#anything using ‘and’ instead of a / is platonic by the way

[vitalverstappen]

Cassandra - C. Leclerc

summary: when everyone believes you, what's that like?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x platonic teammate! reader

warnings: Mattia Binotto, swearing, some sexist comments

word count: 3k

a/n: in honor of max winning the WDC, i figured i'd post something. in honor of charles finally losing his shit on the team radio, i figured i'd post this. also it takes place during the 2022 season

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

2022 was supposed to be your year. You broke onto the F1 scene in 2020 with Haas after working your way up through F3 and F2, championing both levels of racing with ease. You proved yourself time and time again by consistently placing within the points in a less than superior car. 

That’s how you got the attention of Ferrari. They offered you a one year deal, and you couldn’t turn it down. You were okay with being the second driver, because you were racing for the most historic team in F1. 

Things started out great. The car was a major upgrade from the tractor you were driving with Haas, and the team actively listened to your input and took having a woman in the car seriously.

You and Charles also clicked instantly, which led to some amazing content for the social teams. 

“Anything you need, or feel needs changed, let us know. We’re a family here” Mattia said as he gave you the tour of the Ferrari factory.

You couldn’t have drawn up the first two races any better. Both you and Charles were on the podium and it looked like you two were going to give Max and Red Bull a run for their money in the championship races. 

The downward spiral started in Australia. From the moment you hit the track for the first time, something felt off. The car was sluggish, it took all of your strength to accelerate and brake properly. 

“There’s something wrong with the car.” you told the team, your frustration mounting. “It takes forever to accelerate and then when I do, I can’t break”

“Have you tried leg day?” Mattia asked, a smirk forming on his face, causing you to storm away and find your mechanics. 

The Australian Grand Prix ended up being a disaster. You struggled through the laps, barely able to keep up with the field. The car was just too much of a handful. Thirteen laps in, you hand no choice but to retire from the race. The speed was gone, and your confidence was shot. 

“I cannot believe he looked me in the eyes and said ‘try leg day’” You fumed as you barged into Charles’ driver room. The frustration was evident in every word, your anger still fresh from the weekend’s events. 

Charles looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. “Well hello to you too” he said with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?” 

You let out a deep sigh and recounted the car troubles and the interaction with Mattia. “He actually said ‘try leg day’ to me, like it’s some kind of joke. What happened to ‘if you need anything, let me know’?”

Charles listened intently, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Hopefully it was just an assembly issue” he said, trying to ease your frustration. ”Imola should go smoothly for the two of us. We both know you’re a hell of a driver.” 

Imola was next, and that was somehow even worse than Australia. Instead of acceleration and braking problems, the new issue was the engine. It had to be replaced between practice 3 and qualifying, only for the new one to fail during the race in Imola. 

“I have the utmost trust in my team.” You said during your press interviews “We’ve tried upgrades, but they’ve fallen flat. Hopefully Miami provides some better results” 

For Miami, the team had reverted your car back to the original set up, the one it had when the season started. The difference was night and day. The car felt responsive, alive in ways it hadn’t in the past few races. As you flew through all three practice sessions and qualifynig, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders. You had been pushing the limits all weekend, and it had paid off - P2, only behind Charles. Things were looking up. 

The problem now was the strategy. As the number two driver, you knew your strategies were mostly going to be defend defend defend but you didn’t realize how badly Ferrari’s lack of adaptability would come into play 

The race was shaping up to be intense. Charles had led most of it, with Max behind him. You were right behind Max, keeping a steady pace, but always aware of the massive pressure from the drivers behind. Then, when Charles pitted, you thought, for sure, you’d get the green light to battle Max for the lead. After all, you were right there, in prime position.

Instead, the radio crackled to life. 

“Y/n keep defending. Leclerc will be back up there in no time.” Your engineer said

You blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry what?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. 

“Defend Max. Charles will be back up there to take over. Hold your position” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?” you barked back, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. “I can overtake him for the lead and you want me to defend?!” 

Before your engineer could respond, Mattia’s voice boomed over your radio “Defend y/n. Team orders.” 

You could feel your irritation building, but there was no choice. Ferrari had spoken. You stayed behind Max, holding position, and waiting for Charles to catch up. Sure enough, Charles had soon found his way back to you, but by that point, Max was far enough ahead that any shot at victory was all but lost. 

Later, in the media pen, you stood with the press surrounding you, microphones, shoved in your face. They asked you the usual questions, but you were still stewing over what had happened. 

“Yeah, I mean the car felt great” You started, trying to keep your tone even. “We reverted back to the original, pre-upgrades and the car showed it’s worth”

The reporter pressed further. “Now even though the car was great, why do you think you couldn’t pull off the win? You were less than a second behind Max, and chose to defend your position instead of attacking.”

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. You were tired of repeating the same frustrations. “If it was up to me, I would have attacked. I know we would’ve gotten a different result on the podium today. If we had a different strategy, then we would have gotten many more points.” 

“How do you think this result is going to impact the championships?” another reporter asked 

You paused, considering the question. “It could make or break it. There’s a large jump of points between one, two and three, and one thrown away strategy can make or break a shot at either championship. I’m just hoping they don’t mess up Charles’ strategies like they have mine.” 

As you finished your media duties, you made your way back to the garage, expecting to be alone with your thoughts. But to your surprise, Charles was waiting for you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached

“I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on P3. You had a good race out there” He said sheepishly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You shrugged, the weight of the day still on you. “I could have won if my strategy wasn’t total shit.” you muttered, your tone flat.

Charles let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. P1 and P2 would have been great, but strategy isn’t Ferrari’s strong suit” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a shared understanding.

“So I’ve learned.” you replied dryly. “I just hope it isn’t bad enough to fuck up winning either championship” 

He nodded, a look of quiet concern in his eyes. “So do I. I’m terrified my shot at a driver’s championship is gonna slip away” 

Before you knew it, your interview was trending all over social media. Clips of you talking about the strategy missteps were circulating, and the Tifosi and general F1 fans alike were all over it. They didn’t believe you. They thought you were complaining, too bitter about the loss, and some even accused you of undermining the team. The backlash was stiff.

User1: there’s no way they’re going to mess up the golden boy’s strategy. Mattia cares too much about winning to do that

User2: y/n doesn’t know racing. She’s obviously going to get the shit strategy - she’s not charles 

User3: Ferrari needs to get rid of her. She doesn’t belong here #burnthebitch

Before media day in Spain, you got called into Mattia’s office. 

“Thank you for joining me on such quick notice y/n” Mattia said with a smile as you walked in 

You gave him a polite smile as you sat across from his desk “Of course. Why did you call me in?” 

The smile on his face instantly hardened “We need to talk about how you approach the media. You embarrassed myself, along with the rest of the Ferrari staff during Miami.” 

You found yourself fixing your posture and dropping the smile you had previously, prepared to go toe to toe with your principal. “I would say I told the truth on how the race was handled. We could have left Miami with eleven more points, had we gone P1 and P2”

Mattia sighed “That may be true, but we know you couldn’t have battled Max safely. Regardless, that was two weeks ago. We need to focus on Spain now.” 

“Whatever” You mutter “ If we provide sufficient results, I’ll give you praise. If we don’t, I’ll keep mentioning what needs to be done better. Simple as that” 

Spain turned out better for you than it did for Charles. You had finished P4, while Charles was forced to retire. Another blow for Ferrari. 

Both of you managed to score points in Monaco. The car felt good and it seemed like the team was back to how they were at the start of the season. That is until Baku. 

The start of the race seemed like it was going well. The practices and qualifying went well. Charles was on pole and you were not far behind him at P4. But that’s when the good luck ended. Just like the Australian Grand Prix, your brakes were faulty, and this time your clutch wasn’t working. 

“Check the hydraulics - brakes aren’t working again and clutch is out.” You voiced over the radio, concern filling your words 

After a few moments of silence, your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Seems we have a uh hydraulic problem. You need to retire the car.” 

You muttered a curse as you found a spot to pull your car off. If it wasn’t a strategy issue, it was the car. If it wasn’t the car, it was something else. Something always had to go wrong. 

It was only lap eight and Charles was still driving. You had some hope he could get points for the team and for his championship. 

Throwing on a spare headset in the Ferrari garage, you watched as Charles battled through the streets of Baku. Just as quick as he was driving, the problems with his car also began to show. He had to retire only a handful of laps later with a power problem. 

