His name had been Elliot, once. Before your mother renamed him Cinderellon and set about taking everything he had inherited, he had been a quiet, golden-haired boy of fourteen who knelt on the hearthstone as though he’d always belonged there.
You used to watch him from the doorway, and you would leave food quietly on the scrubbed floor whenever your mother’s back was turned.
When he got sick, you would watch over him, and apply cool damp clothes to his forehead. You even went to market to buy him medicine and herbs to ensure he got well.
You told yourself it was guilt. You tried desperately to believe that.
But you felt related to him, because your mother clearly favors your other two sisters over you and never shies away from showing that favoritism right in front of your eyes.
Elliott never thanked you, and he never spoke much at all in those years. He silently watched, and waited with the patience of someone who has learned the cost of impatience.
You didn’t know he was keeping count. Nor did you realize that behind the lash-veiled, careful eyes, every small kindness you had shown him had been meticulously catalogued and tenderly pressed like a flower between the pages of a book he intended to carry for the rest of his life.
He left to petition the Prince on a Tuesday. By Thursday, your world had collapsed entirely.
The Prince, young, righteous, and deeply inexperienced in the complexities of mercy, descended on your household like a verdict.
The estate was restored to its rightful heir. Your mother and sisters were dispatched to a dowager cottage in the provinces, disgraced and furious. And Elliot, Lord Ashmore now, became the most sought-after name in the kingdom overnight.
You had been deemed the gentle one, spared, and for some reason you naively thought that was the end of it.
Then, unexpectedly, his letter arrived, sealed in silver wax, the handwriting painstakingly careful and unhurried.
"Come to the palace. Escort me to the Prince’s Ball. It is the least you can offer, after everything."
The ballroom was all crystal and floating candlelight, and you were halfway through convincing yourself this was gratitude, that he simply wanted a familiar face.
"You look lovely," he admired softly. "Like a promise finally kept."
You gave Elliot a small, nervous smile. "You’ve done so well for yourself. Truly. I’m glad," you praised him lightly.
He looked at you for a long moment, and something behind his gaze suddenly caught fire.
"I knew you would be," he said softly. "You were always glad for me. The only one."
His hand closed firmly around your wrist. Not in a rough manner. Elliot had never been rough with you, not once.
"Stay," he stated intently. "Marry me. I have the estate, the Prince's favor, every resource I was owed and more. I could give you a life where no one speaks to you the way she did. Where no one makes you feel like a footnote."
The music played on. The floor felt very far away.
"Elliot." You said his name carefully, the way you’d learned to speak to things that startled easily. "We were raised as siblings."
"Step," he corrected, almost tenderly. "And I have never felt anything brotherly for you. Not once." He tilted his head, knowingly. "You know that."
You did know. That was the problem.
"I care for you," you admitted hesitantly. "You know I do. But not in that way."
"I know you’re frightened," Elliot pointed out gently, as though your objection were a symptom to be managed rather than an answer to be accepted.
"That’s natural. Before you refuse me, though, consider something." A timid pause follows.
"When the Prince restored my inheritance, he also opened an investigation into the crimes committed in my father’s name. Theft of an estate, falsified guardianship documents, and imprisonment of a ward. Those are crimes that carry consequences for your entire household." His thumb moved slowly, once, across your pulse point.
"You lived there. And you were present for years. A thorough magistrate might easily argue you were complicit."
The blood instantly drained from your face. "You know I wasn't," you argued sharply.
"I know," he agreed. "My testimony is the only thing that can establish it, cleanly and publicly. Marry me, and I’ll testify you were my ally throughout. I will say you were the reason I survived it." His blue eyes remained utterly steady.
"The choice is yours. But it is a decision with consequences either way, and I think you’re clever enough to understand what I’m telling you."
"Why?" The word came out brokenly. "Why would you want me like this, if you have to corner me into it?" you asked, desperately.
For a moment, the measured look slipped completely from his face, and beneath it was something raw, terrible, and sincere.
"Because I cannot let you leave," he insisted. "You were the only good thing in that house. The only person who saw me as something worth saving before I had anything to offer in return. I will not lose that. I’m sorry." The young Lord lifted your hand to his warm lips, his eyes still steady on you.
"You will learn to love me this way, as you managed it so beautifully before."
Y/N's heart sank when she saw her daughter Alice running after the white rabbit, moving away from the noisy crowd of guests. Alice was a special child, strange, as her peers would say. The woman herself knew that her little girl was not of the world, for she was not born of a mere human.
For Y/n, the white rabbit became a symbol of danger. A guide between worlds, and the woman could not let this animal lead Alice straight into the clutches of his master. So, unnoticed, she slipped through the crowd of guests and rushed into the garden, and there she ran along the path to the perennial oak tree. The hole had reappeared in that spot. And to the woman's horror, Alice was nowhere to be found.
Y/n looked round, dropped the uncomfortable hat and cape that hid the beautiful blue dress. Even after a few years, she hadn't stopped loving blue, even though it was associated with the horrible time she'd spent in the hole.
The woman climbed down deep, trying to avoid worms, spiders, and other insects. Her head banged against the roots of a tree, and at one point, she found it hard to breathe. Since then, she had grown a little and put on weight, so the narrow hole was pressing in from all sides.
Y/n crawled for a long time until her hand slipped and she fell down, she was flying so fast she was afraid she would crash at the end. But gusts of wind from below picked her up. The place she was falling into appeared different, there were few lost things and all the mirrors and glass objects were broken, it was cool.
The surprising phenomenon was that the woman did not appear in the corridor of doors. She came out of another hole just outside the Hatter's cabin. She got up and shook herself off.
The table where the Hatter, the March Hare, and the mouse had been sitting was in a shattered state. All the saucers and cups were broken and lying all over the place, as were the sweets. It was only now that Y/N noticed that the lodge itself was also dilapidated, and the atmosphere was eerie and quiet. No birds sang, no cheerful voices of friends could be heard.
They had helped her get out of this place, they had risked everything for her, and in the end? What happened to them? Where are they? How long had this place been ruined?
There was laughter in the air and Y/N twitched, but she saw a smile flying in the air, then eyes and a body slowly manifesting.
"Cheshire!" cheered the woman.
"Y/n, you've changed a lot...you've grown up!" the cat smiled just as much, but the changes were visible.
"And you've lost so much weight...and that scar over your eye? From where?" Y/N came closer, and the cat hovering in the air disappeared.
"You don't have to worry about me, how about Alice?" and immediately appeared next to Y/n.
"Alice! Where did you...? Where is she?"
"Went back and forth...I gave her directions, but she took a wrong turn because of the rabbit," Cheshire muttered.
"Damn...that rabbit...where's the Hatter?"
"They have long since been captured by the Red King, my dear," he disappeared again and reappeared a little further away from the woman.
"I'm sorry..." said Y/N pitifully.
"You don't have to worry about that...Alice...I'm afraid she will soon meet the one you are so afraid of..." the cheerfulness in the cat's voice vanished.
"I got you into this, Cheshire. It's up to me to fix it. Won't the roads confuse me?" Y/N looked at her gradually disappearing friend.
"They won't confuse you because HE knows you've come," and the cat vanished into thin air.
A tower with a heart glimmered among the trees. That's where she needed to go, and that's where it would all start again. Y/N inadvertently glanced back, hoping to find a hole and fall back into the crowd of noisy guests. See her parents, whom she hadn't seen in a long time due to travelling with...Alice... . Alice, she's waiting, and most likely afraid, though she builds herself up as a warrior, but sometimes she doesn't look like one at all. Her daughter had already told her about dreams of the Magic Land, a land where Y/N herself had been. The woman had sensed the danger. Now she realised that these dreams were a prediction.
Y/n wandered down the path, the forest was dark and terrible. Not like it had been before. She felt fear and discomfort, but she walked boldly forward. There was no way back.
She stood before the gates of the Castle of Hearts, they were open and there were no knights. A path of stone led to the huge doors of the castle, which were ajar. There was silence in the courtyard, everyone was waiting for her. White roses, tinted with red paint bloomed proudly and smelled in the flowerbeds around them. The woman didn't know if these were the flowers she had once painted or if Alice had done it.
She walked down the familiar corridors of the castle, trying to pass quietly and unnoticed, but it was a foolish idea.
"Mum!" exclaimed Alice when she saw the woman enter the throne room.
"Alice!" Y/N ran to meet her daughter, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close.
The throne room was empty as well, at least that's what it seemed to Y/n. Ignoring the greedy red eyes that trailed in the dark corner of the room.
"Mummy, I have so much to tell you!" the girl smiled happily.
"Oh my girl, we have to get out of here right now!" Y/N grabbed Alice's hand tightly, trying to pull her out of this castle, but the girl pushed herself up against the floor with her feet.
"No! Mummy!" shrieked the daughter sharply.
"Alice, I'll explain later!" Y/N made another attempt, but the girl stood firm.
"No, Mummy, Daddy will be upset!" shouted the girl in the same way, echoing throughout the hall, and Y/n's heart clenched and hammered, a blush pouring from her cheeks.
"My love... "a soft and deep voice echoed through the hall, the kind of voice that made a woman's whole gut tremble.
Y/n let go of her daughter's hand and she ran laughingly into her father's arms. The woman couldn't find the strength to turn round, she shrank back and tried to disappear from the world like Cheshire, but alas, she couldn't.
The sound of footsteps was sure and purposeful, firm and loud.
"My beloved daughter, I need to speak to our mother, find Eight, he will take you to your room," the man released the girl and she ran happily out the side door.
Y/N held back tears as the king's hands fell on her shoulders and then slowly travelled down her arms, squeezing them while his chest pressed harder against the woman's back. The smell of flowers and tart alcohol was intoxicating and frightening.
"I am happy to see you again, my sweet rose," he kissed the back of her neck.
"Please let us go," Y/n begged.
"HOW can I? I've finally seen my daughter that you tried to hide!" he turned the woman sharply towards him, and grabbed her face with his hands so she wouldn't dare avert her eyes. He pressed against his lover's lips with all his might, crushing and biting them so their kiss tasted of blood and salt.
Y/n was crying, trying to hold back the cries of pain and despair. She wanted to push him away but she knew it was useless, he was much taller and stronger and therefore more dangerous.
She opened her eyes as she began to feel him begin to gently kiss the lips he had so cruelly bitten and whispered a quiet 'sorry, sorry, sorry'.
"Where is everyone?" decided Y/N to raise her voice, after a while. The king pulled back, squinting his eyes dangerously.
"Huh, has that shabby animal said something to you yet?" he smiled, still with the same smile that carried only fear and pain.
"Please..." Y/N looked at him with her tearful eyes.
"Ah, I can't, my whole body trembles when I see you like this, I can't lie to you about anything. They're here in the dungeon, you know why, don't you?" the man hummed, and let go of Y/N's head.
"You...you can let them go?"
"...Sure! But what, do I get in return?" he smiled slyly, dragging her body closer to the two thrones.
"I'll stay here...along with Alice, forever," the woman muttered confidently.
"Oh, how I've been waiting for this!...Please drink this!" he held out an elaborate flask of red liquid.
Y/n knew very well that it was a forgetfulness potion, it would make her forget everything and then use magic to create new memories. The king had wanted to do this once before, but the woman had escaped.
"But you also promise to let the others go. Make them forget about me, give them the memories that I was always the queen, that I...so they won't try...try to free me again!" the woman held up this flask.
"Of course, my dear, this will be my wedding gift to you," the king smiled slyly.
Y/n sighed heavily, pulled the cork out of the potion and drank the entire contents to the bottom.
"All right, good girl," the man cooed.
He tossed the flask aside, the flask shattering on the stone floor with a loud thud. The king grabbed the woman's face and pulled her closer to him, sinking a kiss back into her lips. Gently with his tongue, he parted her sensual lips and penetrated inside, connecting his tongue with hers. The woman moaned excitedly, her head gradually becoming light, memories blurring, only feelings remained, feelings for the man who was kissing her so frantically.
Y/n didn't realise how she had ended up on one of the thrones. Didn't realise when the king had managed to kneel down, jabbing his face into her womanly bosom. He played with her clit with pressure, working his tongue his way inside. Y/n couldn't remember how many times she'd cum.
The woman didn't remember how she found herself on her...husband's lap, she stared blurrily around the throne room as her man penetrated her, immediately quickening his pace. On the first try, he found that point inside her and Y/N squirmed letting out a loud moan. The king gently slid his hand down, squeezing her pearl harder, even hurting a little, but Y/N accepted it. Accepted his seed pouring into her, his kisses and hugs.
"Let's have another child..." the king whispered softly into his lover's ear.
Y/n slowly drifted into sleep.
"With pleasure, my love!"
The woman uttered rapturously, finally relaxing into her lover's embrace.
<A few months later>
"Mummy!" shouted Alice, carrying across the garden the intricate flowers she had picked up from nowhere.
"Careful honey, you'll fall!" laughed the queen merrily.
"I'm giving this to you!" said the girl proudly, holding three flowers in her hands.
Y/n carefully turned around, holding her already rounded belly. And reaching out for the flowers.
"Well, there, you've soiled your dress again," the woman said dejectedly, running her hand lightly over the red fabric.
"It's okay, daddy buy some more, right daughter?" the king suddenly appeared, joining the conversation.
"Aha!" said Alice just as proudly, and ran off again.
"You spoil her too much!" said Y/N resentfully.
"She's my favourite," the King shrugged, putting his arm around his wife's waist.
"That's not the reason..." the woman exhaled quietly.
"There's the Hatter and the others coming, time for tea!" the man took Y/N's hand and slowly pulled her in the other direction.
"Don't change the subject!" pronounced Y/N, but obeyed her husband.
She didn't notice the satisfied smirk spreading across the King's face. He only walked slowly, thinking about how wonderful it was to add a few drops of love potion to the forgetfulness potion. But now he had to remember to add the rest of it to today's tea....
