sometimes it doesn’t even take foreign actors. Consider the case of Anna Gabrielian and her spouse, Jamie Lee Henry, two Americans who are due for a new trial after being charged with giving classified information to Russia. (Last year’s legal proceedings against the couple ended in a mistrial.)

What does a married couple have to do with loneliness and fantasy worlds? Not much, or so I thought at first—until I reread the indictment.

Looking at the power dynamics on display in this case is revealing. Henry and Gabrielian were in a lopsided relationship, with Gabrielian submerged in a fantasy dreamworld of “sacrificing everything” for a distant, mythical Russia. And she pressured her spouse into going along with it.

Gabrielian was so far gone that she thought that she could simply email the Russian Embassy and offer them help, and that she could trust whoever reads emails from random strangers over there. (I personally think that Russian Embassy staff members likely decided they were being played and began making inquiries of their own sources that U.S. intelligence picked up on, thus ultimately exposing Gabrielian’s plan.)

Gabrielian went as far as calling her spouse a “coward” for showing hesitation about turning traitor. This was the pedestrian version of the infamous “Russia, if you’re listening” speech by former U.S. Donald Trump, this time by a woman who clearly thought that benevolent Russian benefactors would materialize and reward her courage. There doesn’t appear to be a financial motive, as is the case with many similar cases. This was a spy fantasy concocted by a woman who obviously wanted to feel important.

In yet another unfortunate case, Gordon Black, a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army, was arrested in Russia in May and accused of theft. Based on this man’s social media, he seems to have been involved with a Russian woman from Vladivostok—the city where he was nabbed by the authorities.

Based on available information, Black was in the middle of a divorce from his American wife. I’ve found pictures of him with the Russian woman in question dating as far back as June 2023. I have also found memes and comments, supposedly posted by this woman on social media, that reflect virulently violent views toward Ukrainians, anger toward NATO, and even the desire to humiliate her American boyfriend, whom she calls a slur in one memorable video.

Black was stationed in South Korea and was due to travel to a new post at Fort Cavazos, in Texas, when he decided to detour to Russia instead. According to his mother, Black did not appear to have permission to do so, and may have even been “set up”—although Black’s loneliness may have played an even bigger role.

It’s clear to an impartial observer that Black’s Russian girlfriend was bad news, yet he risked everything for her. The ardent devotion that appears in his face in one particular picture with his girlfriend is almost painful to look at.

The usual approach by both government and private actors to security training and identifying foreign threat actors is extensive, and repetitive lectures and reminders reiterate that training. But that doesn’t necessarily address the root of the problem.

Many people with access to sensitive information—like the public as a whole—are adrift both online and offline. They’re stressed, and they often don’t feel connected to other human beings. This makes them sitting ducks as far as foreign intelligence, hackers, scammers, and agenda-driven trolls go. It can also make them feel angry and resentful, willing to betray, and willing to act stupid for the sake of feeling powerful and important—and feeling seen.

In the national security world, the word “holistic” is often viewed with suspicion and seen as the purview of New Age crystal healers. But you can’t divorce human nature—and human predicaments—from digital and personal safety.

For example, I once had several diplomats act very surprised when I pointed out that not enough people are being taught that they shouldn’t use dating apps while drinking or while seriously stressed. It just hadn’t occurred to them that unwinding with a glass of wine after work and checking the apps could result in a bad outcome. These men weren’t stupid at all—they just hadn’t considered a holistic approach to using technology while holding a sensitive job.

The same can be said about drinking in other situations where you could be left vulnerable—such as in a foreign country, or in a bar frequented by the wrong kind of people. Somehow, we all know the risk, but we rarely focus on why people take it to begin with; we rarely focus on our natural need for connection and thus have a hard time mitigating it properly.

Another man in a sensitive job was once very surprised when I wrote that it’s perfectly OK and even advisable to video chat with a potential date. “You mean I can just ask for that? What if she thinks I’m rude?” he asked. The answer to that question should be “who cares?”

Unfortunately, for lonely people—and especially men—who are already having a harder time when it comes to connecting to others, “who cares” is not enough. Being in the right frame of mind, being more confident, and feeling more settled are essential to enforcing boundaries, and people desperate for connection simply have a harder time doing that.

“Put down your phone and go outside” is cliche advice, but outside is also a great place to meet people, thus leading to a lessened sense of loneliness, thus leading to reduced stress, and thus leading to better decisions.

“Recognize when you’re unhappy or desperate” is another cliche. People laugh when I bring up the fact that staying emotionally balanced is advisable from a national security perspective. Sounds like woo-woo yoga mom talk, right? Yet the clearance process is already meant to weed out people who feel desperate—people with gambling or drug problems, for example. So shouldn’t we also be focused on making sure that people who already have clearances have access to the tools they need in order to right themselves when pressures in their lives escalate?

How many leaders instead expect their subordinates to constantly be online and available? This feeds into the loneliness epidemic too—believe me. How easy do you think it is for a person to form meaningful connections when they are forced to constantly check their phone?

With lawmakers growing more cognizant of “right to disconnect” laws that allow employees space to be offline instead of demanding constant connection, perhaps we can start thinking more broadly about what it means to disconnect, and how burnout is inadvisable. Not just because burnout is bad, which it is, but because burnout can be dangerous.

Lonely and unhappy people are a gold mine for hostile actors. The subsequent need to seek connection and validation in the wrong places is a security threat—and one that national security leaders need to be thinking about much harder.

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