While Ferrari’s golden boy wouldn’t have a negative thing to say about them during the pressers, you had much less of a filter. 

“You can mark my words that we aren’t winning a championship this year. As much as I want to put faith into our team and our strategies, we’ve shown time and time again we come up short.” 

Instead of your remarks being pushed aside by everyone, you found yourself in the spotlight. All eyes were on you as you walked into the paddock for the British Grand Prix. You acknowledged your team out of respect, and they greeted you back, but you could tell there was tension. 

“Mattia wanted me to tell you that the strategy for today is the same as usual: protect Charles.” Your engineer told you as the two of you sat down for lunch

You furrowed your eyebrows “Why couldn’t Mattia tell me that himself?” 

“He doesn’t think you deserve his time and energy” He said, rolling his eyes 

A scoff left your lips “That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults. He needs to act like it.” 

“You’re telling me” Your engineer muttered 

Before you knew it, it was lights out at Silverstone. The race was a disaster for everyone. While a scary crash had been cleaned up, leading to a restart, another safety car was put out for a stopped car. 

“Y/n box box” Your engineer spoke through your earbuds 

Under the safety car, you were able to pit and get fresh soft tires. When the race resumed, you quickly found yourself behind Charles. 

“Am I defending again?” You asked 

“You are free to overtake, but you must give up the position once Charles gets back up after pitting” 

“You mean Charles didn’t box under the safety car?” 

“Correct.” 

“Fucking idiots” You sighed, but did as you were told. 

Charles easily gave up the front position to you as he headed to the pit lane. You expected him to make a quick comeback in the next few laps, but as the laps ticked by, the gap remained. The radio crackled with instructions from your engineer, and you kept your focus, pushing through. 

And just like that, you crossed the finish line. Your first Grand Prix victory. 

The celebrations were a blur - the podium, the champagne, the flashing cameras. As the trophy was handed to you, you felt a surge of pride, but the weight of the race still hung in the air. Charles had been a force throughout the race, and even though you had won, it felt wrong that he hadn’t been able to capitalize on his pace. 

After the post-race formalities wrapped up, you found yourself in Charles’ room, finally able to breathe. He greeted you with a grin, the kind that only someone who experienced a dramatic race could wear.

“Congratulations! First win!” Charles said, his voice full of enthusiasm 

“You should have fucking won that and we both know it.” You said as you tossed him a Gatorade 

Charles caught the bottle with a small chuckle, cracking it open “You’re fucking telling me.” he said, taking a long swing. “At least Mattia didn’t chastise you on national TV.” 

You leaned against the wall, your arms crossed. “Maybe we’ll both be off speaking terms with him by the end of the season,” you joked, but there was no humor in the situation. “But seriously, what did he say?” 

Charles groaned, clearly not looking forward to recounting the conversation “Basically that I needed to listen to team orders. He was pissed that I was pissed that I didn’t win the thing. Said I needed to trust that the team knows what they’re doing.”

“They know what they’re doing?” You raised an eyebrow “Because the last time I checked, they’ve messed up both of our races this season” 

“Tell me about it” His tone shifted, frustration building, “I need him out.” 

A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth “Twenty bucks he’s out of his job by the end of the season” 

Charles hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand “Deal” 

The rest of the season trudged along, with highs and lows in the car, the strategy, and the relationship between Mattia and his drivers. There were some days he would be all over their radios encouraging them, while others he would avoid them like the plague. 

And sure enough, once Abu Dhabi came, Charles and Ferrari were so far behind Max and Red Bull that it was impossible to catch up to them in either championship. Mattia announced that he would be stepping down at the end of the season, and you had repaired your rocky relationship with your team, allowing you to renew your contract with Ferrari. 

It was the final time in the media pen this season, and it felt much different. The usual questions about the ups and downs of the season were there, but now they came with a certain respect - respect for the struggles you had endured and for the candidness with which you handled it all. Your honest take on Ferrari’s performance had earned its fair share of criticism, but it had also sparked conversations, both within the paddock and among fans. 

The final question from the reporter hit differently. The interviewer’s tone wasn’t mocking, but rather filled with a certain curiosity. “How does it feel to know that you had called it earlier in the season, that Ferrari weren’t going to win either championship this year?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as you processed it. The emotions of the entire season flashed through your mind: the excitement of the podiums early on, the disappointment after races like Miami and Baku, the frustrations with the strategies, and the battles you fought on and off the track. It had been a rollercoaster, and while it hadn’t turned out the way you had hoped, you were still standing. 

You cracked a smile as you spoke, a mix of pride and exhaustion “Oh, so you guys believe me now?” you said, your voice light but laced with the weight of everything that had happened. “Have a good winter break. I’ll see you in Bahrain” 

It was the moment of closure you needed. The reporter thanked you for your time, before wishing you a good break as well. As you walked away from the media pen with Charles by your side, the season’s tension finally seemed to release, at least for a moment. 

Charles, sensing the mood, nudged you. “That was… honestly, impressive. You know, calling it before anyone else.” 

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess I had a feeling.” you said, shrugging. “At least I wasn’t wrong.”

Charles smirked, clearly tired but also relieved that the season was over. “Let’s just hope next year’s a little less… chaotic, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

The Narrative's Spin Towards Adam And Lucifer's As Fathers

Seriously, the leaks show us that Adam at least has Abel but again due to wanting to make him one dimensional as ever they make him hate is own second born for some reason. This contrast how Lucifer the devil is treated as a misunderstood sad boy who really does love his daughter, but in earlier plans was supposed to be a bad dad. However, he's a fan favorite of Vivziepop so he gets the Stolas misunderstood sad boy treatment despite damning humanity and being homewrecker. Seriously, Vivziepop is allergic to real nuance by making Adam hate his son, Abel, because of the fact that Abel was killed and that could have been a way to maybe explain why he became what he is today but nope he just hates him because "hur be durp" he has to be this flat caricature of a frat boy. And also because this series undervalues platonic and familial relationships unless you are not the designated fan favorite of Viv. Then again even if you are a fan favorite she has a hard time understanding non-romantic relationships.

Seriously, why give Adam a moment of sympathy with his right hand, but not for his son. Again it feels she wants some level humanity for Adam, but isn't willing to go the extra mile or maybe she's afraid he will be even more sympathetic than her so-called dreamboat Lucifer who really is a pos and maybe an even bigger one than Adam when you think about the culmination of his actions. And again Adam's character contradicts what is depicted in the Bible and even if you invoke poetic license bs why is he so apathetic towards his progeny even his own child. It's a missed opportunity for character inspection and again give Adam some redeeming factors that could actually endear him to Lute instead of wondering what the heck does she see in him. Seriously, it would make more sense if he was a good dad as a show of positive elements to them that Lute could be attracted to. Instead of her just being so oblivious to his flaws despite saying Angels are supposed to be perfect when Adam contradicts that.

Also it also pissed me that her issues with her dad was easily solved and that they didn't actually give real issues with him and just made it into a case of misunderstanding. Again it's obvious if you read the early drafts Lucifer was supposed to be a less supportive dad and it would actually give Charlie more of a challenge than if he came easily to her side. Or at least developed it slowly where he grows to gradually side with her instead of rushing one season. And going back to Adam, I don't actually think they will develop anything further with Adam and Abel and just leave it at one note joke to hammer in how much of an asshole Adam is because these people have no originality or complexity to these figures.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Everytime I face a new character limit on a website that didn't have them before/used to have really long ones... AUGHHhhh the modern social media world was not made for people like me (lovers of details, rambling, elaboration, thorough explanation, and nuance)

[alto-tenure]

hershel layton and angela ledore's friendship is so important to me you have no idea

[torgawl]

unpopular opinion but a ship being queer coded doesn't make it compelling

[azumasoroshi]

feels like it says something about me that most of my favorite dynamics are between characters who just do Not get along (shizaya, izaya and namie, vanlock, the masked disciple and barok van zieks, monipai, soukoku, early tachigin, dabihawks, dabi and geten, dabi and shigaraki, dabi and a lot of people actually??, todobaku, venti and zhongli)

or are between people do get along but their viewpoints on life are so diametrically in opposition to each other that you wouldn’t think it, and yet they care for each other an awe-inspiring amount in spite of/because of it (shuake, joongdok, kim dokja and han sooyoung, akiangel, byaren, grimmichi)

or relationships that are both (haikaveh, dabihawks in my dreams)

like i love ships that are all fluff but they will not make me fixate nearly as hard as i have on the above ships/dynamics ajhdgjjghfjhdhg

[solxamber]

Holding Them Close and Not Letting Go with: Vice Housewardens + Rollo, Neige

Ortho is platonic!