From Nymph: what are you hiding Cheshire? Anyway, I'm coming out of an apathetic period in my life now, because of it I just stopped living and now exist on a bed. The weather in our area is terrible, we were promised the warm summer I was looking forward to, but ended up with cold, wind and rain. Even the river I live by has become too high, but it's not out of its banks yet. That's it, I've complained, thank you for listening and reading my new work.
warnings: WICKED WONDERLAND SPOILERS! this starts when they arrive at the lumoria tree, includes ‘did you hear about them?’, then replaces the scene afterwards with red & max. reader’s family sucks and that big internal conflict is the plot of this fic so it’s very prevalent. there’s a bit of swearing (bullshit/shit, fuck)
note: i’m so incredibly happy to be back here & writing again, it’s all SO fulfilling!! reader is the younger sibling of chessy, both of which are able to shape shift between cat form & human. the relationship between max & reader is ambiguous so you can read it however you want
you’re the perfect picture of leisure, legs dangling behind you after a lethargic stretch, your torso draped across the strangely textured surfaces of multiple signature wonderland oversized plants, leading up to where your cheek squishes into your forearm, which is haphazardly slung outwards to take up a rather impolite amount of pink’s makeshift tea party ‘table’ space. your free hand is unfurled near the edge of the mushroom table, swatting every so often at the handles of delicate teacups and the rims of engraved saucers, only pausing when pink or chloe catch the porcelain on their tumbles down, and resuming when your heart-painted victims are placed back within your reach.
and everyone is fooled.
no one notices that you’re laid any more unconventionally than you usually are, unaware that you curl awkwardly in at your side, like the petals of a wilting flower; your feline instincts urging at every sign of danger for you to hide your vulnerable stomach from the dangerous outside world. no one knows the difference between a cat playing their favourite game of knock-stuff-off-a-ledge-until-someone-stops-you, to the anxious twitches of your fingers, restless with nothing else to do but try to find some semblance of comfort in the familiar motion of nudging at pink’s drinks, aching to return to the memory-tinted safety of those sunkissed afternoons spent waltzing around the queen’s palace gardens without a care. no one else has as sharp vision in the dark as you do, so they can’t make out the way your gaze frantically skitters from person to person, like looking at any one of your companions for too long might entice them to attack. no one knows that your skin crawls with discomfort, that your stomach churns like a tempest at sea, that you twitch at the most innocent of noises ringing through the cacophony of a woodland you’ve lived in your entire life.
you’re a nervous wreck, and not a single person—not hk nor vk (you’re the worst of both worlds, an outside that neither side finds kinship with)—knows. even amongst your peculiar collection of misfit heroes on a mission, your heart constricts at the certainty that not a single one of them notices, sees, cares.
because you see it, you notice every little detail in them, even when they gloss over you so swiftly that you blur into just a razor-edged grin. the hk’s and vk’s volley jabs and insults back and forth like it’s a team sport, and though you dodge those outright strikes by being untethered from their rigid factions, you are not safe from the little, subtler, pinches. it’s death by a thousand cuts on this journey to save the beloved queen bridget of hearts and her kingdom, side by side with a ‘team’ eating itself alive from the inside out, and you are no stranger to the personalised stabs that started coming right for your heart the moment this turmoil descended upon wonderland.
it’s felix facilier, a classmate, who had once read your fortune outside on the steps while you waited for your teacher to arrive, and grinned when he showed you a card that he explained foretold of adventure, of cunning, of mischief, all of which he’d approved of with a wink. now he only lurks behind his fellow vk’s, no longer revelling in your oddness, your unpredictability, your cheshire charm. not when, in the light of the attack on the queen, all he can see when he looks at you are the branches of your family tree hanging over your head like puppet strings, not now that he imagines watching that duplicitousness of your father spread, a blight rotting the tree all the way down not only to you, but also to your malevolent sister—who he’s now decided you’re inseparable from; just a twig that leads back to the cheshires.
it’s robbie hood, who you saw as the closest thing to a peer at auradon prep, a likeminded grey area in the rigid world of heroes and villains, the same boy you’ve shared knowing smirks with when you’ve passed each other sneaking out of the dorms after hours. now he makes it clear that he aligns with what’s right, and all you know is that, whatever that means to him, siding with the hk’s, denouncing the vk’s, it includes the belief that you’re wrong—a possible spy, a danger to keep around, a problem waiting to worsen; the deep black of a midnight sky with no room for any grey to sneak in, not when the pure white stars burn so bright.
it’s red, a fixture of your childhood that you once endeavoured to think of as something next to being a friend. even though she’s a hk, she was always a little off-beat, growing almost parallel to you, in pockets of meeting each other’s eyes across the way when you were the only ones who found funny the things that others gasped at, in the wrap of a blanket of the constant silent knowing that you would each turn a blind eye when you caught the other acting imperfectly. this girl’s presence in the long winding ribbon of your childhood appears with countless little knots for every time you passed each other in the market and traded nods of approval at each other’s outfits. but now, red only frowns at you with soft flashes of alarm every time you turn face to face, like for a moment she didn’t remember you, and all she saw was your sister.
it’s princess pink, who you may not have seen quite so eye to eye with like you did with her sister, but who more often than not would giggle and applaud at your antics when she was younger. even when she grew a twinge less indiscriminately excitable with age, she used to routinely fill your hands with something to do when you’d try to swat at whatever random items dared exist upon a ledge near you, she’d plant a warm teacup in your palm and hum to herself proudly, grinning every time like she’d successfully found the cure to your shenanigans, even if that full teacup always ended up balanced atop a door in the castle waiting patiently for an unsuspecting guard to swing it open and receive an impromptu sugary shower, or emptied with a happy sigh from you (listen, pinks has spent her whole life frolicking towards afternoon teatimes—everyone’s always too surprised at the girl pulling a full steaming teapot from her purse to realise that the actual tea is delicious, but it truly shows in the quality that brewing tea is just about all she’s done her whole life) only to be slid back over to the edge of the table, a grin curling your lips as she met your eyes with something sibling to toothless exasperation, just as it would start tipping over again.
now you watch her out of the corner of your eye as her knuckles twitch at every swipe of your fingers, her hand tightly clenching onto the teacup she usually daintily perches between perfectly positioned manicured fingers—the grip only barely easing for the moments when she brings the cup to her lips. what never relaxes is the scrunch of her nose, which has always been a sure sign of the few times when the rosy plaited ends of her patience has started fraying.
princess chloe beside her is none the wiser; even among her fellow hk’s, they are unbelieving that there lies anything substantial beneath the outer layer of pink’s… pinkness—so they are unable, unwilling, uninterested, in actually looking and finding that her bright lipstick currently hides the way her lips purse and her jaw clenches, that it’s no well-kept secret that nerves are abuzz like livewires ready to ignite, and that her once endlessly forgiving eyes now bore into you like you’re the one who captured her mother.
but you grew up with her. you remember your first day of primary school if only because pink, still two years off attending herself, had tried to convince you to sneak her in so she could stay with her big sister. detention at auradon prep is only so bearable because robbie makes a habit of breaking his friends out of it ‘in protest’, and you always tag along with them for a time afterwards, because when his grandiose plans of swinging into the classroom on a rope hanging from the roof outside fails, the kid who can literally vanish into thin air and pickpocket the door key is always a good backup who earns celebratory cheers and pats on the back for their heroic assistance. hazel once cornered you outside your dorm, brows scrunched and hook looking poised to strike with a tight grip, only to personally thank you (though reluctantly, with averted eye contact and abashed mumbling, trying to play it off as ‘no biggie’ even while she failed to hide the way she excitedly bounced back and forth onto the balls of her feet) for the day before, when you’d spontaneously decided to photocopy and confetti the answers to an upcoming test around campus, forcing the teacher to just skip the test and give everyone a pass—she’d grumbled what sounded like a full pirate crews’ worth of swears between admitting that what you did was “cool—or whatever”, and that she “doesn’t owe you shit… but if you ever need some muscle, just give me a call, or something” only to find out from the smees blabbing to you later, that hazel had been one fail in that class away from being ineligible for taking on sailing as an extracurricular in the coming semester, which clearly meant a lot to her that she was still able to do it now, from the way that even as max steered the twins away from you before they could say anything more, he paused to look at you for a moment, and gave you a small, genuine, smile, a silent appreciation on behalf of his friend, and the only time you’ve ever seen him smile without something wily behind. sure, you may have taunted luis with his lost comb, but even after you’d tossed it across the auradon prep lawn to save yourself from his threat to wrestle you for it, he’d thanked you for finding it (buried under towering piles of tourney supplies) and (eventually) returning it. if it had been anyone else, you may have been put on trial for trying to murder your classmate by dropping a heavy history book from where you’d sat atop the mountainous shelves in the library directly down on their head, but you knew that chloe charming has quick reflexes, and the girl herself forgave you the moment she wiped the dust off the cover to find it was the exact book she’d been scouring the shelves for for hours.
you’ve been in these people’s lives for years, an unexpected saviour for the little things, a rascal at the absolute worst. and yet you’re nothing to them. your moment of light in their days disappears from their hearts the moment you’re out of view—worse, what does stay with them is the bad things you did, the waving the comb teasingly in luis’ face before you returned it, chloe’s flash of fear as her head snapped up to your grin and a descending tome. but that’s how a cheshire cat is supposed to exist, that’s what you were taught, the only thing you were taught. your father passed down to you and your sister a truth that he lived by: it’s always fun to mess with people, and only fun to help them when they still think they’re being messed with.
you’ve lived your whole life as a cheshire cat first and yourself never. you are lackadaisical, a drifter, a sharp one-liner that fades into the background once the protagonist stops chuckling and turns to look for something they can actually understand, and can therefore trust—which means, this is all you can be, this is what you have to be. you don’t know how to be anything else, cannot be sure that if you were open up your outer shell right now, that everything inside wouldn’t just turn to ash from having never before seen the sun. still, something claws for life inside you, like a caterpillar without a cocoon, vulnerable to the harshness roiling through you injected at birth, and yet, after all these years, it twitches with life.
behind thick walls, through your eyes, it was you as you watched other children your age grow real, standing on the sidelines as their misshapen blobs of parts of their parents swirled and solidified into something unique, brand new people you’d thought of with wonder every night at home, standing in front of the mirror and only ever seeing your father reflected back.
you related to the baby birds you’d watch get shoved out of their nests with a swelling empathy, as you were taught to disappear into thin air or succumb to your family’s ruthless ridicule, to float above treetops if you ever wanted to retrieve your favourite book back from your father up there, to sooner expect to come home to your sister having compelled the kitchen appliances to chase you throughout the house as your father watched with a grin than a homecooked dinner after a lonely day at school—while you were acutely aware that other kids related to each other, that they would not hesitate to join in when they spotted their neighbours playing together, and would end that game with hands clasping theirs as they’d skip away onto a new adventure with their new friends. other kids learned to communicate, to apologise, to be themselves, or simply go off and find new friends if they couldn’t do that with their current ones.
(where do i go to when i can’t be myself with my family? you’d wondered. you learned that there was nowhere else to go but deeper inside yourself.)
so the real kids learned a balance. they are selflessness and self-love, living and learning, being guided by their parents and being themselves, they are equals and opposites and not a single one like the other, and that’s what makes them real.
you are your unburdened father, floating free in a world that can easily be cruised through if only you never once stop to listen to the beating heat in your chest, a tourist in the lives of others while never living his own. you are your sister, the inevitable pernicious flower that was always going to bloom from a childhood raised on apathy in which she thrived while you withered.
so your fingers just keep twitching, each graze of a teacup a sort of lifeless shudder in every half-hearted flick of your wrist, like the final ragged breaths of your ill-fitted skin suit rattling for dear life.
and all everyone sees is the same cheshire they think they’ve always known; rejoicing in the misfortune of others, only entertained by the shatter of a teacup hitting the floor when there’s the upset cry of the owner harmonising along with the crash—because it’s all you’ve ever known how to show, because you’ve never known how to shed your skin and grow into something that isn’t just your sister’s shadow.
but you want to.
you can no longer bear to keep absorbing the full force of disgusted distrust searing from the only person who’s ever gifted you a real birthday present that didn’t explode in your face to the sound of chessy’s cackling—so your gaze drifts until it falls on red and luis, and you know it like a language you fluently understand but cannot speak, their legs angled towards each other with voices low. you are once and forever more locked behind your own eyes as you watch another connection between two people realer than you form with the grace and gentleness of the wind brushing the leaves above you, always horribly aware that you’d manage only to burn the forest down.
and the ache overwhelms you more, hurting worse and worse with every time it throbs. of course, it’s always been there, that itch under your skin, that tender beast on a warpath tearing your insides to ribbons—but it finally had something real to feed on when you discovered your sister’s involvement in the attack against not only the queen (a woman you used to daydream of being your mother, all bright smiles and welcoming open arms and everything warm that your cold family only left you to imagine; a secret rose garden in your mind you visited when you were little and laying awake at night, fearful to petrification of rolling over and finding a new prank from your family creeping upon you), but also against the whole of wonderland, the kingdom whose still dirt remembers where you stood as you watched your life approach and trample over and past you, but also whose vast woods held every tree that embraced you when the crisp open air was warmer to nap upon than your own bed, and every stepping stone you’d bounced across imagining you were joined by countless adoring friends beside you (they were shy, and only ever spoke up beneath the sound of the loud splashes of the lake water whenever you slipped and tumbled in, that was why you couldn’t hear them).
more and more, you want to look in the mirror and see yourself. you want others to look at you and see someone opaque, someone they can trust without reservation. you want a friend, even just one would do, one person who looks at you and sees you.
but your outer shell is tough—tougher even now that you only grow weaker as the ache grows stronger—a protective layer that’s engulfed you so expertly that you don’t even have the key to your own gates.
so you bite your tongue, so you trail a couple steps behind the back of the pack as you traverse wonderland so no one gets scared you might pounce on them, so you offer your hand to the others when they fall, and when they refuse it you remind yourself that this is how it’s meant to go, that they can’t see the little voice inside of you screaming to be let free, not behind your muscle memorised cheshire grin, not behind your endless flow of unhelpful quips that stand as soldiers guarding the truth that tries to climb up and jump out of your throat.
so you turn your gaze back up to the girls beside you when the unguarded way luis leans in even closer while talking to red summons a bruising caving in at the centre of your heart, only for that longing to deepen when chloe offers a whispered thank you to pink for refilling her teacup. the hunger inside you grows, the hurt blooming where the fangs of a frightened beast search in vain for anything but your cheshire cold and loneliness to keep it warm.
suddenly overwhelmed with a seasickness upon the vast open ocean of isolation, your arms rush to weakly lift you up, shuffling and wobbling until you’re upright and halfway off your mushroom chaise lounge, when your eyes—that search for anything that doesn’t worsen the ache, any sign of land to moor yourself to—instead snap to hazel hook.
it’s subtle, especially under the glow of the lumoria tree, you’re not even certain it’s not just the glimmer of her leather coat under the moonlight, until you catch the exact moment her eyes shift, and a blade-sharp gaze lunges all the way across the dewy grass, onto luis.
the shimmering, wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf, like a boa constrictor, is gone as quick as she rises from her seat to address luis—and then it’s upon him, like a toxic cloud of gas expanding upon the group.