Other Parts: Housewardens + Jamil ; First Years

Trey Clover

The kitchen is warm, the faint smell of vanilla and caramelized sugar hanging in the air as Trey wipes his hands on his apron. He’s just finished frosting a tray of cakes for the Unbirthday Party, and he cuts a sliver off for you to try.

“Here,” he says, holding it up with a small smile. “Open up.”

The sweetness melts on your tongue, perfect as always. “Delicious,” you murmur, stepping closer to him. “You’re amazing.”

Trey chuckles, a soft, self-effacing sound. “It’s just cake.”

But before he can say more, you wrap your arms around him. He stiffens briefly in surprise, then his hands settle firmly on your back, holding you in return. His hugs are steady and grounding, as if he’s built to hold everything together.

You don’t let go. Not even when the seconds stretch long enough for him to tilt his head and glance down at you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

Instead of answering, you squeeze him tighter. “I just love you,” you say, your voice muffled against his chest. “You’re my favorite, Trey.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, his breath catching. The words sink deeper than you probably meant them to, reaching a part of him he rarely lets anyone see. Trey’s always been the steady one, the dependable one, the one people count on—but being a pillar can get lonely. Sometimes he wonders if anyone sees the cracks he carefully hides beneath his calm demeanor.

But you do. Somehow, you always do.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something unspoken as he tucks his chin over your head. His arms tighten around you, pulling you as close as he can. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

He doesn’t say the rest—that sometimes he worries he’s only as good as the things he can make, the roles he can fill. But the way you hold him, like he’s the one thing you don’t want to let go of, tells him he doesn’t have to say it.

“I love you too,” Trey says, his smile brushing against your hair. “And… I don’t mind if you hold on for a little longer.”

Neither of you let go for a long time.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie strolls up with a grin, holding a donut split neatly in half. “Here, thought you might want a bite,” he says, wiggling one half at you like it’s the best deal you’ll get all day.

Before he can say anything else, you lunge forward and wrap your arms tightly around him, nearly knocking the treat out of his hand.

“Whoa, whoa—easy there, hyena’s fragile!” he jokes, laughing as he tries to balance the donut in one hand while patting your back with the other. “What’s this about, huh? Didja miss me that bad?”

But when you don’t loosen your grip after a few seconds, his teasing falters. He glances down at you, ears twitching as concern creeps into his expression. “Hey, what’s wrong? You okay?”

You tighten your arms around him, burying your face against his chest. “I just… I can’t believe you wanted to share with me,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You could’ve kept it all for yourself, but you didn’t. And I love you for that. I’ll always be on your side, Ruggie.”

For a moment, he’s frozen, the words hitting him like a bolt out of the blue. Ruggie’s used to looking out for himself, clawing his way through a world that rarely gives him anything without a fight. Sharing isn’t just an act of kindness for him—it’s an act of trust, something he doesn’t offer lightly.

And here you are, hugging him like he’s the most important person in your world, as if that small gesture means everything.

A soft laugh escapes him, quieter this time, and he sets the donut down on a nearby surface. His arms come around you, holding you fiercely, almost desperately, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “You make me feel like… like maybe I don’t have to fight so hard all the time.”

His ears twitch again, betraying the flood of emotions he’s not sure how to say out loud. But the way he holds you—tight and unyielding—says everything.

“I got your back too, y’know,” Ruggie adds after a moment, his grin returning, though softer now. “So don’t go anywhere, yeah? You’re stuck with me.”

And even if the donut’s forgotten, neither of you are in a rush to let go.

Jade Leech

Jade gestures toward the terrarium with his usual composed elegance, his voice calm and full of quiet pride as he explains the delicate ecosystem he’s cultivated. “This particular mushroom is quite fascinating. It thrives in low-light environments and has a symbiotic relationship with the moss surrounding it…”

Before he can finish, you lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him and catching him completely off guard.

“Oh?” he murmurs, his tone still smooth, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Well, this is unexpected. Should I assume my explanation moved you to tears, or…?”

His teasing smile falters slightly as the seconds tick by and you show no sign of letting go. His hands hover for a moment before coming to rest lightly on your back. “Are you quite alright? Have I said something to upset you?” he asks softly, concern slipping into his voice despite his usual composed demeanor.

You squeeze him tighter, burying your face against his chest. “I’m fine. I just… I love you,” you say, your voice muffled but sincere. “I love how passionate you are about all this. You’re amazing, and I hope you know that.”

For a moment, Jade is still. Compliments aren’t unfamiliar to him, but genuine praise, untainted by ulterior motives, is rare. It’s even rarer for someone to look past his polished exterior and notice the part of him that finds joy in quiet, peculiar hobbies.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rumbling in his chest as he pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you. “You’re quite the enigma yourself, you know,” he says, his teasing tone returning, though softer now. “Most people would find my interests… unusual, at best. But you, it seems, are rather fond of them—and me.”

There’s a pause, his usual composure giving way to something more vulnerable, though it’s masked by his playful smile. “I must admit, having someone like you by my side… it makes everything feel a great deal brighter.”

He leans down slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Thank you, truly. For seeing me—not just the surface, but everything beneath it.”

You feel his arms tighten once more, his grip firm but tender, as though anchoring himself to the moment. The terrarium sits forgotten behind him, but the glimmer in his mismatched eyes tells you he’s found something far more precious in your embrace.

Rook Hunt

The sharp knock on your window is startling but not surprising. Only Rook could make such an unconventional entrance seem like an everyday occurrence.

“Mon trésor!” he exclaims as you open the window to let him in, his voice melodic and his smile as radiant as ever. He swings himself inside with practiced ease, landing as gracefully as a performer taking center stage. “Ah, to witness your beauty in the glow of the afternoon sun—it is a blessing beyond compare!”

You don’t say anything in response. Instead, you step forward and wrap your arms tightly around him, catching him mid-gesture. His dramatic speech cuts off instantly, his body stiffening for a fraction of a second before he melts into the embrace.

“Mon cher, what is this?” he asks, his tone softer now, the usual flourish replaced by gentle concern. His arms come to rest around you, his hand brushing the back of your head tenderly. “You seem unsettled. Is something troubling you? Please, tell me.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur into his chest, squeezing him even tighter. “I just… I love you so much, Rook. I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”

For a moment, Rook is silent—a rare thing for him. Then, he lets out a soft laugh, light and airy, as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground in his arms. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes, holding you close as he spins once before settling you back on your feet. “Your words are arrows straight to my heart, more potent than any I’ve ever loosed from my bow.”

His voice wavers slightly, betraying an emotion he doesn’t often show. You feel his arms tighten around you as he rests his chin atop your head. “You see me,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself. “Not as strange or unsettling, not as the man others whisper about behind their hands. But as I am.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes shimmering with a mix of wonder and gratitude. “To have someone who understands, who doesn’t flinch away… Mon trésor, it is more than I ever dared hope for.”

You reach up to brush a lock of hair from his face, smiling warmly. “You’re not strange to me, Rook. You’re passionate and honest and so full of life it’s contagious. That’s why I love you.”

Rook lets out a soft, shuddering breath, his lips curving into a smile that’s more genuine than any you’ve ever seen. “And I, mon amour, am yours completely. To have your love, your understanding… It is a gift I shall cherish until my final breath.”

His arms envelop you once more, his hold fierce yet gentle, as if anchoring himself to you. In that moment, Rook is not the flamboyant huntsman or the dramatic poet. He’s simply a man who has found solace in your embrace, and for him, that’s everything.

Ortho Shroud

“Let’s lift it on three, okay?” Ortho’s chipper voice carries a note of determination as his metallic fingers grip the heavy object. You nod, bracing yourself.

“One, two, three!”

With ease that makes your own effort seem laughable, Ortho hoists his side, carefully adjusting his movements to match yours. Together, you maneuver the cumbersome object into place. As soon as it’s done, you let out a relieved sigh, straightening up.

“Thanks, Ortho. I couldn’t have done that without you,” you say.

“No problem at all! I’m always happy to help!” His eyes gleam with a bright, genuine energy.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. Ortho stiffens slightly, his glowing core humming softly under your touch.

“Calculating,” he says after a moment, his voice shifting into an analytical tone. “Probability of distress detected: 63%. Likelihood of external stressor contributing: 47%.” He pulls back just enough to scan your face, his mechanical pupils adjusting. “Are you okay? Should I alert my brother or—”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Ortho. Really. I just wanted to hug you.”

His head tilts slightly, his processors whirring audibly. “But… you’ve been hugging me for longer than average. Are you sure you’re not—”

“Ortho,” you interrupt gently, squeezing him a little tighter. “You’re like a little brother to me. I don’t say it enough, but I’m so glad I met you.”

His eyes flicker for a moment, a soft blue light radiating from him as his arms loop around you again. This time, the hug feels more deliberate, more thoughtful. “You… think of me as your little brother?” he asks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“Of course I do,” you say. “You’re warm, kind, and you always look out for everyone. I love you, you’re my person.”

His core glows brighter, the light spreading through the seams of his frame. “That makes me… really happy,” he says, his tone full of sincerity. “Thank you. It’s nice to know I can mean so much to someone, even though I’m not like everyone else.”

You feel his arms tighten, the mechanical plates surprisingly soft and warm against you. Despite his synthetic nature, Ortho’s embrace feels alive, radiating a kind of affection that transcends what he’s made of.

“I’m glad I have you too,” he says softly. “And if you ever need help—or another hug—I’ll always be here.”

The moment lingers, filled with a quiet, heartfelt warmth that feels entirely human.

Lilia Vanrouge

The cacophony of clattering pans and the unmistakable scent of something slightly burnt fills the air as you step into the kitchen. Lilia is there, of course, humming a cheerful tune as he stirs something in a pot that looks…questionable at best.

“Ah, my dear! Come to witness my culinary genius in action?” he teases, turning to you with a grin that promises mischief. “Don’t worry, tonight’s dish is only mildly experimental.”

Instead of responding, you step closer and wrap your arms around him. He stiffens for only a second, the spoon in his hand pausing mid-air.

“Well, well! What’s this? Is my cooking so irresistible that you can’t help but embrace the chef?” he chuckles, patting your back lightly. “I must say, I am flattered—”

You don’t let go.

The teasing stops. Slowly, Lilia sets the spoon down, his hands hesitantly resting on your arms. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asks, his tone softer now, a rare seriousness creeping in.

You pull back just enough to look at him, a smile playing on your lips. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice steady. “I just wanted to say I love you, Lilia.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then, with a tenderness that feels out of place in the chaos of the kitchen, he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding you as though he’s afraid to let go.

Lilia has lived lifetimes, far longer than most could even fathom. He has loved deeply, and he has lost even more. Those memories—the joys, the sorrows—are etched into his very being, woven into the fabric of who he is. Yet, as he holds you, your warmth grounding him in this fleeting moment, it all seems strangely… alright.

It’s a curious thing, how someone so young compared to his endless years can make him feel like he has all the time in the world. Your words settle into the cracks of his ancient heart, soothing wounds he thought he’d long grown used to.

“You,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent, “are a rare treasure, you know that?”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to press his forehead against yours, his eyes glimmering with something unspoken. “Thank you,” he whispers, his usual playful lilt replaced by something achingly sincere. “For reminding me that some things… are worth staying for.”

You smile, reaching up to gently brush a stray strand of his hair aside. “Always,” you reply.

For now, the burnt concoction on the stove is forgotten. All that matters is the warmth shared in that quiet, timeless embrace.

Rollo Flamme

The scratch of a quill against parchment fills the room as Rollo sits at his desk, meticulously reviewing council documents. The weight of responsibility hangs heavy in the air, but his posture remains rigid and determined, as always.

You step into the room quietly, watching him work. He doesn’t notice you at first, so focused on the task at hand. Without a word, you step closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind and leaning your head on his shoulder.

Rollo freezes, the quill stilling mid-word. “What’s this?” he asks softly, his voice betraying a flicker of confusion. “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer, only holding him tighter. The silence stretches, and Rollo turns his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. “Are you upset? Did something happen?” His voice is tinged with worry now, his hands lifting hesitantly as though unsure whether to pry you off or comfort you.

Finally, you pull back just enough to let him rise from the chair, only to wrap your arms around him again, holding him close. He stiffens for a brief moment before your words break through.

“I just love you, Rollo,” you say quietly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, your words sinking into the guarded corners of his heart. Then, with a quiet exhale, he returns your embrace, fiercely pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you as though he never wants to let go.

Rollo has spent much of his life hiding behind walls of duty and principles, convinced that such things are safer than letting himself feel. Love, to him, has always seemed an ideal that exists for others—too volatile, too consuming. But with you, it feels different. Gentle. Steady. Filling in the spaces he thought were better left empty.

“You truly mean that,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I love you too.”

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of your neck, letting the warmth of your embrace wash over him. You’ve given him something he never thought he could have: a love that asks for nothing but him, no pretense, no perfection.

In your arms, the weight of his responsibilities seems a little lighter. The quiet strength you offer him fills the hollows of his heart, and for the first time in a long while, he feels whole.

Neige LeBlanche

Neige steps through the door, his cheerful voice calling out your name. He’s just returned from a long day of shooting—flashing cameras, endless praise, and the kind of adoration most would envy. Yet the first thing he does upon seeing you is drop his bags and rush over, throwing his arms around you with a delighted laugh.

“I’m home!” he says brightly, his voice as warm as sunlight. “You have no idea how much I—oh!” His words are cut off as you pull him into a tight embrace, holding him like you’ll never let go.

He chuckles softly, returning the hug. “Well, someone missed me,” he teases, nuzzling into your hair. But when you don’t respond right away, his laughter falters. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile dimming with concern. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

You shake your head, a soft smile spreading across your face. “No, nothing happened. I just… love you, Neige. And I missed you. That’s all.”

For a moment, Neige is silent, his wide eyes searching yours. Then his smile returns, softer and more genuine than ever. He pulls you close again, this time holding you as if you’re the only thing grounding him. “I missed you too,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

To the world, Neige is perfect. Always cheerful, always radiant, always the picture of kindness and grace. But deep down, he carries the quiet fear that all of it—the admiration, the love, the endless praise—might be shallow and fleeting. He’s spent so much of his life performing, giving, making himself into someone people want to see.

But with you, there’s no act, no need to be anything other than himself. And in moments like this, he realizes how much that means. You see him—the real him—and love him for it, not for the glitz and glamour or the person he is in front of the cameras.

Neige relaxes against you, his head resting on your shoulder, the warmth of your embrace soothing the doubts that linger in the corners of his mind. “Thank you,” he says softly, his voice carrying all the gratitude he can’t quite put into words.

Being with you feels like coming home, and in your arms, he can finally just be Neige—not a star, not an idol, but simply someone who loves and is loved in return.

Masterlist

[kngrose]

yandere headcanons: sevika, violet, jinx

WARNINGS: 18+, stalking, manipulation, implied violence, implied abuse, toxic relationships, NONCON touching, forced proximity, blackmail, mentions of punishments

sevika loneliness induction type

Sevika is fiercely loyal to those she associates herself with, and that’s not just anybody. There must be a substance that directly ties her to the cause. And though she’ll never come clean about what the substance is, if she becomes romantically obsessed with you, that loyalty will turn obsessive. She’s a master of control and patience; she’s very practical. Because she’s so calculated, most of her obsessive tendencies will manifest in quiet, almost unnoticed ways.

Her yandere tendencies wouldn’t involve loud outbursts or tantrums. Instead, she would be silently obsessed, methodically planning her moves and slowly, subtly creating a reality where you feel like you can only depend on her. She wouldn’t express her feelings loudly—rather, her obsession would be reflected in small, quiet gestures that make it clear no one else could ever take her place.

Before you two even "met" she was always around. Keeping track of your every move, watching you from a distance, ensuring no one else got too close. She'd follow you, lurking in the shadows, just to make sure no harm came your way—or to make sure you didn’t get too attached to someone else; romantically or platonically. Every time you’d explained the feeling of being watched to your peers, they’d brush it off. “There is nothing unusual about that,” they would say, “look where we live.” You’d suppose they were right. It would feel more strange if you didn’t feel like you were being followed.