“chessy!” you gasp, a whisper of a noise lost in the intertwining voices of hazel and luis, and the footsteps of everyone else stepping up to pick sides in the argument growing in front of you, your heart starting to race as you watch the destructive touch of your sister begin to unravel a team that was already hanging on by a thread.
when you hear the slightest clink from the abandoned tea party behind you, you whirl so frantically you almost lose your balance. wide eyes immediately find chessy, the perfect picture of an innocent little kitten simply enjoying pink’s heart-adorned tea cakes with an unhurried lick—but you know more than anyone that the looks of a cheshire are always deceiving, and that your sister is even more dangerous when in her cat form that can as easily step into the centre of chaos as it can slip soundlessly out of what she’s caused before anyone even notices she was here. you’re proved right when all she offers you is a laugh—like she knows your current struggle inside out and finds every last bit of your suffering entertaining, like all your life is nothing more to her than a tv channel she clicks onto when she needs a chuckle and a healthy dose of schadenfreude—and a wink as she leaves behind nothing but the memory of a magical shimmering where your hands grasp at open air as you leap to catch her less than a second too late.
it’s second nature to slip into her shadow, to inhale as a pale shimmering envelops you, and not have yet exhaled before you’re already bounding out of the lumoria tree’s halo, four paws pounding the grass leading further into the forest.
as you scramble for any sound, track, scent, a single trace of your sister’s trail, the already fractured group crumbles under the weight of more than just chessy’s calculated intervention, patience snaps and confidence shatters to the tune of the boisterous words of a group of teenage atlases too downtrodden by their own trials to recognise the worlds weighing low upon every other person they stare down from either side.
while you’re still circling around the bioluminescent outskirts of the tree, you can hear the edges of everyone’s voices, a fight of the strongest that just sounds like a scramble for respect once it reaches the dark out. your nose twitches, head jolting back and forth like an electrocuted bobblehead as you try to discern even just the cake icing left over on your sister’s breath amongst the potent scents of wonderland; blooming flowers and the damp ground that smells sweet like nothing in auradon taking up all the space in your nostrils. boasts inflate near to popping back by the tree, an exaggerated he-said-she-said firing back and forth, scrambling for the upper hand just as desperately as your padded feet sprinting so fast the world spins like a globe beneath them.
the competition gets physical. your lungs shudder with every breath. a boot planted atop a chest, a foe bested in the scuffle. a cry of your sister’s name gasps out before you can stop it, a desperate plea for mercy. an exhale, a moment where kids are kids, patting each other’s backs, smiling openly, a split second where they almost forget that they must be the best or nothing. a sob, a whine, a howl, a yelp, please help me, please fix me, please tear the parts of you out of me and leave behind the rest, i don’t even care if that leaves nothing anymore as long as i’m free of you.
a silent forest, a lone cat, even the creatures of the tulgey wood know an uncanny monster to avoid when they see it, holding their breath, waiting for you to leave.
chessy makes herself at home upon pink’s shoulders, and within seconds the reverie is snuffed, a scatter of people retreating back to their safe, contained cocoons of friends, fleeing the dark unknown of new connections and back into the light of the familiar.
you almost pass for a real person, as you listen intently to the singing soreness in your legs to try to tune out your failure. your tail hangs low, dragging like lost dreams behind you.
and you do look true, palpable, if only for a moment, a living being unmasked in the moonlight—lonely, distraught, shattered, but at least all the little shards scattered behind on the forest floor are yours, not your dad’s, not chessy’s.
but, just as harshly as you fell apart, you stall where exists the inhale before the near inaudible whistle of wind between trees, and take a deep breath.
and putting the scant pieces of yourself back behind the lock and key of just another cheshire cat feels like a punch to the gut, but you don’t know how else to keep yourself together, standing upright, moving forward even if it is just further beyond help. so you march on.
by the time you’re preparing yourself to slip back into the fold of fighters and failures and nothing in between, you’re nothing more than a fog of yourself, an unforgiving cold that bites anything that gets too close because the incorporeal doesn’t know how to grow hands for holding, how to ask will you accept me? in a voice that isn’t a rumbling of bad omens.
but even with grief for eyes, you couldn’t miss him if you tried. and you try—when do you not try? to exist without the constant reminder that you’re being watched, to act like you don’t care; like this isn’t all a performance, that you stop existing if they look away, that if you drop the act there’s nothing behind the mask.
so you wish you didn’t see him, wish you didn’t have to keep existing, wish you could turn tail back into the forest and evaporate into something even less here than a cheshire cat’s magic trick and never have to be anything again—wish you didn’t want to stay, having caught him here, hunched over in the dark, the dim outline of something that scares you with a jolt of warm understanding.
is it still called lurking when you’re so pathetic, so powerless? no, you linger, like a bad dream, like the last person holding onto a conversation that already ended, you tuck yourself behind the large leaves of a verdant bush, and hesitate—eyes wide, breaths shallow, your mind enveloped by a thick unbreachable atmosphere where the thrum of a storm brewing shouts in your ears that you can only pretend this never happened and run away as fast as you can, or stay deathly still here forever until you turn to stone and your inability to connect with anyone, anything, tangible is immortalised.
but somewhere in the irrational part of your brain that thinks being yourself and being accepted could be more important than the safety of doing what you’ve always done, an impulse bypasses the harsh voices of your family urging you that you can only ever do what you’ve always done, and drives you out into the little clearing where the faint glow of the lumoria tree dusts down like moonlight.
max sees you, his head hung low, the feline cautiously padding out into the open—seemingly only just confirming you’re not your sister before he looks away, saying nothing.
you don’t need to know exactly what was said to know that chessy sowed seeds of doubt like sprinkles over the group, that no matter who she targeted first, it had cascaded through the group swiftly until the killing blow clearly hit the boy who fled into the forest.
you stare. max hatter, shoulders sagged, weighed down by tense melancholy so heavy they don’t even lift when he breathes. you’ve always believed that there is certainty within him, the son of a villain so wicked that the benevolent queen of hearts had no choice but to banish him, the bearer of a legacy that fits so neatly within the binary of hero or villain, who was welcomed with open arms into the ranks of his vk peers. you’ve envied him, how easy it should be to just be mad, rather than pretending to—because you thought it ran in the family, that he carried the same rambling-and-raving-about-time-travel gene as the infamous maddox hatter, that he was born with a lust for spreading misfortune and the insatiable instinct to cause trouble; that he’d never had to try, to be forced into acting like something he’s not.
but that’s also what people think about you. now nothing about him seems as certain as you once saw him.
since the moment you all leapt down the rabbit hole, max has been too… genuine. he’s thrown his arms open wide and goaded the world to descend its claws into his unguarded flesh, he all but rolls on his back and displays his stomach in the air like a plead for the sky to descend and rip him apart until nothing is left but a pool of his father’s blood. he’s made it no secret that he’s desperate to prove himself not another monstrous, villainous, mad hatter, and he’s only suffered for it.
you want to think of max as a cautionary tale—look, this is what happens when you try to break your family’s mould, the world doesn’t love you anymore when your armour’s shed, now it can just attack the real, soft, bits of you that hurt the most—but he’s still here, still standing, still trying. even now, curled in on himself with slow steadying breaths, ignoring your presence as you stand just within reach; he could lash out if he wanted. if he’d given up on being his own person he could lunge at you right now, slip on his father’s skin and prove you right with every punch.
you wish he would. you wish his persistence in being good wasn’t like oxygen to the tiniest flame of hope within you that threatens to burn you down. you’re too scared of choking on the smoke as the flames roar, too scared there’s no real part of you left in there that would be strong enough to survive the cleansing.
you shudder, the eternal sticky warmth of wonderland’s forests feeling oppressive rather than the usual comforting.
too afraid, too meek, never brave enough.
too certain that if you don’t lash out you don’t exist, that these paws aren’t steady enough for holding.
“what, not even a hello?” a wave of nausea rolls through you at the absence of a tremble in your voice, like the thing that moves your lips, this entire body that is perceived by others, truly is wholly disconnected from the captive prisoner of your quavering heart hidden within, “cat got your tongue?”
the walls of the world are closing in, the sky’s ceiling drooping, like max was set as a trap for you and its waiting for you to give in, like you’re forced to lift to keep it up twice as hard because he isn’t even trying to help you survive the suffocation.
your voice is a blade threatening bare skin, a sardonic lilt that hurts just as much for you to spout as it does for others to swallow down.
“geez, max! is it my unbirthday? what did i do to deserve you being so friendly to me!”
you laugh mockingly, like coughing up blood.
you stare impatiently, like you’re on stage and your scene partner has forgotten his lines, like he’s turning his back to you as he refuses to recall them, walking safely to the wings as the crowd clamours and jeers and rushes forth a swarm to swallow you whole.
you’re used to outbursts, to scowls shot back, to even just quiet seething, but max throws you no bone, only sits there, as if he can’t even hear you.
everything you spit out just deflects back to you, his blankness in the face of your assault so smooth it reflects harshly like looking in a mirror, and, for once, instead of seeing something feline and acidic, you see a single ball of flame, repeatedly flickering outwards only to retreat back inside—weak, but just strong enough at its centre that it never fully goes out. you’re not sure which of you that is.
you silence with restless shuffles side to side, no longer strong enough to unseal your lips even if you could think of a single effective plea to shout as your head dips below the sea’s surface.
the distant voices of the others back in the embrace of the tree brushes by your ears like the strands of grass against your furry legs in the softest breath of wind, like the faintest sound of fabric shifting as max finally raises his head just slightly enough to glance up to find you’re still sat before him, and lowers it once more with a frigid scoff.
“if you’re just here to make fun of me like everyone else, you can fuck off,” he says your name like you’ve forgotten it and he’s reminding you, his voice surprisingly weak of any real venom, “i’m not interested in being told that i’m evil like my father, or that we should be locked back up on the isle, right now.”
a hand clasps yours before the flood washes you away.
your body stills, and the thing that reeks of hope within you has come alive at the call of its name, like it’s been asleep all this time and has only been waiting for someone to beckon it back, like a jog to your memory that you exist outside of afternoons spent skipping class in the hallways of auradon prep as a teacher shouts get back here cheshire!
“i believe you,” you whisper, like it’s contraband you have to slip past your lips quickly before they notice it’s there and lock shut.
he recoils, slightly, and scoffs, raw.
“i believe you,” you repeat, like it hurts to even try to form any other words.
he shifts uncomfortably, refusing to look your way as he tries to pretend your words have no effect on him, but the hitch in his voice gives him away, like he’s gritting back a cry of pain, like you’re literally kicking him while he’s down, “i— you— just… fuck off, seriously, just go—”
“you say you’re not your dad, you… you behave like you’re not, too,” you insist to his disbelief, to his sureness that this is just another cruel joke you’re setting in his hands only to soon detonate it in his face, a set up with a punchline where he’s nothing more than maddox’s henchman, “i believe it.”
he chokes on your sincerity, hesitating before finally looking up, only to find a cloud of dull shimmering settling into the ground as you now stand before him a human, your face overcome by a flash of surprise with two singular pearls of tears sprouting in the corners of your eyes.
he watches your features devolve into a sniffling disarray when you panic over your failure to hide your raw expressions, and does admittedly feel a pitying guilt furrow his eyebrows and curl through his chest like a plume of smoke, but not enough to look away, not when he feels he’s owed a moment to interrogate the person who up until now has existed in his life as little more than a shallow puddle of sarcastic comebacks—especially when he sees none of that one dimensional sharpness in your shattered expression now, no matter how hard he searches.
the legs that he’s watched stretch out and trip people over now wobble back and forth like they’re not sure if they’re allowed to stand flat on the ground. you’ve always been either statuesque as you watch your next victims from afar, or a blur as you vanish from the scene of the crime, never this… limbo, this in between, body buzzing like you’re trapped and for the first time you can’t find the way out. a cheshire cat does not get caught, so who squirms before him?
you look mousy, without your usual stance of one hand on your hips and the other dangling casually, and it’s disarming how he almost feels bad for each of your individual fingers with the way they seem to flee into your palms with terror, only poking their heads out to pick at your skin with destructive anxiety. anyone else less enthralled would have surely laughed at the sight of the schoolyard menace’s shoulders bunched up to your ears as if you’re freezing in the snow of arendelle, instead of being surrounded the towering tropical flora in the belly of the tulgey wood (he doesn’t even think it’s too farfetched to have once assumed your shoulders had been fused to always have one slightly raised like a judging eyebrow, when he’d never before caught sight of you without that appearance of casual confidence). and it is almost comical, how you jolt every time his eyes sweep from one little observation to the next, as if his gaze were a physical touch that startles you with a static shock with every caress—but even your seemingly absurd reactions only serve to sober him deeper, as he draws nearer and nearer to the realisation that you are horrifyingly fearful of him, of anyone, perceiving you so thoroughly like this.
when his gaze eventually rises to your face, he’s surprised by how well he recognises you. your lips are parted like you’re out of breath where they used to only ever smirk meanly, your eyebrows are furrowed so deep they must be trying to burrow away into your skull instead of the expected one raised lazily as your peers fall for your deceptions. he’s never seen more than the sharp watchful slit you let peak through your eyelids, but now he sees every little shift and shimmer, the untold galaxies in turmoil that swirl in your skull drawing him in like the gravity of a starving black hole.
and yet with you standing before him like you never have before, there’s something there, something familiar, something flickering bright in the centre.
“i believe you too,” and, truly, he doesn’t know you well enough as your own person to actually be sure, but he’s looked in the mirror and seen less that he feels such a deep connection to than he does meeting your watery eyes right now, “i don’t think you’re your father. or your sister.”
you feel stripped bare, wearing far too few layers to keep the cold at bay, the harsh elements of the world ravaging your insides as your ribcage lays open for free attack, the precariousness of having nothing to hide behind striking you with the unrelenting intensity of a snowstorm. you shiver for every second longer that max’s dark eyes continue to hold your gaze. your fingers twitch, like searching for last signs of life in your frostbitten limbs—your legs tense, too, muscle giving a spasm, urging you to transform, to slip into the small body of a cat that can easily retreat into foliage and never be seen so utterly and unrelentingly like this ever again.
the instinct to withdraw has never been so overwhelming, and yet so frail.
mercifully, max’s gaze slowly drifts away, as a self-pitiful sort of half smile hugs his murmur, “if only anyone else understood.”
and yet without the thick outer layers fending off the cold, there is also now nothing to stop the warmth that bathes across your skin in generous brushstrokes, pouring in unabashedly where it used to barely worm through the cracks. you’ve been nothing more than a seed of yourself, preserved deep in the ice, but only now that it’s thawed can you feel the love of the sun and grow.
your words quiver now, because they’re yours, and so do they blossom new growth out of your mouth, vibrant and spry like you’ve never sprouted before, “we just- we have to keep trying.”
your legs are eerily steady now, because they’re yours, and they’ve always known, where they ached to go, so they do—slowly, at first, inching closer until you all but loom over max. and closer, still, sidestepping when he doesn’t protest, and lowering down beside him—just politely far enough that you dangle a little off the edge of the mushroom, and just close enough that when you rest your hand atop it beside your leg, you can both pretend that it’s accidental when his hand starts shifting towards yours breath by breath.
“if we don’t keep trying, we prove everyone else right about us… and…” you almost feel a rush of adrenaline, trembling through a deep breath—and for the first time, you may just be starting to believe your next words, “they’re not right.”
max sighs, half hopelessness, half certainty that he cannot, will not, give up no matter how hopeless it gets, “they can’t be.”
starting with one pinky atop the other, the small pinprick of your connection to each other spreads with every in-tune breath. his ring finger secures yours when your hand shakes with a new, unfiltered outlet of your constant anxiety that you’re not used to your body permitting. when you lean closer, shifting his hold on your hand another knuckle over, it feels like the slow unstoppable flow of a dream melting into reality, the rustle of leaves and caress of moonlight and the featherlight flutter of bread and butterflies passing by, potent with the answers to all your problems and faded at the edges so you can’t quite make out more than a warm blur when you look at it directly.
you don’t know who whispers that you both should return to the others, but now with his palm radiating warmth over yours, it feels like dressing each other in the morning. you don’t squeeze yourself into an inherited suit of armour with the curtains snatched shut anymore, now there’s someone who offers you his belt so your pants will fit better, there’s a smile and a please and you’re already passing him a shirt you wore last week. there’s the first curls of daylight’s smile painting the floor a glow that runs up your legs as he buttons your shirt, leaving the top notch open, and when your hands itch to latch it closed so no one knows that there’s a person beneath the fabric, he meets your eyes with an understanding that embraces you as warm as a hug, and he leaves his top button undone too.
no one gets up first, no one steps forward to take the brunt of the struggle, you’re half lifting half being lifted, he’s half easing you up from your seat half being beckoned forward by your hand wrapping around his.
once you’re on your feet, you stand together for a few seconds longer, letting the moment free an exhale that has long been restrained, as unwilling to let go of each other’s hands yet as you are to admit such a feeling.