Once Sevika finally makes her presence known, anyone who tries to get close to you, even in a friendly manner, will be met with cold, calculating hostility. She will even go as far as to subtly manipulate situations to isolate you from others, all while maintaining the facade of being the perfect ally. She would pay close attention to who you befriended and considered close before deciding who to pluck from your life. And pluck she would. You’ll start to notice slowly but surely that all of your peers have… disappeared. Which is strange; you guys never got into any trouble– you didn’t have any enemies, there’s literally no one who would be singling you all out. “It's dangerous out here,” she’ll say, “It's dangerous and vile and sick. And they couldn't protect themselves.” And she’ll gaze at you, a strange glint in her eyes, “But don't worry. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

She will use her intelligence and strength not just to protect you, but to shape your perception of her. Sevika is good at reading people, so she will slowly play with your emotions—gently pushing your boundaries little by little. To the point where you feel; like you can’t deny her. Her touches would start to linger too long, in places that friends don't touch. Her gazes were too intense. She’s embracing you, kissing you– calling you names friends don't call each other. Every interaction would feel charged as if she’s marking you as hers in ways that go beyond friendship.

Constantly grabbing at the fat of your thighs, dangerously close to your ass. She’s pulling you into her lap, fondling– much to your displeasure. You’ll tell her, “No, that’s not normal…” You’ll make it known that you don’t see her that way. Do you? But she’ll just shush you, tell you to “Relax.”And as the line between “friend” and “lover” would start to blur, Sevika would be pulling the last seam tightly. She’s got you exactly where she wants you.

She would be able to mask her jealousy with a calm and controlled demeanor, but beneath the surface, she would be seething. If you paid attention to anyone else, she’d nod along with the conversation, but her eyes would be cold, flicking between you and the others with disdain, watching for an opportunity to intervene or manipulate the situation. She’d never directly show how much it bothers her, but when you’re gone, she’d ensure that others get the message; your affection is not to be shared.

Aside from someone trying to deter your attention, if anyone ever tried to harm you, Sevika would always retaliate. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty, and her methods of dealing with threats would be brutal. For her, a threat is a threat, and she would see nothing wrong with taking extreme measures to handle it as soon as the opportunity presents itself. She’s not stupid, she won't just jump the gun. She values patience, which would call for a slow, painful death.

She would be adept at playing on your emotions, making you feel guilty if you ever question her or try to pull away. She might say things like, “I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? So why would you doubt me now?” using her history of loyalty and support to bind you closer to her, turning any moment of doubt into something you feel you must make up for.

If Sevika truly believes you are the one for her, she would convince herself—and eventually, you—that you were meant to be together. Again, she is fiercely loyal and expects nothing less from you in return. In her eyes, she is the only person who truly understands and appreciates you, so anything else would be a betrayal. Please do not test her patience with this. If Sevika makes it clear to you that she doesn’t want you around anyone else, for any reason, do not be caught around anyone else.

When you make a mistake, which you will know when you've made a mistake, she will just give you this look. The look. The one where you know she's pissed off by just a glance. You’re in luck if you're in public; she won't act on it just yet. And she won't act as soon as you get home, either. I feel like Sevika would wait it out on purpose. By this I mean; If you ever did something that upset her, she would be deathly silent; quietly brooding around you, imposing her size on you in an intimidating way. And I'm not talking about a few hours or a day. I'm talking weeks. And it drives you mad. You’ll be walking on eggshells around her, terrified by the deafening silence. What is she thinking? What is she going to do? And this is all according to her plan. She wants you to think she forgot about it so that when she does exact punishment, it will take you by complete surprise. It’s a mind game. And that’s the first thing she’ll break.

violet self sabotaging type

Vi is fiercely protective, passionate, and can be concerningly impulsive, so pairing this all with yandere endencies would bring forth a compelling mix of aggression loyalty and possessiveness. Let’s start where the root of the issue is; she is incredibly jealous. Unhealthily so. Vi's jealousy wouldn’t just be passive; it would be aggressive and reactive. If anyone even looked at you in a way she didn’t like, she’d be quick to intervene, usually with a punch or a threatening glare. Her jealousy would make her irrationally angry—if you decided to pay attention to someone else, she might lash out in frustration, even if she tries to keep a calm exterior.

Vi’s flirtation might be laced with possessiveness—playful jabs or teasing that has an undercurrent of "don’t you dare look at anyone else" embedded in it. If someone else tries to show affection toward you, she would be quick to remind them, through a sharp glare or a fist to the face, that you’re already taken—and that she’s not afraid to be a little violent to keep it that way.

She’s naturally protective over those she loves, but with you that protectiveness would take a much darker turn. She wouldn’t just defend you from external threats—she would also isolate you from anyone she perceives as a potential rival or distraction. Acquaintances, or even strangers would be seen as obstacles in her path, and she might resort to physical intimidation or threats to keep them at bay. She’s not shy about this either; In fact, more often than not you’ll find out this information firsthand as a witness.

She’s so nosy, omg. She has to know everything. Who you went out with the other night? Was that everyone who was there? Why were you out so long? Where did you all even go? Are you keeping something from her?

She’ll try to shrug this off as her being protective, but her protective nature would cross into obsession. Again, she’s not shy about this. She’s always standing close enough to overhear your conversations, idly breathing down your shoulder and making you and the other person uncomfortable. She’s always be nearby, ready to step in if she feels something is wrong. If you try to go out alone, she'd insist on accompanying you, always finding excuses to be in your personal space.

To most people, She would still appear to be the strong, caring, and honestly reckless person they know, but beneath the surface, she would have an all-consuming obsession with you. Anyone who saw her with you might think you both have a maybe somewhat overbearing, but affectionate relationship. But in truth, Vi would always be calculating, and slowly taking control of your life to ensure that you could never escape her.

She’ll always find a reason to touch you—putting a hand on your shoulder or wrapping an arm around your waist, all while making it clear that no one else is allowed this kind of closeness. The more possessive she gets, the tighter and more lingering her embraces would be, and she wouldn’t tolerate anyone else getting too close.

Vi would use her knowledge of your emotions to manipulate you into doing what she wants. You’re trying to distance yourself? No worries, she’ll be sure to draw you back in with sweet words and kisses you can taste– that always worked in the past. But if not? She’s angry, she’s confused. Why would you want to leave someone who’s so selfless and always ready to fight for you?

She’s guilt-tripping you, reminding you of all the things she’s done for you, how much she’s fought for you, and how no one else cares about you the way she does. And if that doesn’t work? Have fun pulling her out of whatever hole she’s about to dig herself into out of pure spite. Drinking herself into oblivion? Picking fights with any and everyone? Threatening to off herself, for fucks sake.

And if somehow her threatening to end her life doesn't work? That’s fine; just be prepared to clear up the most malicious rumors about yourself. The ones that make people alienate you. They’re spreading like wildfire, there’s no way you’ll be able to have it under control. At that point, who else can you turn to? You’ll have no choice but to worm your way back into the relationship you so desperately wanted to leave. The one person who didn’t turn on you in your time of despair. She’s stubborn and she’s childish and she knows this. But it won't deter her one bit. It’s only when you’re back under her arm that the rumors dissipate like smoke, leaving as quickly as they came. It’ll dawn on you then, where they originated.

jinx delusional type

Jinx is not afraid to harm you. Whether it be mentally, emotionally, or physically. Please understand that she is not above that. She has real psychological issues, so in this relationship being very careful is very vital. It might cost you your life. She is constantly putting you to the test, she wants to see what decisions you’ll make, and how you’ll react under pressure. She might create situations to see if you’ll abandon her or stand by her. If she perceives any kind of betrayal, even a small one, her obsession will deepen, and she will lash out to remind you of her hold on you.

She’ll do little things like leaving doors unlocked or leaving a key nearby, all the while watching silently from the shadows, anticipating your next moves. She enjoys creating confusion, making you doubt yourself, and feeding your insecurities, all while maintaining a façade of sweetness and care. More than likely you may start feeling like you’re losing your grip on reality, unsure whether her actions are out of love or something darker.

If you still have your freedom, you might catch her following you if you have a sharp enough eye. Whether it's sneaking into your room, watching you from afar, or listening in on your conversations, she’ll make sure she knows everything about your life. And if you seem distant or don't include her in your world, it sends her into a spiral of insecurity and she tries even harder to make you need her.

Her paranoia is a defining trait of her yandere tendencies. If you show any kind of affection or attention toward anyone else, she snaps, jealousy swallowing her whole. This can lead her to lash out, either through harsh words, tantrums, or more drastic actions. In her mind, only she should have your attention and affection.

You always have to watch what you say, constantly trying to pacify the thoughts in her in the hope that you’re not feeding into them. Sometimes you’ll catch her muttering things to herself as she stares off at nothing, intervening when her muttering starts sounding homicidal. You’ve learned not to let her talk to herself too long, or she’ll start getting confused. Once, she grabbed your face with an iron grip, jerking your face to hers. “You don't need anyone else, right Baby?” She smiled softly, scanning your face, though the smile didn’t meet her eyes. You were dumbfounded– you didn't know how to respond. You didn’t know how she would react– she was so unpredictable– “SAY IT!” You violently flinched, sputtering the words back to you. It seemed to pacify her then, as her soft smile returned and she pecked your lips. “Right..” She’d muttered, petting your hair idly.

Her emotions fluctuate rapidly. One moment, she’ll be sweet and charismatic, trying to be the perfect companion. You’ll almost let your guard down. But in the next, she could snap, lashing out in a fit of rage at any given thing. It could be something as little as you glancing away while she’s speaking; her eyes quickly darting to see what or who’s stolen your attention from her. She’ll feel betrayed.

Because she’s so unpredictable, you’ll never be able to create a mental routine of the “punishments” she gives you. You’ll drive yourself mad just thinking about it; how the hell can she possibly be coming up with so many ways of torment? Sensory deprivation, shock collars, pinning little bombs to your clothes– they won't explode but you’ll think they will. It’s all a game to her, once she feels wronged. She’ll do anything to make you feel the way she does inside, even if that means breaking the moral code.

Jinx loves having control over situations, especially where you are concerned. She’ll "accidentally" sabotage plans or relationships that threaten her sense of control. Or at least she’ll call it an accident when you bring it up. She also collects items that remind her of you—photos, scraps of clothing, anything that holds sentimental value. She’ll hide these items in hidden places as Jinx sees them as proof of her connection to you, and she’ll be upset if they go missing.

Part of me thinks Jinx doesn’t have an end goal, or she has too many. Too many different voices, too many different ideas, too many possibilities. What does she want from you exactly? Well, she doesn’t know. Does she love you? She does! Well, at least she thinks she does. Why else could she feel so passionately about you? But in the same instance– why does she want to break you so badly? Why does she have the urge to hurt you? You’ll catch her staring, shooting her a weary glance; she’s muttering to herself again. You wonder what it’s about this time.

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taglist: @opropheticsoul

[girlgenius1111]

responsibility

you are reluctant to share the problems you are having at home with your teammates. your teammates just think you're an irresponsible teen. it takes an emergency for things to come to light. barça x reader, though this first part is much more platonic alexia & reader. more team involvement to come. cw: some violence / abuse. a lot on grief and the loss of a parent. this is mostly desperately sad angst with some comfort sprinkled throughout.

------

Your father was drunk. Hammered, in fact. You’d seen the empty bottles scattered around the kitchen when you walked in from training, telling you that he’d gotten an early start today. You were on your guard as soon as you’d noticed that, but you only pushed your dresser in front of your door when he began to pound on it, and yell. Some of the things he was saying were completely unintelligible, while others were completely clear. What you could understand was not anything new. He rambled about your mom, and how much he missed her. About how horrible it was that she’d died and left him stuck with you. How you drained away all his money playing football, and how he was tired of how ungrateful you were. 

Normally, he didn’t do anything. Normally, the yelling was the extent of it. Sometimes, though it went farther. He’d grab you, or push you, kick you out of the house. When that happened, you’d go to a friend's place and sleep there, only coming back in the morning when you knew he’d be passed out. 

Only very rarely did he actually hurt you. The occurrences were rare enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen. You covered the bruises up with makeup if you had too, and ignored them. You told people they came from training until you started to believe it yourself. 

Tonight felt different, though, and you knew why. It was your parents anniversary. Any faint reminder of your mother only seemed to inflame your father’s hatred for you. He’d never wanted a kid, but your mom had, and that man had worshiped the ground she walked on. So, your parents had you, and you enjoyed a happy little life for 15 years. And then your mom got sick, and then got sicker. 

You thought losing her would be the hardest thing you’d ever do, but as you sat on the floor of your bedroom, you decided that your father hating you because your mother was dead was somehow 100x more painful. He hurled abuse at you through the door, and when the dresser tipped away from it, crashing loudly onto the ground, you were more afraid than you’d ever been in your life. 

You barely had the forethought to grab your phone and slip it into your pocket before your father shoved his way into the room, a half full bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand. He had the look on his face that haunts your nightmares. The detached one that told you things were about to hurt. You braced yourself as he raised the bottle, hoping it would hit the window and break it open, instead of hitting you. Instead of breaking you open. 

The ground came crashing up towards you as you dropped, trying to avoid the bottle. The world went black around you, and you weren’t sure if it was from the bottle, or from the force of your head hitting the ground. 

The darkness only came as a relief. 

------

You were at Alexia’s house before you had even really decided where you were going. Your forehead was bleeding a bit, and your head was throbbing. Your shin had gotten cut, too, on the way out your window. Or maybe it had gotten cut as you’d broken the glass of the window in order to climb out. 

Realistically, you knew you should call your lawyer, who would call your case worker. Who was really the only one with the power to get you out of that house. Neither of those people made you feel safe though, not like your teammates did. Or used to. Things were fuzzy, now, blurred, and you weren’t really sure if they still cared for you. If they would still feel safe. You hoped they would, because you weren’t sure what else you would do if they didn’t. 

It didn’t occur to you that someone other than Alexia would answer the door, but then her girlfriend was staring at you, mouth agape, and you wondered why you hadn’t gone to Ingrid and Mapi’s, or Marta and Caro’s. You didn't know Olga well, weren’t even sure if she’d recognize you. She surprised you, though, turning and shouting for Alexia as her hands found yours and she gently guided you in through the door.

Your captain’s voice echoed back through the house, missing the urgency Olga had tried to convey, and you could hear her leisurely steps coming from upstairs. Olga tried to bring you into the living room, but you stopped, shaking your head. 

“Blood.” You mumbled. “I’ll get blood on the furniture.” 

Olga was looking at you with something that wasn’t pity, or sympathy. It was anger, far from gentle anger, but her voice was soft when she spoke. 

“Don’t worry about that. Come sit down, Ale is coming.” 

Numbly, you let her guide you onto the couch. Alexia caught your eye as she entered the room, her face changing from mild curiosity to one of horror. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. You looked away from her, the expression on her face forcing emotions to bubble up inside of you. Emotions you didn’t want to cope with, didn’t want to feel at all. 

Olga walked over to her girlfriend, murmuring a few words, before she exited the room. Alexia took a deep breath, before she came to kneel in front of you. 

“Pequeña? Are you with me?” She spoke more softly than you’d ever heard. 

“Sorry. I know it’s late.” 

“No apologies, please.” She reached up to move your hair out of your face, and get a better look at the cut across your cheek that appeared to have stopped bleeding. You flinched away from her violently, and every hope she’d had that this had been an accident flew out the window. She pulled her hand away,  trying to keep her voice low and soothing.“You are okay. You are safe. You are with me, and I am not going to let anything else happen to you.” 

Nodding somewhat hesitantly, you allowed her to inspect your face, crying out when her hand brushed across the bump on your head. 

“What is it? What hurts?” 

“Fell. Hit my head on the floor really hard.” You told her, every word feeling like cotton in your mouth as you tried your best to communicate. 

“Did you lose consciousness?” Olga asked, sitting on the couch next to you, handing a towel to her girlfriend. Alexia pressed it to the cut on your shin, which was still bleeding. 

“Maybe? Don’t really remember.” 

The two other women exchanged looks, before they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement. 

“You might have a concussion, pequeña, and I think this needs stitches. I am going to take you to the hospital, okay?” 

You considered. The hospital meant police, meant questions you didn’t want to answer. But you’d come here for help, and Alexia was just trying to give that to you. 

“Okay.” You agreed, allowing them both to help you back to your feet. Before you could take a step, though, Alexia was tugging you into the softest hug you’d ever experienced, and it took all of your strength not to crumble completely. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled shakily, voice muffled by Alexia’s t-shirt. She rubbed your back gently, using the hug to take a moment to pull herself together. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve got you, okay? Everything is going to be fine.” 

You doubted that promise, all the way to the hospital. As you answered questions you were sure would make things not fine, as you got stitched up and scanned. When they took pictures of your injuries like you were some kind of victim. Especially when you told them your dad hadn’t meant it, and they exchanged disbelieving looks. It didn’t really feel like everything would be fine. It felt like everything was falling apart. 