“you ready to face them again?” your whisper comes out a sort of airy laugh, like it’s an inside joke.
speaking for the both of you when max shakes his head, he scoffs, “no,” but this time it fills you with a warmth, that doubles when he gives your hand in his a squeeze (and no matter whether he was comforting himself using your steadying hands as a stress ball, or trying to reassure you, it’s a reminder that you’re not alone), and with a gentle tug forward before balmy palms finally part, he slowly leads the way back to the others.
and when you hesitate one last time, troubled mind slowly kicking back into gear as you prepare to re-enter the group, all it takes is max glancing over his shoulder, his brows still furrowed and eyebags prominent with exhaustion, but a shy hint of a smile playing at his lips—if we have no choice but to keep trying, it says, hopefully it will be easier together. you agree, the back of your hand jittering like it’s been sparked back to life as it brushes against his when you fall into step beside him.
Pairing: Harry Hook x Rapunzel and Flynn Rider's Daughter!reader
Genre: Fluff & Humor because of Maximus being protective of reader
Warnings: None
WC: 2,000
Story Masterlist
Main Fanfiction Masterlist
The scent of leather, sweet hay, and fresh earth always grounds you after a long ride.
It lingers in the air like a comforting blanket, familiar and warm, wrapping around you the moment you guide Maximus through the towering arched entrance of the Auradon Prep stables.
Golden afternoon sunlight pours through the high windows overhead, illuminating floating specks of dust that drift lazily through the air.
Horses nicker softly from their stalls, shifting against fresh bedding while stable hands move quietly in the background.
Somewhere farther down the aisle, the rhythmic scrape of a brush against a horse's coat echoes through the building.
You gently tug on the reins, guiding Maximus forward.
The enormous white stallion tosses his head proudly, his snow-white mane rippling like silk.
His powerful hooves strike the stone floor with steady confidence, each step announcing his presence.
Everyone at Auradon knows Maximus.
Most horses are impressive.
Maximus is legendary.
Former captain of Corona's Royal Guard.
Decorated tracker.
Occasional criminal catcher.
Full-time menace.
He lets out a loud snort, shaking his mane dramatically.
You laugh. "You know everyone is staring at you, don't you?"
Maximus immediately arches his neck higher.
Of course he knows.
"You did great out there, Max."
You slide from the saddle, your boots hitting the ground with a soft thud.
The ride had been long, but worth it.
The trails around Auradon had been especially beautiful today, lined with blooming flowers and sunlit forests.
You reach up, patting the stallion's neck.
His coat is still warm from the ride.
"You were showing off during those jumps."
Maximus flicks an ear.
Not denial.
More like confirmation.
A small smile tugs at your lips.
Some people say you inherited your mother's kindness.
Others insist you inherited your father's adventurous streak.
But if anyone asks Maximus, he'd probably claim you inherited your stubbornness from both.
You begin loosening the reins when voices echo through the stable entrance.
Several voices.
Familiar voices.
You glance up.
The stable doors swing open.
Sunlight floods the aisle.
King Ben enters first, looking exactly as cheerful as ever.
Beside him walks Mal, hands tucked casually into her jacket pockets.
Following them is a group you immediately recognize.
The newest VKs.
The newest arrivals from the Isle.
Your curiosity immediately sparks.
The barrier has only recently come down, and while you've heard plenty about the students arriving from the Isle, this is your first chance to actually meet some of them.
Ben spots you instantly.
His entire face brightens. "Hey!"
He lifts a hand. "Look who it is!"
Mal smiles. "There she is."
You wave at both of them.
Ben gestures excitedly.
"Come on over! We have a few people with us that you should meet."
You loop Maximus's reins over your arm and begin walking toward them.
The stallion immediately falls into step beside you.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
Always beside.
Like a royal guard escorting his princess.
As you approach, you get a better look at the VKs.
Uma stands with her arms folded across her chest. Her expression is skeptical but curious as she surveys the stables.
Gil is practically bouncing on his heels. His attention shifts from the horses to the tack room to a nearby wheelbarrow to a bucket of apples.
You are approximately ninety percent certain he's trying to determine whether those apples are free.
Then your gaze lands on the final member of the trio.
And suddenly the rest of the stable seems to fade into the background.
Harry Hook.
He's leaning casually against a stall door.
Dark eyeliner.
Weathered red leather coat.
Silver buckles.
Messy dark brown hair.
A gleaming hook hanging from one hand.
The moment his eyes find yours, something changes.
His posture straightens.
The lazy expression disappears.
And then—A grin.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Absolutely shameless.
His eyes travel from your riding boots upward.
Your breeches.
Your gloves.
Your jacket.
Then finally your face.
He doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that he's staring.
You raise an eyebrow.
Harry's grin widens.
Interesting.
Ben completely misses the silent exchange.
"Everyone," he says brightly, "this is the daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert."
Harry's eyebrows immediately rise. "Oh?"
"And this handsome guy here is Maximus." Ben continues, which makes Maximus puff out his chest.
Harry studies Max.
Then looks back at you.
Then back at Max.
Then back at you.
His grin somehow becomes even more ridiculous. "A princess, then?"
His voice is smooth and low.
Scottish accent rolling effortlessly through every word.
He pushes away from the stall and starts walking toward you.
Confident.
Unhurried.
Like someone who assumes the world will simply move aside for him.
He stops entirely too close.
"Well," Harry drawls, "aren't you a sight for sore eyes, darling?"
Uma groans immediately. "Oh no."
Mal pinches the bridge of her nose.
Ben looks confused.
Harry ignores all of them.
He removes his hat with an exaggerated flourish and bows dramatically.
The performance is so over-the-top it would almost be funny if he weren't somehow making it look natural.
When he rises, his eyes never leave yours.
Not once.
He twirls his hook around his fingers.
The metal flashes in the sunlight.
Then, before anyone can stop him, he gently catches the edge of your chin with the curved tip.
"You know," Harry murmurs, leaning closer, "they told me Auradon was full of treasures."
His eyes gleam.
"But somehow they forgot to mention the prettiest one."
Your heart skips.
Not because you're flustered.
Mostly because nobody has ever been bold enough to flirt with you while holding a hook.
You open your mouth to respond—And suddenly a giant white wall appears between you.
Maximus.
The stallion lunges forward so quickly even you barely register the movement.
A thunderous snort explodes from his nostrils.
Hot air blasts directly into Harry's face.
He blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly lowers his hook.
Maximus plants himself firmly between the two of you.
His ears flatten.
His nostrils flare.
His lips peel back.
And every protective instinct in his massive body practically screams: ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Harry takes an involuntary step backward.
Maximus takes a deliberate step forward.
Harry retreats another step.
Maximus follows.
Max's eyes narrow.
Harry stares.
Maximus stares harder.
Uma immediately doubles over laughing. "Oh my gods!"
Gil starts cackling. "The horse hates you!"
Mal is laughing too. "I warned you."
Ben tries—and fails—to hide a smile.
Harry glances at Maximus.
Then around Maximus, directly at you.
And somehow—Somehow—The idiot looks delighted.
"A fierce bodyguard protecting a beautiful princess?"
His grin returns. "I like a challenge."
Maximus bares more teeth.
“Easy Max.” you say while placing a calming hand on his neck.
His muscles relax slightly.
Only slightly.
You step around him. "You'll have to excuse Max."
Harry's eyes immediately lock onto yours again.
"He has a very low tolerance for boys who think a hook counts as an introduction."
Uma snorts.
Gil wheezes.
Mal outright laughs.
Harry looks genuinely impressed.
"And what's your name, Princess?"
"(Y/N)."
His smile softens.
Just a little.
"Harry Hook. It’s a pleasure."
You cross your arms over your chest, your eyes not looking away from his blue ones. "We'll see."
His grin flashes. "Oh, I definitely like you."
Maximus immediately snorts at that.
Hard.
The horse is offended on your behalf.
That’s when Harry spots the nearby apple bucket.
A terrible idea forms instantly.
You can actually see it happening.
Harry strides over.
Grabs the largest apple.
And presents it to Maximus.
"There now, mate."
His voice drips with fake sincerity. "No hard feelings."
Maximus stares at the apple.
Then Harry.
Then the apple.
Then Harry.
He then slowly lowers his head.
Harry smirks.
He thinks he's winning.
You already know he's doomed.
Maximus leans closer.
Closer.
Closer.
And then—PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.
A gigantic wet snort erupts directly onto the apple.
And Harry's hand.
And Harry's sleeve.
And probably part of Harry's soul.
Silence.
Harry freezes.
Dripping.
Uma collapses against the wall laughing.
Gil is laughing so hard he's practically crying.
Mal bends over.
Even Ben loses the battle and starts laughing.
You can't help it.
You laugh too.
"I told you."
You hand Harry a grooming rag. "He doesn't take bribes."
Harry wipes slime from his sleeve with the rag.
Then looks up.
Still smiling.
Still staring.
Still completely captivated.
"Fiesty princess."
His eyes flick toward Maximus. "Demonic horse."
Maximus looks proud.
Harry laughs. "Aye. I'm definitely going to like Auradon."
Before anyone can continue, the stable doors suddenly swing open again.
Bright sunlight floods the aisle.
A familiar voice echoes through the building.
"Hey, Max! I brought those carrots you—"
The sentence dies instantly.
Your father freezes.
Eugene Fitzherbert stands perfectly still.
His eyes scan the scene.
You.
Maximus.
Ben.
The VKs.
Harry.
The hook.
The eyeliner.
The smirk still on Harry’s voice.
The proximity between you and him.
His expression slowly changes.
Every parent in the stable can practically see it happen.
Concern.
Suspicion.
Alarm.
Protective fatherly instinct.
Pure panic.
"Oh."
Eugene points at Harry.
"Oh no."
Harry's grin immediately widens.
Your father marches forward.
Boots clicking sharply.
At the sight of your dad, Maximus happily moves aside to let him pass.
Within seconds Eugene is standing directly in front of you.
Exactly where Maximus had been.
Arms crossed.
Protective.
Suspicious.
Judgmental.
The resemblance is honestly incredible.
Harry notices too. "Well now."
He sounds delighted.
"The famous Flynn Rider."
"It's Eugene."
Harry bows dramatically. "An honor."
"No."
Harry blinks. "No?"
"No." your dad affirms.
The pirate laughs.
Ben looks like he wants the ground to swallow him.
Mal, Gil and Uma are openly enjoying this, all 3 of them standing there with giant smiles on their faces.
A/N: Hello! This is my first ever request so I hope you all like it especially @anyadouc44, I hope you like it! Anyways,I'll leave you all ro read. Thanks.
Andy x Fem!Reader
Masterlist
You were 7 when the new boy moved into your neighborhood. He seemed shy at first and only played with his toys, either in his room (whose window overlooked yours) or in his backyard. Although he played alone or occasionally with his sister, you always saw him with his toys.
One day, you plucked up the courage to approach him while he was playing.
"Hi! You're new to the neighborhood, aren't you?" you asked as you peeked around the other side of your patio fence.
Andy raised his head and immediately became nervous when he saw you. He wasn't good with girls from his old school, so talking to one made him nervous.
"Y-yeah... I'm Andy..." he introduced himself.
"Andy... Well, I'm (Name)," you introduced yourself.
"(Name)..." he looked at you as if he'd never seen a girl before.
Then, when he noticed you staring, he looked away.
"H-hey... Would you like to... play?" he asked, still shy.
You smiled at his shyness.
"Sure!" Without thinking twice, you approached him so you could play together.
Later, you discovered that Andy was going to attend the same school as you, so you started spending a lot more time together. Little by little, you both started spending more time at each other's houses, but no matter the location, he always brought at least one of his toys to play with you, which were usually Buzz or Woody.
Now 10 years old, you were both playing in Andy's yard when your parents called you for dinner. Being kind and knowing that Andy loved his toys, you helped him carry them back to his room. As usual, you put his toys back in his chest except for Woody and Buzz, which were his favorites. When you closed the door to his room to follow him downstairs, however, before going after him, you heard a noise inside his room. Quietly, you opened the door and peeped from inside to verify what those noises were.
What you saw inside paralyzed you.
"Ugh... I'm getting too old for this," Ham complained as he tried to get out of the toy box with the others.
"Okay, okay, they're just kids," Woody said, helping him stand up.
"And we're Andy's toys, and we should be there for him," Buzz encouraged Woody.
"Yeah, and that girl (Name) has some really good toys, too," Jessie said.
"Oh yeah!" Rex said happily. "She put this skirt on me and said it made my eyes pop!"
"You see, Ham? Besides, they take good care of uuUSS!" Jessie was on top of the bed so she could be with Buzz and Woody, but she slipped on the sheets as she tried to get up.
Immediately, seeing that Jessie was about to fall, you reached over to pick her up so she wouldn't hit herself. She fell into your hand and turned to see who was holding her.
A collective gasp could be heard when she saw you there.
"Y-you're... Y-you're alive..." You said, surprised, looking at Jessie.
"Uh... Hi, cowgirl!" Woody greeted you from the bed.
"God..." you said, still not believing they were alive.
"Please don't tell Andy about this," Woody asked you.
"And try to forget about it too," Buzz suggested with a nervous smile.
"I uh..." Then you heard Andy shouting your name for you to come down.
You gently put Jessie on the bed and then turned to look at them.
"O-okay... I won't give Andy anything," you promised.
"Thanks," Woody said sincerely.
You smiled at them and left, closing the door.
The next few days were a bit strange playing with the toys, but over time, you got used to it. From this experience on, you started treating the toys more kindly than usual, to the point that Andy teased you about it while you just rolled your eyes.
Over the years, the toys watched you both grow up and fall in love with each other (so much so that it helped you both become a couple, and to this day, they take credit for it. You can only roll your eyes and laugh). In your sophomore year of high school, Andy finally asked you to be his girlfriend, and you gladly accepted.
Now you were both ready for college, which meant that your childhood was over and the doors of adulthood were now open for both of you.
"I'm organized. In my own way," he just laughed.
"Have you seen my phone?" Andy asked you as he searched for it.
"No. Not really," you admitted. "Do you want me to call you?"
"Yes, please," he said as he continued searching.
You grabbed your phone and dialed Andy's number. His phone started ringing and was apparently in the toy box.
'So this was their idea,' you thought as you heard Andy's ringtone coming from.
Andy walked over to the toy box and opened it. From there, he pulled out Rex, who was holding the phone. He snatched the phone from Rex's hand and then turned it off.
"Hey! Be more careful with him," you said as you went over to kneel beside him.
"After all these years, you still care about these old toys?" He mocked you.
"Ha. Ha. Of course. After all, these toys brought us together," you pointed out.
Andy rolled his eyes and then put his cell phone in his pants pocket.
"This had to be Molly's idea," Andy said, a little annoyed. "I've told her a thousand times not to touch my things."
"Stop blaming your sister for your clumsiness." Now it was your turn to make fun of him.
"Whatever," he rolled his eyes but smiled at you. "Come on, my mom wants you to go try something she made."
"Sure," you giggled.
Andy closed the toy box and stood up, helping you to your feet. Holding hands, you both left the room, but not before closing the door and seeing the disappointed faces of the toys.