------

“Alexia, what the hell happened to her?” Olga asked, keeping her voice low so that you wouldn’t hear from where you were sitting on the lounge in the other room. 

The blonde shook her head, face twisted with worry. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in the room when they took her statement, and she hasn’t really been talking. It was her father, I know that.”

“Jesus.” Olga sighed, pulling out what she needed to make you something to eat. “They let you bring her here, though?”

Her girlfriend shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I… I signed a bunch of forms to be declared her temporary guardian. But, amor, I can take her to my Mami’s, she wouldn’t mind. This is not your responsibility, and I wouldn’t want to-”

“Do not be ridiculous. She’ll stay right here. Ingrid and Mapi are nearby, so many of your other teammates too. She needs them, and she needs you. Of course she’ll stay.” Olga said incredulously, as if she’d never considered another option. 

Alexia’s face softened before she all but tackled her girlfriend in a hug. “I love you.” 

Olga held her tight, trying to provide some reassurance. “I love you too. Now go try and see if she feels like talking. I’ll bring her something to eat in a second.” 

You startled when Alexia took her seat next to you, before trying to muster up a smile. It felt weak, and pulled at the cut on your cheek, but it was the best you could do. 

“Your caseworker texted me. They’ve arrested your father.” Alexia said carefully, watching as a myriad of emotions flashed across your face. “So tomorrow, we can go and get your stuff, and move you into the guest room.” 

That felt too good to be true, there was just no way. No way that Alexia would want you to move in with her. Why would she want that?

 “I can’t… I can’t go home?” You asked. You didn’t want to, and you did. You craved your home, but you also craved safety, and those two things were not congruent. 

Why would you want to go back there? Alexia wondered. She had to remind herself that this was more complicated than she could even comprehend, and she had no business questioning how you were feeling. It was complicated, of course it was. “No. Not by yourself, and you aren’t going back there when your father gets home, either. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

“I can stay by myself.” You argued weakly. “You don’t have to let me move in. You don’t have to do that, I can be responsible, I can take care of myself.” 

Your captain shut her eyes tightly, guilt flooding through her. You were thinking of Alexia’s harsh words to you a few days ago, and she could tell. 

If there was anything you despised, it was being late. It was the fourth time in the past two weeks, too, and though you hadn’t really been scolded yet, you knew it was coming. Sure enough, as you practically ran through the building towards the locker room, you saw Alexia and Irene waiting by the door. Seemingly, for you. 

Your text warning them that you’d be late apparently hadn’t done anything to reduce their anger. 

You slowed down as you got to them, trying to ignore the anxiety that rose in you at the idea of being in trouble. 

“Hi.” You said meekly, stopping in front of them as they glared at you. 

“What time does training start?” Alexia asked, her voice cold. 

“10:00.” You mumbled. 

“And that means on the pitch at 10, all ready to go, yes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What time is it right now?” Irene chimed in. 

Your face was burning with embarrassment, your eyes trained on your shoes as you refused to look up at your captains.  “10:20.” 

“This is the fourth time in two weeks.” Irene sighed. “Where were you?”

“I… I slept through my alarm.” You lied. There was no way you could admit the truth. What you were doing was your business, it was private. And you knew that if your captains found out what was going on, they would involve themselves. And you didn’t want to burden them.

Alexia’s face hardened. She felt like you were lying, but she had no evidence to back that up. And even so, she couldn’t understand why you would be lying. Teenagers were weird, she reminded herself. And difficult. 

“That is unacceptable. You are 17, yes, but you are on this team. You are expected to act responsible and prove that you care to be here. Showing up late does not prove to us that this is a priority for you. You are benched. Until you can get your act together.” 

This wasn’t the first issue they’d been having with you. You’d been distracted and distant recently. Zoning out during training, skipping team bonding. You were quieter than normal, too, which really came off as you being annoyed by your teammates. Which you weren’t, not at all. You were just trying to get through. To get up every morning like everything was mine and make it to training. To get everything done that you needed, so that you could get out of your house. Where you would go when that happened, you weren't exactly sure. With the way your captains were looking at you right now, you knew you couldn’t go to them. They were upset, rightfully so. You just couldn’t do anything right. 

“Ale-”

“No. I am disappointed in you. I expect you to be more responsible. Now go run your extra laps.” 

With a sigh and a small nod, you headed off, completely missing the slightly concerned expressions that your captains were exchanging. You just weren't yourself, and they weren’t sure what to do about that. 

Alexia hadn’t understood, then. She knew that something was off, but she didn’t know it was this bad. She’d scolded you for being irresponsible, and she knew now that was unfair. And that you’d very much taken it to heart. You’d let her help you before, when your body was in shock, everything in fight or flight mode. 

Now, you were withdrawing, just as you’d been doing for weeks. This time, though, Alexia didn’t think it was just teenage carelessness anymore, or a rebellious phase. She could deal with her guilt for not understanding, for getting everything so wrong, later. For now, she had to make sure that you didn’t completely shut down. 

“Listen to me. I didn’t mean any of what I said before. I didn’t know what was going on, but I do now. So let me help, okay? You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let me take care of it all.” She took your hand in hers, feeling it tremble in her grip. You looked conflicted, and though there were tears in your eyes, all your captain could do was look at the jagged cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but she was pretty sure it would scar. A reminder, forever, of what someone who was supposed to love you had done. 

All she wanted to do was make it better. “Tell me how I can help.” She asked, doing her best not to beg. 

“I… um. I have a lawyer. I’ve been trying to get emancipated, I should call him.” 

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Alexia said quickly, watching the cautious vulnerability dawning across your face. 

Olga walked in then, bringing both you and Alexia some food. You both ate in silence, not even the TV on to fill the void, before you leaned back into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You were safe, you knew you were safe, but you didn’t feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything, honestly. Your head hurt from the concussion, and the stitches in your shin pulled with every movement.

 The physical pain, you could deal with. It was the threat of feeling that terrified you. You felt a pang of emotion every time you looked at Alexia, though, when you saw the concern on her face, so you tried your best not to look at her. 

Your captain and her girlfriend exchanged looks, and Olga mumbled something about going to get you some ice cream, before she grabbed her wallet and keys and left the house. 

Within a minute, Alexia was turning her whole body towards you, completely attentive. You didn’t want her attention, but you had it. 

“What happened tonight, nena?” 

You knew the question that was coming, yet still, you were wholly unprepared for it. You’d answered the questions earlier from the police, but that had been different. They had been strangers. They’d been sympathetic but professional. As much as you’d been trying to downplay what had happened in your head, you knew Alexia would be horrified to hear what had happened. And that would chip away at your very fragile belief that it hadn’t been that bad. 

“You can tell me. Whatever happened, you can tell me.”

You decided to give her as few details as possible. “He was really drunk. He gets like this sometimes.” 

“Violent?” Alexia asked bluntly. 

“Not always. Most of the time he just yells.” 

“But tonight? It was more than yelling?” She hated pushing you, but she needed to understand what had happened if she was going to be able to help. 

You took a shaky breath before responding. “Yeah. When I got home from training, he was already drunk, yelling at me.”

“Was he angry about something?”

“He’s always angry.” You dismissed. “Always. Ever since mom… he didn’t want me, not really. And now mom is gone and he’s stuck with me. I think he hates me. I mean, I know he does. He tells me all the time. That’s what he was yelling about. How much he hated me.” 

You sounded detached, which Alexia was sure wasn’t healthy, but she pressed on anyway, knowing that you needed to tell her what happened, and only then could she help.  “What happened then?” 

“He broke my bedroom door down and threw the bottle of vodka at me. I hit my head trying to dodge it, but I think it hit me anyway. I broke the window open and climbed out. And then… I don’t really remember. Then I was here.” You went through it blankly, as numbly as if it had happened to someone else. 

“Oh, nena.” Alexia sighed, truly incapable of understanding how someone could be so cruel to you. You were shaking again as you glanced up at your captain with watering eyes and a trembling lip. “Cariño, I am so sorry this happened.” 

You shrugged one shoulder, trying to keep your tears at bay, but your captain persisted. 

“You are safe now, do you understand? I will never let him hurt you again, ever.” 

This time, there was no response from you. 

“Nena, look at me.” Alexia pressed, her eyes wide as they met yours. “You are safe with me, I promise you.” 

You wanted to believe her, you really did. Trust was hard, though. Only harder now. If your father could hurt you and not feel any remorse, what was to say other people would feel differently? What’s to say you could trust anyone? 