"So tell me, have you thought about doing anything with those toys?" you asked him as you walked to the kitchen.
"I honestly haven't given it much thought," he admitted.
"Well, you should. They're good toys," you told him as you walked into the kitchen.
"(Name)! It's great that you're here!" Andy's mother greeted you with a warm hug.
"Hello, ma'am," you greeted her with the same warmth.
"So, tell me, have you already organized your things for college?" She asked as she leaned against the kitchen counter.
"Everything's ready, otherwise I would have driven my mom crazy." You giggled as you stood next to Andy and he put an arm around your waist.
"That's great! As you can see, my son here hasn't packed anything yet," his mother mocked him.
"Hey! I already have some things packed," Andy said with mock offense.
"Yeah, if it weren't for (Name), you'd still be sitting at your desk doing nothing." His mother crossed her arms.
"But no more delay. Since you're active, you have to decide what's trash and what goes in the attic."
"But Mom," Andy said exasperatedly. "We're leaving on Friday."
"And the garbage comes today, so here." She gave him a box that said "university" and garbage bags.
Andy sighed but listened to his mom and grabbed the things.
"And (Name), be a sweetheart and please make sure he does it right," his mother urged.
"Understood," you said, giving her a military salute and following Andy back to his room.
"You know I can hear you, right?" Andy called out from the hallway, making both of you laugh.
"Stop being such a sourpuss," you said with a slight mocking tone.
"I'm not sour," he defended himself.
"Of course- Hi Molly!" you greeted the little pubescent girl.
"Hi (Name)!" she greeted you excitedly, then turned to look at Andy. "Can I borrow your laptop?"
"I already told you no," Andy growled as the three of you entered her room.
"But remember, in a few days your room will be mine," Molly said mockingly.
"Can you get out of my room?" Andy asked as he placed the box and bags on his bed.
Meanwhile, Molly approached the toy box and asked Andy, "Why do you still have your old toys?"
"Molly, I told you to get out of my room," Andy growled again, which made you laugh.
"Three days and it'll be mine!" she sang as she left Andy's room.
"I don't know how you handle him (Name)," the little girl told you.
"Sometimes I don't even know," you said from your place, leaning against the wall, watching the little conflict between the siblings.
"Molly, don't you dare think you're also safe," her mother told her from the stairs.
"You have lots of toys, and you could donate some of them to children at the nursery."
"And you, Andy," his mother entered his room again.
"Decide what you want to do with those toys. You can donate them to Sunnyside, too," his mother suggested.
Andy seemed a little put off by the choice.
"No, Mom," he said quickly.
"Or you could also sell them," he suggested again.
"No, Mom. Who's going to want these old toys? They're junk."
That surprised you, so you decided to intervene.
"They're not junk. Don't you remember all the adventures we used to have with them?"
Andy just rolled his eyes.
"Well, you have until Friday to decide. Otherwise, I'll throw out everything that isn't packed for college or the attic," she said, then left his room.
"Whatever you say, Mom." Andy sighed as he ran a hand over his face.
Andy sat down in his chair, and you smiled at his tired state. You walked up behind him and hugged his shoulders.
"Bitter," you whispered in his ear, making him laugh.
"Shut up," he said with a smile.
"Do you think you can help me put these books in a box? They're for the attic," Andy asked you as he kissed your arm.
"Sure," you kissed him on the cheek and pulled away from him.
"I'll get a box," you said, then left the room in search of a box.
Andy walked over to the toy box and opened it. He grabbed Mr. Potato Head and said through his teeth, "I don't know why she insists on taking care of them."
Andy looked at the door and got up from his chair. He walked over to his bed and grabbed a black trash bag and started putting all the toys in it until only Buzz and Woody were left. After a moment of decision, Andy put Woody in the university box while he put Buzz in the black bag with the others. He closed the bag and headed for the attic.
Meanwhile, you were walking back to Andy's house with a cardboard box in your hands that you got from your house.
"Oh, I see you two are finally getting along," you teased him when you saw him helping Molly with the donation box.
"Ha. Ha," Andy said sarcastically.
"Hey, where's your mom going?" you asked Andy when you saw his mother leaving in her car.
"Oh, she's going to Sunnyside to donate Molly's toys," Andy explained.
"Oh, right. I'll pick up your books," you said as you walked in. But before you left, Andy grabbed you by the waist and kissed you, then let you go.
"Eww," you heard Molly say, then went back inside.
You walked into Andy's room and closed the door behind you.
"Psst... Woody..." you called as you approached Andy's college locker but didn't find anything.
"What the...?" You searched the entire room and couldn't find Woody or any other toys.
You were looking under the bed when Andy walked in.
"Hey... What are you doing?" he asked, making you stand up quickly.
"Nothing! I was just looking for Woody," you said with an embarrassed smile.
Andy laughed lightly and helped you stand up.
"Why are you looking for him? I left him in the..." Andy looked around and couldn't find his cowboy.
"Box... I swear, sometimes it seems like those toys are alive"
"So what did you do with the others?" you asked.
"I put them in a bag to take them to the attic." He looked back at the place where he had left the bag, but it was gone.
"Hey... where's the bag?" He asked you.
"Bag? There wasn't a bag when I got back," you said.
"What? Well, maybe Mom already brought it up to the attic," Andy guessed.
"Oh yeah, right," you nodded, but you weren't sure.
The next morning, you were resting peacefully in your bed when your cell phone started ringing. Somewhat clumsily, you picked it up and answered it.
"Hello?" you said sleepily.
"Hello, (Name)?" Woody said from the other end of the phone.
"W-Woody? Is everything okay?" That made you get out of bed.
"No. Nothing's okay."
Woody told you everything that happened and everything the other toys had told him about Sunnyside, the place where his toy friends were at the time.
"It can't be... Andy thinks his mom took them up to the attic," you told Woody.
"That's what I told them, but they didn't listen." Woody sighed.
"I can't leave them there."
"Neither can I," you told the cowboy.
"That's why I called you. I have a plan and I need you to help me with it."
"Okay, but where the heck are you?" You asked the cowboy.
"I'm in Sunnyside, but don't worry, I know what to do."
"Fine. What should I do, Sheriff?"
All day Andy had been lamenting over his toys, thinking they were lost, so you had been comforting him. You were both in his bed, with him lying on top of you.
"Come on, my love..." you murmured in his ear.
"I know I said they were trash, but... It's not true..." Andy murmured.
"I know, my love." You kissed his temple. "You'll see, you'll find them."
"How are you sure of that?" He turned to look at you.
"Because like you said, they seem to have a life of their own. They always come back to you."
Andy smiled and softly kissed your lips.
"Yeah. I hope you're right."
That same night, Woody's plan was about to begin. Your job was simple in his eyes, but complicated for you. You had to enter Sunnyside, where the trash cans were. You honestly thought it would be simple: get in, get the toys, and return home, but you didn't consider that there would be security around the school.
For several minutes, you searched for an entrance without being noticed until you finally found the trash cans. You carefully walked toward them and saw your friends along with some other toys.
"He abandoned all of you!" you heard a deep voice exclaim.
"That's not true!" Woody exclaimed.
You leaned forward to get a better look and saw a pink teddy bear in front of your friends.
"Tell me something, Cowboy, if you child truly loves you, why would he abandon you? Do you think you're special, cowboy? You're a piece of plastic! You were made to be thrown away!"
"That's not true, bear," you spoke from behind them. "They're not trash, and if it weren't for them, Andy and I wouldn't be a couple."
"What the heck?" Lotso said, surprised by your appearance.
"(Name)!" Your friends exclaimed upon seeing you.
"Hey guys," you smiled at them. "We've missed you so much."
Lotso glared at you, but a wicked smile soon appeared on his face.
"It doesn't matter if you're here. I'm sure they don't want you to get caught on private property," the bear said as he leaned forward to see the approaching garbage truck.
"Damn..." You muttered under your breath.
"How about you come back with me to the Sunnyside family?" Lotso proposed. "That way you won't rot in the garbage and your friend won't have any serious consequences."
"That's not a family! It's a prison!" "I'd rather rot in the trash than go back!" Jessie exclaimed.
"Fine, whatever!" the purple octopus began to push them toward the trash can.
"NO!" You walked over to try to grab them, but you were terrified of someone seeing you.
Out of nowhere, a half-naked Ken appeared.
"What the...?" you said when you saw him, but you had to duck down to avoid being seen.
"Stop! Lotso, please don't do that!" Ken begged the bear.
"Please, Ken! She's not the only Barbie, Ken!" "There are 100 million just like her!" the bear yelled at her.
"No, there's no one like her to me," Ken said, smiling at Barbie.
"Aww..." you said, hearing his words.
It would be cute if this weren't such a dangerous situation.
"Well, then join her!" Lotso exclaimed, throwing him towards them, causing Ken to almost fall into the dumpster, but you quickly caught him so he wouldn't fall in, even though you were about to. The other toys helped him up so you could regain your balance.
Barbie hugged Ken and he stood up.
"Sunnyside could be a cool place, but it was Lotso who turned this place into a prison!" the doll exclaimed.
Lotso just smiled evilly.
"Does anyone agree with Ken?" he asked, but no one answered.
"I wasn't the one who replaced them!" Lotso exclaimed. "It was their boy! All the kids are going to replace us!"
"What? Don't you remember Daisy?" Woody asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lotso said.
"Yes, Daisy. Your little girl."
"She replaced us!"
"No, she lost them and only replaced you! She gave him the love a child can give a toy, and you lied to Big Baby!" Woody threw Daisy's charm at him, and Big Baby looked sad.
"Mom..."
"What?! You want your mommy back?! Stop acting like a baby!" Lotso yelled at the baby, destroying the charm, making Big Baby cry.
"Push them all!" Lotso ordered the purple octopus.
"NO!" You yelled for your friends, and without thinking twice, you reached out to try to pick them up, but the distance was significant.
"This is what happens when fools want to think!" He hit Big Baby with his cane.
"WE'RE ALL TRASH! THOSE ARE TOYS!" Lotso couldn't continue his evil dialogue, because Big Baby picked him up and threw him into the trash can, then closed the lid.
"He's gone...!" Rex exclaimed.
"Scary...!" said Mr. Potato Head.
With the lid closed, you could finally get closer to your friends.
"Hey guys! What a night, huh?" You laughed out of nervousness.
"You have no idea," Woody smiled at you. "Despite your age, you're still an excellent cowgirl."
"Thanks, the best one taught me," you winked at Woody.
Behind you, you heard someone sticking out their tongue. It was Big Baby, sticking his tongue out at Lotso.
"Aw...." you said, dying of tenderness. "Aren't you a little cutie?" You stroked his cheek, and he laughed happily.
"Okay, there isn't much time," you said as the garbage truck got closer.
"Just come with me," you said to your friends. But on the way, one of the green aliens got stuck in the slot of the dumpster.
"Oh, I can't believe it!" Woody exclaimed as he approached him since you had your hands full with the others.
However, as Woody lifted the lid of the dumpster, Lotso reached out and grabbed the cowboy's foot.
"Woody!" Jessie and you exclaimed simultaneously.
You left the toys next to a wall so you could go get Woody. You opened the dumpster, but it was too deep for you to fall in too. Before anyone else could do anything, the garbage truck arrived and took the dumpster.
"Come on! Get in!" Jessie exclaimed to the others to get on the dumpster to help their friends, but this only caused everyone to fall into the truck.
"Is everyone okay?!" Woody shouted to his friends, and some responded.
"(Name)?!" They shouted for you.
"I'm fine," you told them while you were cleaning up trash.
"Okay, everyone go with Buzz!" Woody ordered his friends. "(Name), stay on the edge! They can hurt you more than us."
You nodded, but before you could do anything, more trash started falling in.
"Damn!" You exclaimed.
You grabbed your phone and dialed your boyfriend's number. After a few minutes, he answered.
"My love?" he asked sleepily.
"Andy! I need your help!" you shouted to make sure you woke him up.
"H-help?" You heard the bed sheets rustling. "(Name), what's going on? Where are you?"
"Go to the dumpster!"
"What? Why?" he asked, alarmed.
"Just do it!" you said after hanging up.
When you hung up, you put your phone in your pocket to look for your friends. You found them dragging Buzz out from under a television. You quickly approached them.
"What happened?!" you asked, alarmed.
"A television fell on him while he was trying to save me!" Jessie explained.
Out of nowhere, Buzz started moving his head as if rebooting and looked around, confused.
"It wasn't me, was it?" was the first thing Buzz said when he smelled the disgusting environment they were in.
Everyone sighed in relief and overjoyed to see their space friend safe and sound.
"(Name)? Woody?" he said, surprised to see them there.
"Hello, astronaut," you gave him a military salute.
"Welcome back, friend," Woody greeted him.
"Tell me, where is this?" Buzz asked.
"A truck on the way to the dumpster!" Rex replied.
Upon arriving at the dumpster, everyone was dumped in the garbage. It wasn't that hard for you to locate you, but it was going to be hard to spot the others.
"Guys!" you shouted for your friends. "Are you okay?!"
You heard murmurs and coughs, which was good enough for a yes.
"The claw!" the aliens exclaimed as they ran excitedly toward the garbage crane.
"Don't go! Wait!" You exclaimed with Woody trying to stop them but because of the fall, one of your sides was hurt.
Suddenly, some trucks started pushing garbage onto an electric conveyor belt that was carrying it to the incinerator. Fortunately, you were able to avoid it, but your friends weren't, causing them to fall onto the belt.
"No," you exclaimed as you watched your friends fall, but you weren't going to leave them there.
You took out your phone and texted Andy, saying only, "Incinerator."
After sending that text, you ran toward the incinerator to try to locate your friends as quickly as possible.
You found one of the entrances and finally entered the incinerator.
"It can't be..." you muttered as you saw the huge fire in the center.
"Guys!" you shouted for your friends. In the distance, you could see something moving; it was them.
You went down to the garbage dump, and the first thing that happened was that you got burned, since many of the materials burned when heated. But you didn't care and continued walking toward them.
"Guys!" you called again once you were closer, now turning to look at them.
"(Name)!" They all exclaimed when they saw you.
"Is everyone okay?" you asked.
"Yes! But what are you doing here?! It's too dangerous for you!" Woody scolded.
"I'm fine," you giggled. "It's just some burns, nothing serious."
"It's not like that, (Name)..." Buzz was about to scold you, but you interrupted him.
"Just come here." You opened your arms for them to approach you. Little by little, they all approached you and hugged you, and you hugged them, preparing for an imminent impact.
Out of nowhere, a white light appeared above you. Everyone looked up and saw a claw come down to grab them. Everyone was confused, but the claw positioned them in front of the person controlling the crane.
"Andy!" You said, relieved to see your boyfriend, who was accompanied by three green aliens.
"You have a lot to explain, (Name)," he said, then looked at his toys. "And you guys too."
Andy released them onto solid ground where they could see the sun.
"Oh my God..." You lay down, not caring that you were surrounded by trash.
"(Name)!" You heard someone call your name and sat up when you saw it was Andy.
"Andy!" You tried to get up, but the pain prevented you. Immediately, Andy approached you and carried you bridal style so you wouldn't have to walk.
"Hey... Everything's okay..." he murmured against your hair.
The last thing you remember before everything went black was Andy saying sweet nothings in your ear.
When you woke up, everything was bright and no longer smelled bad; on the contrary, it smelled of chlorine and disinfectants.
"Ugh..." you groaned as you tried to sit up.
"No, no, cowgirl. You need to lie down," a voice next to you said. It was Jessie.
"Jessie?" On the nightstand were Rex, Ham, Mr. Potato Head, the aliens, Stinky, and Bullseye.
"Guys... What happened?" you asked.
"You fainted when Andy ran to see you at the dumpster," Mrs. Potato Head told you.
"Yeah! He brought you here," Stinky added.
"Andy... And where is he?" you asked.
"I'm here," Andy said as he entered your hospital room.
Buzz and Woody came out from under his jacket and joined the others.
"So there they were," you laughed softly at the sight of the two friends.
"They all wanted to come with me so I could buy you something from the cafeteria," Andy said as he sat down in a chair next to your bed.
In the end, they decided it was best for the two of them to come with me, but that's not important."
You sighed. You knew it was your turn to be scolded.
"I know..." you sighed.
"What the hell were you thinking? How could you risk your life like that?" Andy asked seriously.
"I had to..." you tried to explain, but he interrupted you.
"You could have just told me!"
"I know! But would you believe me if I told you we had to save your toys from a kindergarten?"
"No, but..." Andy sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You almost died. Look at how you looked."
"It's just burns and wounds." "Nothing serious," you assured him, but he glared at you.
"Andy," you took his hand. "I'm fine," you assured him.
He squeezed your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips to kiss them.
"Don't do it again."
"I don't make promises," you said with a smile.
"(Name)..."
"Okay, okay. I'm not going to do it again."
"And you guys," Andy turned to look at him. "I should apologize to everyone."
"No need, cowboy," Woody assured him.
"Yeah, everything's okay! We made mistakes too," Buzz told him.
"Even so, I never should have called you trash or put you in trash bags. Please forgive me."
Everyone climbed on top of Andy to hug him, and he hugged them back as best he could.
"Now, are you ready to go to college with us?" Andy asked, and everyone's eyes lit up.
Yeah, it was more than certain that this was the family you wanted to be with.
Hello! I hope everyone liked this one-shot! It was my first ever one-shot and to be honest I'm proud of it! But still i hope @anyadouc44 liked this as well! And have to thank her as this was a beautiful challenge for me and a nice walk across memory lane as Toy Story was one of my favorite movies growing up! Anyway, thank you so so much and I'll see you in the next one!
My Dear Wallet (Hiro Hamada x Gn! Reader x Tadashi Hamada)
Summary: Tadashi gets a little concerned when he hears his little brother call you a certain peculiar nickname and decides to interrogate.
Warning: Tadashi's alive (yayyy), Hiro being a little shit, Reader being unbothered. Tried to write in character. Intended to be platonic but you can read it otherwise (not poly tho)
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: First time writing a fic and I am so nervous cuz I always wanted to bring my ideas to life and this fic is partially inspired by @coeurzr 's Hiro Hamada fic (go check it out NOW!) Also I may or may not intend for the Reader to be a lovechild of Tony Stark (oops-). English is not my first language and criticism is welcomed.
Tadashi decided to go home early this evening. It was exactly 3.30 p.m. when he agreed to halt his ongoing project for he did not see himself moving forward with it because of the lack of sleep he missed. Also he needed coffee, like desperately. So he proceeded to switch his brain off for some time and head home.
The walk home slowly started to relax him as the evening sunlight gently bathed him as he appreciated the surroundings. He can't help but wonder what was Hiro doing at the moment. The younger Hamada did notify him that he'd be leaving early. Speaking of which, Hiro did seem much more lively these past few months, especially after getting accepted to SFIT he started being more studious and focused with his goals.
Granted, his bot fighting habits did not completely vanish though at the beginning. Talk about Old habits die hard. Although what changed was how less frequent he's attend them now. Tadashi noticed that as time passed by, bot fighting is slowly vanishing from his little brother's schedule. Now that he thought about it, the last time he caught Hiro sneaking out was like, a month ago? As much as Tadashi wanted to be glad, he feels an inkling of suspicion at the corner of his mind.
Tadashi has reached home before he even realized, He opens the door slowly as the cafe's bell rings alerting a new presence. He notices how there seems to be less of a crowd in the evening and eventually concluded that it may be because it's a weekday. He approached the counter where his Aunt seemed to be preoccupied with handling the café, possibly going through customer orders and whatnot.
"Hey Aunt Cass." Tadashi greeted with a tired smile and his aunt jumped a little, surprised. She didn't expect his eldest nephew to be back soon, not that it was a once in a blue moon occurrence. She paused her work to reply, " You're early! and oh my god you look exhausted! Have you been losing sleep again?"
Tadashi could only sigh in reply as he did not have that many strength to ague back even though his aunt meant it in good faith. Aunt Cass's expression softened and sighed. As much as she loves to dote on her nephews, there are times where she couldn't interfere as she know how much they love to work on their projects. They had gone through this a million times by now but that's because she deeply cares for the two very much.
"You know what? Why don't you head upstairs and have some rest? I'll prepare something fresh for you. Is that ok?" Aunt Cass reassured.
"I want coffee thoug-"
"No, You're not getting coffee, you are getting rest. Upstairs shoo." She interrupted crossing her arms over her chest. Tadashi nodded slowly finding no victory in this part as he was about to drag himself Upstairs. As his aunt went ahead to prepare, He decided to scan around the café quickly before abruptly halting. His eyes squinted slightly and noticed. There, right in the corner of one of the tables was Hiro and You.
Hiro seemed to be babbling about something while you were in slumped slightly, listening to him in a half deadpanned expression, where one of your hand holding a pencil was hovering over a notebook. Hiro seemed way energized than you were and Tadashi wondered if his little brother was bothering you in anyway.
The two brothers met you while you were studying at SFIT. They learned that you passed the entrance exams with flying colors. Your knowledge of robotics seemed to rival some of the best, and let's say Hiro was a little salty about it. If they had to describe you in one word, it would be: Chill.
You clearly seemed unbothered most of the time and always seemed to prefer the quiet. Also, you seem to have this weird knack for studying in absurd places and peculiar methods. This one time, Hiro caught you reading upside down in one corner where it looked like you were sitting on the wall with your back on the floor when looking from a different angle, and he started doing the same for a while. When confronted, you only retorted back, saying that's how you can confirm if everything important stuck into your head. Hiro, being your no.1 hype man, only further supported your claims.
As a person, you are very hardworking and also came from a pretty humble background. Tadashi can't help but appreciate being friends with you. You managed to somehow teach Hiro how to be in track amidst the stress and workload that the lectures provide. Hiro too grew to greatly care for You, who was slightly older than him, so it was a win-win situation at best.
Back to being present, Tadashi walked across to café to the duo. As he walked closer, he could slowly hear bits and pieces of their conversation, When he heard the lines spewing out from his dear brother, "Just so you know, without you, I would never be able to live my life, my dear Wallet."
Tadashi's eyes squinted, confusion etched across his face, which was clearly evident. He spoke as he stood behind Hiro, "Wallet?"
The duo paused, slowly turning their heads towards the third party. Hiro closed his eyes, holding an expression as if he was ready for some impending doom, while you were glancing at the eldest with pursed lips, shrugging a bit. Tadashi continued as he placed his bag on the table, "(Name) what is he talking about? You giving him money or something?"
"Hey Tadashi, you're early. How's your recent project?" You spoke completely, disregarding his question. Hiro retorted, slumping back in his seat, trying to appear cool and nonchalant, "Also, that is none of your business, ok? That is between us and only us right wal- (Name)?"
"You're deflecting, which means something's up. Come on, spill it." Tadashi remarked, pulling back a chair to sit next to you facing Hiro. He kept glancing at the two of you back and forth arms crossed. You turned to Hiro, raising an eyebrow and asked, "Yeah Hiro, why do you always call me that, huh?"
"Huh wha- so this is what betrayal feels like?" Hiro sighs dramatically. You replied with a confused expression, " What the hell is there to be betrayed about?"
"You're supposed to be on my side!"
"You're the one who-"
"To be fair! You were the one asked if you could-"
Tadashi pinched his nose in frustration as the two bickered back and forth. He removed his cap and placed it in the table. He banged his fist on the table, the two of you jumping in your seats, startled at the contact. Hiro sighed and admitted, "Fine, I'll admit, I've been borrowing some of their money for some time. But hey, thanks to that, I don't do Bot fighting anymore!"
Tadashi deadpanned turning towards you. You added, "Listen to be fair, I was the one who offered alright, it all started when he needed to get some part for his assignment and he was about to get this outdated one and it didn't feel right! I had to get him the good stuff!"
The eldest Hamada raised an eyebrow at you, head tilting downwards. It was funny how you would get riled up to something like an outdated mechanical part. He glanced back at Hiro, who offered him a smug smile, probably thinking he got away. Tadashi asked Hiro, "When are you going to pay them back?"
Before Hiro could reply, you jumped in, "What? No, Listen, I don't need any of you to pay me back, I am just happy that I could help, that's all and i doubt you could pay me back from all the gummy bear stash that I got for Hiro. "
"So that's how we had many jumbo sized gummy bear packs!?!? Gosh I even ate some of them-"
"YOU TOOK MY GUMMY BEA-"
"HEY!"
The three heads snapped to the counter where Aunt Cass stood with her hands on her hips. She frowned at you all since the bickering seemed to catch the attention to some customers who were silently snickering. The three of you apologized as the embarrassment seeped in from the unwanted attention. Tadashi decided that he desperately needs some sleep, he turned towards Hiro and added, "This isn't over."
Hiro glared back as the two of you watch him retreat upstairs to his humble abode. He remarked, "Well that kinda went better than i expected. So as I was saying-"
You shrugged in response going back to half studying and half paying attention to the ramblings of his annoying but dear friend.
Summary: When you thought you were being followed home late one night, there was really no bigger blessing than running into Jack Brewer.
A/N: okay so i actually absolutely DETEST this. i only wrote it as an ode to little me who was so DOWN BAD for jack brewer but this fic actually took it out of me ngl cuz im so burnt out from uni but idc i figured something is better than nothing and i also physically cannot stand to work on this anymore
but yall have u seen leo howard today? LIKE BARK BARK EXCUSE ME?
It’s nearly midnight by the time your friend finally heads home. Honestly, it was your fault for assuming the mall would still be somewhat busy. You knew the neighborhood was mostly families, and it was a school night — but the only available showing of the new movie started fifteen minutes before closing.
So now here you were, stepping out of the theater into the open-air mall, the cold night air wrapping around you like a reminder that you’d miscalculated. Aside from the last straggling employees in the theater lobby, everything else was shuttered and dark. The problem with outdoor malls is that once the sun went down, it turned into a ghost town.
That’s when you heard it.
Footsteps.
A second set — behind yours. Steady. Not too close, but close enough that your pulse jumped.
A part of you wanted to stop and see if they stopped too, but the thought of hearing their steps approach made your stomach twist. So instead, you picked up your pace, heading toward the mall’s main walkway. Maybe Joan, the mall cop, was still doing her patrol. Maybe someone on night shift would be nearby. Someone.
You kept telling yourself you were imagining it — the way the steps matched yours, the faint scrape of gravel, the silhouette that slipped behind a lamppost just a little too slowly.
You were staring straight ahead, hyperfocused, when you collided with someone — solid, warm, and definitely not a lamppost.
“Whoa— hey,” A familiar voice said, hands catching your elbows before you could stumble back, “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
You blinked up, lungs finally unclenching—
Jack Brewer.
You didn't really know him but Jack was infamous at Seaford High and was quite popular for his good looks.
Also the fact that it was well known he could kick ass.
Relief washed through you so suddenly it was like being dunked in cold water — shocking but grounding. Your shoulders sagged, breath stuttering out of you.
“Everything okay?” He asked, brow furrowing.
It was obvious you weren’t. You were breathing too fast, clutching your keys between your fingers like claws, gripping your dead phone so tightly your knuckles were turning white. And on top of it all — you could feel tears gathering, that hot, stinging pressure that gave you away instantly.
“Oh. Yep.” You nodded too quickly, “Totally. Fine.”
Jack gave you that look — the one halfway between Really? and I can see your heart trying to exit your body.
“You sure?”
You hesitated.
Jack Brewer. Kim Crawford’s best friend. And Kim — the girl who kicked a guy in the balls for making a sexist joke. If she trusted Jack, he had to be decent. And he’d always been kind to you. Respectful. Smiley. No one had ever given you a reason to doubt him.
“I think someone was following me.” You breathed out.
Jack went still.
His eyes sharpened. His posture shifted — not panicked, but alert. Focused.
“Where?” He asked softly.
You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Just the long stretch of empty walkway and a mall directory sign creaking in the wind.
“I don’t know,” You admitted, “Maybe I’m imagining it. But it felt… weird.”
Jack nodded once, thoughtful, “Where are you headed?”
“Oh, I’m just going back to my place.”
He straightened, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, “I’ll walk you home.”
Your eyebrows lifted, “Jack, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled — small, steady, reassuring, “I’m already headed that way.”
He definitely wasn’t. But your hands were still shaking too badly to refuse twice.
He fell into step beside you, and while you kept darting glances toward every shadow, Jack walked with that calm, easy confidence he always had. You wondered what it must be like — to never feel unsafe at night. Then you briefly wondered if Kim ever felt that way either, despite being just as skilled.
“So,” Jack said after a few steps, “What were you doing out so late?”
It startled you out of your vigilance for a moment. You looked up at him, “Oh — I came for a late showing of that new movie.”
“Now You See Me?”
When you nodded, his face lit up, "How was it?”
“Not good.”
Jack winced playfully, “That’s tragic. I’ve been waiting to see it.”
A small laugh escaped you — shaky but real.
After a moment, feeling rude that you hadn't reciprocated, you asked, “What about you? Why are you out this late?”
He shrugged his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, “Championship next week. I just wanted to get in a little extra training.”
“At midnight?”
He grinned sheepishly, “I know. Sensei said I could lock up, and… I don’t know. I just wanted to practice while it was quiet.”
“It’s nice that you’re so passionate about it,” You admitted, “I wish I had a hobby or a passion like that sometimes.”
Jack shot you a sideways look, something amused flickering in his eyes. After a moment, he nudged your shoulder lightly, “You know… maybe you should give karate a try.”
That made you laugh — a soft, surprised sound that eased some of the tension still clinging to your nerves.
“Jack, I can’t even open a water bottle sometimes. I think my true potential would be… how do I put this… extremely unrealized in karate.”
Jack laughed too — a bright, warm sound that echoed in the quiet street, “Trust me. If Milton can do it, then I’m sure you can.”
You blinked. Then laughed again, “Oh yeah. I keep forgetting Milton does karate.”
Jack nodded proudly, “He’s a green belt now. When I met the guy, he was still a beginner.”
“He’s really come out of his shell since you moved to Seaford,” You said, smiling at the thought, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so sweet. He always holds the door for everyone.”
Jack’s steps slowed just a little — so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did, but hearing someone talk kindly about a friend he cared so much about?
That hit different.
“Yeah,” He said softly, warmth threading through his voice, “He’d be really happy to hear you say that.”
You glanced up at him, “Well… it’s true.”
Jack swallowed, his smile lingering — softer now, almost shy, “You’re sweet too.”
Heat crept up your cheeks before you could stop it. You laughed under your breath, looking down for a second and then back at him, “Well… thank you.”
For a moment, it didn’t feel like midnight anymore.
Didn’t feel like you’d been terrified twenty minutes ago.
It felt like this — walking home beside Jack Brewer, the streetlights turning his hair gold, the night air quiet and safe. For a moment, you could’ve sworn this walk was the most important part of your day.
The conversation softened as you approached your street — the kind of soft where every sentence felt like it lingered in the air a bit longer than usual.
And before you knew it, you were at your building, standing in front of your door, the porch light flickering gently above you.
“Well,” You said quietly, fingers playing with your keys, “this is me.”
Jack nodded, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder. He looked… reluctant to leave, “Yeah. Looks like it.”
You smiled up at him — really smiled this time, “Thank you. For walking me home. I know you didn’t have to.”
Jack returned the smile with one that made your stomach tilt, “You’re welcome.”
There was a small pause — warm, not awkward.
You hesitated, shifting your keys in your hand, “Please… let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay you.”
Jack shook his head immediately, “You don’t have to repay me.”
“But still—”
“Okay,” He cut in, voice warm but firm, “how about this?”
You blinked up at him.
“The next time you’re scared to walk home…” His eyes softened, “Just give me a call.”
Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you blink.
“Oh.” You tried to sound normal, “O-okay. I will.”
Jack’s lips twitched like he could see right through you and thought it was cute.
“Good.” He stepped back a little, hands sliding back into his pockets, the picture of casual confidence except for the faint pink on the tips of his ears, “Then… I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Your heart did the flip again — the one it kept doing around him, “Yeah. See you.”
Jack nodded, gave you one last soft smile, and turned to walk away.
He didn’t leave until you unlocked your door and stepped inside.
And even then, he lingered for a heartbeat longer — just to make sure.
***
The next morning, you walked into school with a little skip in your step. The sun shone bright enough to make the day pleasant, but not hot. Your outfit felt perfect, your breakfast avocado had been flawless, and you couldn’t deny that the thought of possibly running into Jack today sent a flurry of butterflies straight through your chest.
After yesterday, you kept replaying your conversation with him, his gentle request for you to call if anything ever happened. It had you squealing quietly under the covers that night, cheeks burning. You could clearly see why so many girls had crushes on him. For a moment, you even caught yourself smiling at your locker combination, thinking about him.
Then something slipped out and fluttered to the floor.
A piece of paper. Folded twice.
Your brow furrowed as you picked it up, thinking perhaps you’d accidentally dropped a worksheet or misplaced notes. But the words on the page immediately stole the air from your lungs:
I saw you last night.
You shouldn’t be alone with him.
He doesn’t deserve you.
I do.
A cold, prickling chill ran down your spine. Your breath hitched, and your eyes darted around the crowded hallway. Everyone else was laughing, exchanging papers, switching books—completely unaware that your world had just tilted.
Trembling, you shoved the note into your bag and marched straight to the office. Forty minutes later, you were still sitting there, chewing on your thumbnail, nerves fraying while security reviewed the tapes. The principal tried to stay calm, but your parents eventually barged in, having arrived in a whirlwind after being called.
“Any luck?” Your mom asked, urgency in her voice.
The principal’s phone buzzed, and he spoke quickly into it, “Unfortunately… this hallway has three hundred students passing through every morning. Security didn’t see anyone unusual.”
“Can’t we call the police about this?” Your dad pressed.
“Considering the note doesn’t contain any explicit threats and no actual harm has been carried out, the police won’t be much help. No physical harm, no known suspect, and technically, it could be a prank. They can take a statement—that’s it.”
“So… that’s it?” You whispered, voice small, the panic and frustration tight in your chest.
“I’m sorry,” The principal said gently, “For now, just stay aware. If anything else happens, come straight to me.”
Your hands were numb as you left the office. The morning had evaporated—first period was gone, and you were now well into second.
“Text us constantly, okay? Every class, every free period.” Your mom reminded you.
“We’ll try to drive you this week, but our shifts overlap—” Your dad added.
“I know, I know.” You murmured, feeling the weight of their worry pressing down on you. They wanted to protect you, but they simply couldn’t be everywhere at once.
“Do you want to go home? We could try taking the day off?” Your mom asked.
You shook your head, “No… I’d rather be here. There are more people, you know?”
“Baby, are you sure?” Your dad said softly, “Whoever did this could be a student. Maybe we should consider switching schools—”
You nodded, but your mind had already started to spiral, back to the note now filed in the principal’s office as part of an evidence trail. Your stomach twisted, and your chest felt impossibly tight, cold and heavy all at once. The icy grip of fear settled deep inside you.
And suddenly, last night with Jack—the warmth, the comfort, the way he’d made you feel safe—felt impossibly far away.
***
The third period dragged on in a haze. You tried desperately to act normal—taking notes, answering questions, nodding when spoken to—but your mind felt completely empty. Maybe it was luck that none of the teachers noticed the absolute daze you were in. Or perhaps they did, and simply didn’t want to bring it up. The words from the note burned in your chest, a cold, unwelcome weight that refused to leave, no matter how loudly the teacher droned on.
You kept glancing around, half-expecting to see the figure from last night lurking somewhere in the crowded halls. It was ridiculous—the hallway was bustling, hundreds of students moving in every direction, laughing, swapping papers, completely oblivious to your panic. And yet, every shadow, every shifting figure in the corner of your eye felt threatening.
By the time fourth period rolled around, you were hyper-aware of every movement. Someone brushed past your desk, jostling you slightly, and your heart immediately leapt into your throat. You clenched your pencil tighter, telling yourself it was normal. It had to be.
A long, weary sigh escaped you as you opened your locker again to swap out books for the next period. Empty. Everything in its place. You closed it a little too forcefully, and the clang echoed down the hallway.
Kim, your locker mate, turned at the sound, eyes sharp and curious as she caught the absolute run-down expression on your face.
“You okay? You look… pale.” She asked, voice casual but cutting.
You shook your head and forced a laugh, though it came out a little too short, a little too tight, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired. Late night.”
Kim narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but she didn’t press. You hesitated a moment, then decided to speak, “Hey… did you happen to see anyone unusual hanging around by my locker this morning?”
She gave you a blank, slightly puzzled look, “Not that I remember… why?”
You shook your head quickly, forcing a weak smile, “No reason. Don’t worry about it.”
Kim didn’t look fully convinced, giving you a small, lingering glance before turning back to her own locker.
Before she could ask anything else, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your mom, checking in, as she had been all day. You answered quickly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. The audible sigh on the other end only made your stomach twist tighter. It had been barely a couple of hours of this, and already you could feel your nerves fraying.
By lunch, exhaustion had settled over you—not physical, but mental. Your body was tense, muscles taut like piano wire. You moved through the cafeteria quickly, keeping your head down, glancing over your shoulder more times than you could count.
When you finally grabbed your lunch, your eyes scanned the cafeteria for your friends, who had gone ahead while you took the call with your mom. That’s when you saw him.
Jack Brewer.
He was walking past, casual as ever, with that easy smile that seemed to light up everything in its path. When his gaze landed on you, he waved. Your chest did a strange little flip—something you immediately tried to bury under a tight, cautious smile. You couldn’t let yourself wave back too openly, not with the thought that someone might be watching the interaction. Instead, you offered a small, careful smile before heading over to your friends.
Kim, watching you, raised a brow at the interaction.
“You two know each other?” She asked, curiosity edged with suspicion.
Jack shook his head lightly, shrugging, “Nah… we just ran into each other at the mall last night.”
His smile didn’t falter, even as you moved past him. Your friends greeted you warmly, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased just slightly. But deep down, you knew the note, the fear, the unknown presence lingering somewhere nearby—none of that was going away.
Still, just seeing Jack, even from a distance, made the weight feel a little lighter. For now.
***
Jack’s footsteps echoed down the crowded hallway as he made his way toward Kim. He spotted her leaning against her locker, scrolling through her phone, and hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Hey… uh, is everything okay with you?” He asked, trying to sound casual, though there was an edge to his voice—a concern he couldn’t quite hide.
Kim looked up, eyebrows raised, “What? Where’s that coming from?” Her tone was sharp, half-annoyed, half-curious.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, “I’m only asking because… I got this weird note in my locker.” He fished it out from his bag and handed it to her.
Kim took it, reading the short, chilling message quickly:
She belongs to me. Stay away from her.
Her eyes narrowed, the words sinking in. “Uh… okay… what?” She held the note at arm’s length, confused, “Who’s this about?”
Jack shrugged, a little defensive, the unease clear in his tense shoulders, “I… don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Kim blinked, and then a memory clicked—your nervous voice, the question you’d asked her earlier. Her gaze sharpened, flicking up at him, “Wait. You got this in your locker?”
Jack nodded slowly, the unease in his chest growing,. “Yeah… why?”
Kim’s mind raced, connecting the dots, “You said you hung out with (Y/N) last night, right? What were you two doing together?”
Jack furrowed his brow in confusion, “Uh… she ran into me. Said she thought someone was following her, so I walked her home.”
Kim pressed her lips into a thin line, glancing at the note again, her sharp eyes narrowing. Then, finally, her voice dropped to a low, certain tone, “I think this… might be about her. (Y/N). I think she got a similar note in her locker today.”
Jack’s stomach sank. His confusion evaporated, replaced with a jolt of concern that tightened around his chest.
“She told you this?” He asked quickly, a little desperate.
“No,” Kim said, shaking her head, “But she’s been acting… off all day. Nervous, jumpy, keeps looking over her shoulder. And she asked me if I’d seen anyone weird hanging around her locker this morning.”
Jack’s mind raced. His chest tightened, a protective instinct kicking in before he even realized it.
Kim watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowing knowingly, “You’re going to be careful, right?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about me."
Kim sighed, closing her locker shut, "Kind of hard not to. You're like a trouble magnet."
***
You were shoving your notebooks into your bag after fifth period, fingers stiff and clumsy from the constant anxiety buzzing under your skin. You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and slipped your phone away.
You shut your locker door.
And nearly jumped out of your skin.
Jack was standing there.
Not close—he’d left a noticeable gap, like he’d approached slowly, carefully—but close enough that the sudden sight of him made your heart slam against your ribs.
“Oh—sorry,” He said immediately, hands lifting in surrender, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Your pulse slowly unclenched, “No, no, you’re good. Just… jumpy today.”
Jack hesitated.
And that alone made your nerves spike.
He wasn’t awkward—not from what you’d seen of him around school. He was always loud, always joking, always moving with a kind of restless confidence that made people look. But now? He looked… out of place in his own skin. Tense. Focused. Like he was worried one wrong move might set off a landmine.
“Um,” He started, rubbing the back of his neck—a hesitant gesture that felt borrowed from someone quieter, “Can I talk to you for a sec? It’s kind of… important.”
Your brows knit together. The prickling at the back of your neck sharpened. Jack Brewer had no reason to seek you out—not really. You weren’t close. You weren’t even in the same friend group. Most days, your conversations didn’t go beyond polite nods in class.
Your eyes flicked around the hallway, hyperaware of every pair of eyes. Every whisper. Every passing student who might be watching.
“Is something wrong?” You asked, voice tightening.
Jack let out a slow breath through his nose—the kind people take when they’re trying to break something gently, “I—I really don’t want to freak you out more than you already are. But I think… I think you should see this.”
He reached into his backpack.
Your stomach dropped before the paper even appeared.
He held it out—folded, creased, the edges slightly bent. Something about the way he offered it, careful and solemn, made your fingers shake as you took it.
You unfolded it.
Your vision swayed the second the words registered.
Your throat tightened so sharply you couldn’t catch a breath.
“Oh my god,” You whispered, the words cracking apart, “Oh my god—Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m—this is all my fault.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up, confusion breaking through his tension, “Hey—hey, what? Why are you apologizing? What’s going on?”
You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead, fighting to steady your breathing, “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. Everything is just—happening so fast and—”
Your voice buckled under the pressure in your chest.
“And now you got dragged into it because of me.” The shame burned hot and deep, “I’m so sorry.”
Jack stepped half a foot closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough that you could feel his presence, warm and grounding.
“(Y/N),” He said softly, firmly, “stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault. Whoever wrote this—that’s on them. Not you.”
Your jaw trembled as you looked up at him, eyes shiny, “Aren’t you scared?”
Jack blinked. Then scoffed—quiet but sharp, “Yeah. For the idiot who thought it was a good idea to pull this shit.”
His voice softened, "Are you?"
You tried to inhale, but it came out thin and shaky, “Terrified.”
***
The past week had been… exhausting.
Every day, your parents had been picking you up from school—making sure you weren’t alone for even a second. It was comforting, yes, but as the days went by and nothing else happened, a small part of you began to wonder if maybe you had been a little overdramatic. You hadn’t gotten another letter. No strange footsteps behind you. No shadows lingering at the edges of your vision.
Maybe it really had been a one‑time thing. Maybe it had come from some girl obsessed with Jack, meant to scare you off. Not the first time it’s happened, you imagined. And honestly, you couldn’t entirely blame them.
Still, your parents refused to “pretend like nothing had happened,” ever the overprotective ones.
Until today.
Both of them were stuck at work—meetings, deadlines, emergencies that couldn’t be avoided. Their voices over the phone had been apologetic, worried, but firm:
“Stay in the library until we can get there. Don’t leave. Don’t—just… stay there.”
So now you were tucked into a corner of the school library, books stacked around you like a makeshift barricade, waiting for hours that stretched endlessly. The clock ticked with cruel slowness. You checked your phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from your parents.
Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the soft scratch of pencils across paper.
And then you noticed him.
Jack.
He was accompanying Milton—no surprise there; the ginger practically lived in the library. Jack looked bored, leaning on one foot and scrolling on his phone while Milton rambled about something.
But then his eyes lifted.
Found you.
Held.
His expression shifted—barely, but enough—and he murmured something to Milton before heading in your direction, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he approached.
“Hey,” He said quietly, careful not to break the library hush, “What are you doing all the way back here by yourself?”
You shrugged, trying for casual even though your shoulders were tight with leftover nerves, “Just… waiting for my parents. They’re picking me up later.”
Jack’s brow furrowed, faint but noticeable. He glanced around the library as if checking who else was there before looking back at you, “Later? How long are you stuck here?”
“Until the end of the day,” You admitted softly, “They both have work. There’s… no one else.”
He paused, processing that. Then he gave you the small, determined half‑smile you were starting to learn meant he was about to insist on something.
“Then I’ll walk you home.”
You froze, “Oh, no—you don’t have to—”
“Don’t worry about it,” He cut in gently, “I’d feel bad if you were stuck here for the rest of the day.”
You shook your head quickly, polite but firm, “No, really, Jack. I appreciate it. My parents just want to pick me up, you know—because of safety and… things.”
“I’d like to see this person try something on me,” He said, leaning back slightly, confidence slipping into his voice. “I’m a triple black belt, you know.”
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, “Show‑off.”
He grimaced instantly, “I know. I’m embarrassed too. So don’t make me show off even more and humiliate myself. Just let me walk you home?”
Your teeth pressed gently into your lip.
Part of you wanted to refuse—to prove you were fine, that you didn’t need protecting. But another part—the part that remembered the note, the panic, the cold dread—wanted to accept the moment he offered.
Finally, you exhaled and nodded, barely above a whisper.
“Okay.”
Jack’s shoulders loosened, just barely. A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips as he straightened.
“Cool. I’ll tell Milton I’m heading out in a minute. Just pack up whenever you’re ready.”
You pursed your lips to hide a smile.
***
It had been a few days now. Every afternoon, like clockwork, Jack had shown up after school to walk you home. At first, it had been awkward—half-smiles, hesitant conversation—but now it had become routine, a small comfort in a week that had otherwise been tense and exhausting.
Still, guilt gnawed at you every time he appeared, backpack slung over one shoulder, that familiar confident stride in place.
“You really don’t have to do this every day,” You said one afternoon, keeping your voice low as you walked beside him, “I mean… I’m sure you’ve got more important things than walking me home.”
Jack glanced at you, eyebrows lifting, that half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Nah,” He said casually, “We usually just hang out a bit before it’s time for class at the dojo anyway.”
You bit your lip, shaking your head, “That makes me feel worse. You should be hanging out with your friends, not me.”
His grin widened, and there was a playful twinkle in his eye, “I am hanging out with a friend.”
Your eyes widened slightly, warmth spreading across your face, “Oh.”
He shrugged, nonchalant but sincere, “Don’t overthink it. I like walking you home.”
But as the walk continued, you couldn’t shake the guilt. He was always rearranging his time, always adjusting his plans, and you hated that you were making him do it.
You hesitated, then blurted out, “I just… I feel bad that you’re constantly changing your schedule for me. I don’t want to make you miss out on things.”
He tilted his head, curious, “Miss out on what?”
"I dunno. Whatever you usually do, I guess."
You shrugged, trying to make it sound casual, but your chest was tight. “Maybe… maybe I could just—” You trailed off, unsure how to say it without sounding desperate.
Jack raised a brow, clearly intrigued, “Maybe you could…?”
“I don’t know,” You muttered, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets, “Join you at the dojo sometimes? I mean, I won’t get in your way or anything, but…”
His eyes softened, and that same faint smirk tugged at his lips, “You mean… watch me train?”
“No,” You said quickly, cheeks heating, “I mean… if it’s okay, I could come early and wait until your class is over? That way you’re not rushing, and maybe you won’t have to skip stuff for me.”
Jack laughed softly, a warm, easy sound that made your heart flutter, “You know what? That actually sounds… kind of nice. And, trust me, I don’t mind. Really.”
***
The dojo took a bit of getting used to. It was always either way too warm, making the back of your shirt stick to the mat, or freezing, the kind of cold that made your fingers ache no matter how much you rubbed them together. But you didn’t have it in you to complain—not today, not when Jack was already doing you a favor just by letting you hang out here.
And if you were being honest… you liked the atmosphere. There was a rhythm to the place, a pulse of energy that was hard not to get swept up in. The sharp thud of feet against mats, the faint smell of sweat mixed with cleaner, the occasional grunt of effort—it all felt alive.
Jack’s friends were funny, too. Kim was always excited to see you, lighting up whenever you came into the room. Milton, ever the sweetheart, made sure you were included in every joke or drill. And Jerry… well, Jerry was a tornado of energy, impossible to ignore, but somehow he always managed to make space for you in his chaotic orbit. Watching them train was almost mesmerizing, but Jack was the one you couldn’t take your eyes off. Precision, focus, control—he moved like he owned the space, but when he glanced at you, there was something softer behind the confidence.
And those glances… Jack caught your eye occasionally, just long enough to make your stomach flip. One moment he was demonstrating a move, the next his gaze lingered a fraction too long on your hands as you struggled to mimic him. And then—oh, that little smile, the one that made your cheeks warm without a word.
Some afternoons, he’d demonstrate little things for you—how to shift your weight, how to hold a guard, how to breathe like it mattered. He was patient, careful, leaning close enough that you caught the faint scent of his shampoo, the warmth radiating off him. You stumbled through a clumsy punch, and he laughed softly, not mocking but amused.
“You’re getting the hang of it, (Y/N).” He said, and you rolled your eyes, sure he was just indulging you.
“Oh yeah, I’m clearly the next Bobby Wasabi.” You quipped, grinning.
He chuckled, a sound that made your stomach flutter, “Right. Just a couple more centuries of training and you’ll be amongst the greats.”
“Hey,” You teased, stepping closer, “A student’s only as good as their teacher, you know.”
Jack leaned casually against a training dummy, smirk tugging at his lips, “Oh? Then I guess I’m doing a fantastic job.” His gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, slipping south for a second before snapping back to your eyes. That small, unintentional glance made your heart thump like a drum.
You laughed nervously, brushing your hair behind your ear, and he chuckled again, shaking his head, “Stop smiling like that. You’re distracting me.”
“Me? Distracting you?” You said, feigning shock.
“Yeah,” He said, smile widening, “You have that effect.”
You squared your shoulders, pretending to look serious, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you, and threw a half-hearted punch. Jack sidestepped with a laugh and caught your wrist lightly, "You probably shouldn't have done that."
Your stomach fluttered at the heat of his hand around your wrist, the way he held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
Jack’s thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist, barely there, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. His grip wasn’t tight—more guiding than restraining—but it sent a spark straight up your arm anyway.
"You're teasing me." You murmured softly.
Jack’s lips twitched, like he’d been caught—and absolutely didn’t regret it. His thumb stilled for half a second, then traced that same spot again, deliberate this time.
He tilted his head, eyes flicking from your wrist back up to your face, reading you a little too easily. “If I were really teasing you,” He said, stepping closer, “You’d know.”
***
The dojo had mostly cleared out by the time Jack finished his last drill. The mats were scuffed, the air still warm with leftover energy, but the room felt quieter now—like it was finally exhaling.
You sat on the edge of the bench near the wall, backpack at your feet, legs swinging absently as you watched Jack towel off. He looked exhausted in that way that only made him more endearing—hair damp, shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath.
“You ready?” He asked, grabbing his water bottle.
You hesitated, “Uh—actually, you don’t have to walk me home today.”
Jack paused mid-sip, brows knitting together, “Why not?”
You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “You’ve got that championship coming up. You should be training, not cutting out early because of me.”
He scoffed lightly, “I’m not ditching anything.”
“I know,” You said quickly, shaking your head, “But still. I don’t want to interrupt. My dad’s gonna stop by and pick me up anyway, so it’s fine. You really don’t have to worry about it.”
Jack studied you for a moment, like he was deciding whether to argue. Then he exhaled—slow, resigned—and nodded, “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.” You promised, offering a small smile.
He didn’t move to go back to training right away, though. Instead, he leaned against the wall beside you, close enough that your arms almost brushed.
A beat of silence settled between you.
“You nervous about the competition?” You asked softly.
“Nah,” He said easily, “Not really.”
Another pause.
The kind that made you suddenly aware of how close he was. How the room seemed to narrow, like it had decided it only cared about the two of you now.
Jack shifted, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, uh…” His voice dropped, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to—”
At the exact same time, you said, “Can I tell you something?”
You both froze.
He let out a quiet laugh, more nervous than amused, “You go.”
“No, you.” You said immediately.
“No, really,” He insisted, eyes warm now, hopeful, “What were you gonna say?”
Your heart thudded. You swallowed.
“I just… I wanted to say that—”
Your breath hitched and the words slipped away, because Jack was looking at you differently now. Not casual. Not playful. Really looking at you.
For a moment, the world felt unbearably still.
His gaze flicked down—just for a second—to your lips.
Your chest tightened.
Without thinking, you leaned in a fraction.
He did too, slow and careful, like he was giving you time to change your mind.
The space between you shrank.
And then—
“Who wants Falafel Phil’s?!”
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
Rudy burst through the side door, loud and grinning, clapping his hands together. “You gotta keep your energy up if you wanna tr—” He stopped short, eyes darting between the two of you, “…Oh. Did I interrupt something?”
Jack straightened instantly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Rudy.”
Your face burned, heart still racing, breath uneven. If he’d been one second later, you might’ve—
“Hi, Rudy.” You managed.
Rudy smirked. “Don’t mind me,” He said, already backing away, pointing vaguely behind him, “I’ll go get us dinner.”
Before either of you could recover, your phone started ringing.
You glanced at the screen.
Dad.
“Um,” You said quickly, answering, “Yeah—yeah, I’m here. Okay. I’ll come out.”
You hung up, suddenly very aware of how fast your heart was still beating.
“My dad’s here,” You said softly, “I should go.”
Jack nodded, disappointment flickering across his face before he masked it with a small smile, “Yeah. Tomorrow?”
You smiled back, warm and breathless, “Tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you then.” He said.
“See you, Jack.”
You walked toward the door, heart buzzing, knowing—deep down—that whatever you’d almost said… wasn’t going to stay unspoken much longer.
***
The next morning felt… unreal.
Like the world had shifted slightly off its axis and you were the only one who could feel it.
You stood by Jack’s locker longer than you probably should have, pretending to reorganize your bag while your eyes flicked down the hallway every few seconds. Each time footsteps approached, your heart jumped.
He never came.
Just as you were debating whether you should head to class, your phone buzzed in your hand.
Jack:
I overslept. I’m so sorry 😭 running late—promise I’ll find you at lunch ❤️
Your breath caught.
You stared at the little red heart longer than necessary, lips pressing together to keep from smiling like an idiot in the middle of the hallway. Your thumb hovered over the screen, imagining him on the other end—hair messy, probably pacing, definitely overthinking whether that heart was too much.
It’s fine. See you at lunch, you typed back, heart racing anyway.
As you slipped your phone into your pocket, warmth lingered in your chest. Last night still felt unfinished, like a sentence cut off halfway through—but somehow, that only made it better. Anticipation buzzed beneath your skin.
You had no idea how quickly that feeling would shatter.
***
The final bell had just rung. Most students had already poured out of the building, their voices echoing faintly from the main hallways. You were heading toward the side exit, backpack slung over your shoulder, ready to meet Jack so the two of you could walk to the dojo together.
You couldn’t really blame yourself. After a month of nothing—no notes, no sightings, no threats—you, your parents, and even the school had slowly started to believe it might go nowhere. That whoever it was had lost interest. Or gotten scared. Or realized it wasn’t worth it.
You were almost convinced of it yourself.
That was when you felt a tug at your elbow.
You turned sharply, acid crawling up your throat in surprise—
and then immediately relaxed.
It was just a classmate.
Someone you recognized but barely knew. A familiar face from class. A boy you’d exchanged polite hellos with, maybe once helped pick up his papers when they’d spilled across the floor.
Nothing more.
“Oh,” You said, confused, “Hi?”
He smiled.
Wide. Wrong.
“You remember me.” He said.
Your skin prickled.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” He continued, stepping closer, “You keep avoiding me.”
Your heart started pounding. He wasn’t doing anything—nothing overt, nothing obvious—but there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist, your lunch threatening to come back up.
You stepped back, trying to wrench your arm free.
He stepped forward.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t noti—”
“Of course you didn’t notice,” He snapped, the words coming through clenched teeth, “How could you, when you’re spending all your time with Jack?”
Your breath caught.
“Could you let go, please?” You murmured, trying again to pull away.
His grip tightened.
His fingers dug into the socket of your elbow, sharp and painful, like he was trying to wrench you into place. You sucked in a breath.
“I told you to stop hanging out with him,” He said, “Why didn’t you listen?”
“I—I—um—”
His smile faltered, eyes burning, “You were nice to me. You smiled. You talked to me. And then suddenly you’re walking around with him.”
“I didn’t mean—I was just being nice—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He yanked you closer.
You gasped, panic exploding through your chest—
A hand clamped down on his wrist.
Hard.
So hard he was forced to let go.
When you looked up, Jack was there.
His grip was iron-tight, veins standing out along his forearm, his entire body coiled and shaking with restraint. His glare was lethal.
“Back. Up.” Jack said, voice low and dangerous.
“You stole her,” The guy spat, “She used to want me.”
Jack didn’t argue.
Didn’t bother trying to talk.
Didn’t hesitate.
He just moved.
It was over in seconds—clean, precise movements, controlled but brutal. A twist, a strike, a takedown. The boy hit the floor hard, gasping as Jack pinned him there without mercy.
By some miracle, a teacher finally heard the commotion.
Everything blurred after that—voices shouting, campus security rushing in, hands pulling the boy up as the police were called.
You barely registered any of it.
You were shaking.
Your knees gave out, and Jack caught you instantly, pulling you into his chest. One arm wrapped tight around your shoulders, the other cradling your head, pressing you firmly against him like he was anchoring you to the ground.
They hauled the boy to his feet.
He started screaming.
“And you!” He yelled, eyes wild as he strained against the guards, “You led me on! You’re gonna pay for this—I’ll kill you too! You deserve it!”
Your body went rigid.
Jack’s arm tightened immediately.
“Don’t listen,” He murmured into your hair, “Don’t look. I’ve got you.”
A broken sound escaped you—something between a sob and a gasp. You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t think. You just breathed, shallow and fast, your ear pressed to Jack’s chest, counting the steady beat of his heart.
Safe.
Still here.
Still breathing.
“It’s over,” Jack said quietly, holding you just as tightly, “I promise. It’s over.”
***
The police were finally taking statements, the boy handcuffed and furious as he was led away. The chaos of the last few minutes had drained all the energy from your body. You sat on the edge of the bench near the office entrance, staring at your hands in your lap, mind completely blank.
Jack crouched in front of you, hands gentle as he inspected your arms and shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing hurts?” His voice was soft, careful, and the concern in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
“I’m fine,” you whispered, not quite meeting his eyes—until he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your forehead, thumb lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let go.
For the first time since the confrontation, something else broke through the fog—relief, leftover adrenaline, and a deep, overwhelming affection that had been quietly building for weeks.
Before you could overthink it—before fear or doubt could get in the way—you leaned forward.
Your hands found his shoulders. Your lips pressed against his in a sudden, honest kiss, all impulse and emotion.
Jack froze for half a second, breath catching—then he softened completely, kissing you back without hesitation. One hand came up to your waist, steady and protective, the other resting lightly at the back of your neck. The world narrowed until there was nothing but him—the warmth of his touch, the solid reassurance of his presence, the steady rhythm of his heart grounding you.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and a little shy, your foreheads nearly touching, you glanced up at him.
“You’ll still walk me home… right?”
Jack’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb brushing comfortingly over your hand.
“Yeah,” He said quietly, “Always.”
***
bonus:
The dojo smells like sweat and disinfectant, the familiar thud of feet against mats echoing through the room. You’re sitting on the edge of the mat, legs stretched out, half-watching Jack spar with one of the younger students while you sip from your water bottle.
Kim drops down beside you, scrolling through her phone.
“Hey,” She says casually, “A bunch of us are going to see that new horror movie tonight. You wanna come?”
You blink, “Uh—yeah. Sure.”
Kim squints at her screen. “Okay, but just so you know… the only showing left is, like, really late.”
You shrug, “That’s fine.”
She grins, satisfied, “Cool. I’ll text you the details.” Then she hops back up and jogs off to the change rooms.
The second she’s gone, you feel it.
Jack’s presence.
He appears in front of you like he teleported—towel slung over his shoulder, eyebrows already pulled together, "You know I'm coming with you, right?"
"Oh, absolutely," You agreed, looking up at your boyfriend who immediately greeted you with a kiss, "I'm not going unless you're there to protect me."
***
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