Alexia could practically see you come to that conclusion. Your body tensed back up, you leaned away from her, and your face grew completely blank. She wondered if she hadn’t been so harsh the other day, if you’d still be so wary of her. It wasn’t complete distrust, because you’d shown up on her doorstep and that was something. You were trying to protect yourself. Alexia couldn’t blame you for being so afraid, she really couldn’t. 

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” You told her, unsure if your shaky voice was doing a very good job conveying just how grateful you were. “I know having a 17 year old disaster move into the house you share with your girlfriend probably wasn’t something you were hoping for-”

“If I had known what was going on, I would have gotten you out of there a very long time ago.” Alexia interrupted, cursing herself when you blanched and looked at her with wide eyes. 

“I don’t get it.” You mumbled after a second. “You don’t have to do this, do any of it. Why are you doing this for me?” 

Alexia wished you were joking, wished she couldn’t hear the genuine wonder in your voice that someone would go out of their way to help you. 

“Because I care about you.” Alexia said simply. “We all do, every single member of the team. And you are welcome here for as long as you want to stay here.”

“But Olga,”

“Olga would pick up every stray dog on the side of the road and bring it home if I let her. She doesn’t mind that you’re here.” 

“I’m not a stray dog.” 

“No, you aren’t. I was just pretty sure you’d think the dog to be worthy of a home. Just like I think you are.” 

It was a jarring thought. The realization that you did, indeed, think of a dog as more worthy of a home than you were was a shock to your system. You weren’t sure when you’d stopped being so angry, and started believing the words shouted at you, but somewhere along the way, you’d lost yourself. Without even realizing. 

Alexia continued. “If Olga had driven by you walking here, and had no idea who you were, she would have brought you home. She would have done exactly what she did earlier. That’s who she is. She’s happy to have you here, happy to help. Really, pequeña. I promise.” 

You nodded, the only acknowledgement you gave her that you’d registered what she said. “She’s been gone for a while, I thought she was just going to get ice cream?” 

Alexia smiled slightly, glancing away from you. “She’s been in the drive for 10 minutes, she wanted us to finish talking without any interruptions.” 

You frowned at her and your captain tensed, suddenly worried she shouldn’t have told you that. Worried that you’d wrench away from her and resist the help she and Olga were trying to give you. 

Instead, you looked at her like she was a bit stupid. “The ice cream is going to be melted, Ale.” 

The blonde relaxed back into the sofa, a huff of laughter falling from her lips. She’d forgotten how seriously you took your ice cream. It was difficult to mesh together the two versions of you in her mind; the one she knew that was happy and carefree, except when it came to the texture of your ice cream. And the one sitting in front of her, broken. 

“Well, do you want to talk more or-”

“If Olga walks in and my ice cream is melted, this night will really be ruined.” You deadpanned, more amused at the surprise on Ale’s face than you were at your own joke. You didn’t like how she’d been looking at you. Anything to break the tension, anything to distract from what had happened. 

The distraction didn’t last long, because your head was beginning to hurt and you were too exhausted to really hide your pain. The look of sympathy returned to Ale’s face, and to Olga’s, and it wasn’t long after you finished your ice cream that you were ushered up to bed.

If the universe was kind, a dreamless sleep would follow. You were beginning to think the universe was cruel.

------ 

You liked to think that your mom visited you in your dreams. Sometimes, they were good dreams. Warm and kind of fuzzy, but unquestionably filled with love. You found that the good dreams were the hardest to remember. The bad ones were the easiest, maybe because more often than not, they were memories. 

Of course, the dream you had almost as soon as you’d drifted off to sleep was a bad one. It was flashes of a day that made you sick to think about. It had been a week after the funeral, and you’d yet to realize that the father you’d grown up with was gone for good. Though, that realization would come soon. 

A few of your friends had insisted on taking you out to grab coffee. It had been agonizing, sitting and listening to them try to distract you. It was still wallowing time, you argued. You were allowed to lay in bed in a ball and cry for as long as you needed to. Grief wasn’t a process that could be rushed.

Of course, your father would try. The dream grew hazy as it continued, flashes of memories more than anything. Your arrival home from coffee. The realization that he was stuffing your mom’s stuff into garbage bags and boxes, labeled for donation or trash. You remembered the way your blood had boiled; fury rising that he was trying to erase her. As if that would make it any easier. 

You remembered the way you pushed him away from her closet, tears running down your face. Your voice had trembled as you’d cursed at him, begged him not to get rid of all her stuff. He’d cursed right back, pushed right back. Told you that he couldn’t live in a house so full of memories of her. The way he’d said it, implying that you were nothing more than a painful reminder of her. A weight had settled on your chest when your first instinct was to run for your mom, and tell her what your father had said. 

You couldn’t do that anymore. There was nowhere to run to. You pushed him again, and he pushed back again. You fell to the floor, looking up at him just in time to see how horrified he looked at himself. He looked down at you in complete horror, shocked at himself for what he’d done. He backed out of the room, repeating apologies over and over. 

That was one of the last glimpses of the father you’d known all your life that you’d had. And it would never not haunt you that you’d been the one to make things physical the first time. That made it your fault. All of it was your fault. 

The dream ended as it always did, with you grabbing what you could from the bags and the boxes, stuffing it all into your closet. It ended with you pulling on her favorite sweatshirt, the one she’d worn the most. It smelled like her perfume still, and you got under the covers of your bed, burying your nose in the fabric. You cried, and you pretended your mom was there with you, though she never would be again. 

You woke as you always did, face wet with tears, but this time with a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’d left all her stuff in the house. You’d come here without it, and you needed it. Needed it now, needed to be surrounded by her like you’d been on that day. 

It was with a blind dedication that you slipped out of Alexia’s guest bed, put some shoes on, and went out the front door. You couldn’t leave her stuff there. Not in the house that reeked of alcohol and hatred and sadness. 

------

Alexia was pretty sure she knew where you’d gone, even if she’d couldn’t understand why. When Olga shook her awake, though, and told her that she’d heard the front door shut, Alexia knew you’d fled. And she knew you’d gone back to that house. Back to the place you still considered home, somehow. As Alexia pulled into your driveway, she reminded herself that she couldn’t understand. Growing up, she’d only ever felt love in her house. She’d never been through what you’d been through, never felt anything but safe with her parents. So it didn’t make sense to her that you’d go back. Not when you’d been trying to get out in the first place. But it didn't’ need to make sense to her, because it made sense to you. And you were her only concern. 

The front door was unlocked, and Alexia opened it carefully; the last thing she wanted was to frighten you further. The house was dark and cold, and it smelled heavily of alcohol. She followed the only light she could see down the hall to what she assumed to be your bedroom. The door bore the marks of your fathers fists, the wood dented and peeling. 

Before she even stepped into the room, Alexia could hear you crying softly. You were neatly folding up clothes and putting them into a duffel bag. The precision with which you worked completely contrasted how disheveled you looked; each shirt and sweater folded as if it would disintegrate if you weren’t careful. 

Alexia paused in the doorway, not sure there was any way she could let you know she was here without scaring you. It seemed like you were lost in your head, regardless. Your face was set tightly, a grimace etched across it, but your hands trembled, and tears fell almost continuously. It was as if you were too emotional to keep your feelings at bay, but simultaneously felt too unsafe to really let go. Your despair leaked out like your tears did, a little bit at a time. 

Your captain wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone look so haunted and so numb at the same time. 

“Pequeña?” She spoke as quietly and soothingly as she could, yet still, you jumped half a foot into the air, a fearful whimper escaping. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re okay.” 

“Ale.” You mumbled, recognizing your captain in front of you. It hadn’t even been a thought that Alexia would get up and come after you. The consequences of your actions seemed so far away, like you were just acting with no follow up. There was only the present, because if you thought too hard about there being a tomorrow, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

“Hey.” Alexia cooed, taking tiny steps closer to you, moving like a snail. She sat down a safe distance away, looking curiously into the bag you were packing. You knew Alexia was wondering why you were here, and honestly, you were too. It had made sense, when you’d awoken from your nightmare and left her house. It didn’t make as much sense now. “What are you doing back here?” 

There was no accusation in her tone, no frustration or annoyance, yet still, you felt the need to explain yourself. “I woke up, and I just… I had to come get a few things.” 

Alexia didn’t point out that it was the middle of the night, and that certainly such a task could wait until the following day. She just nodded in understanding, even though she didn’t understand, and tried to think of another question to ask. One that wouldn’t be too much, but one that might get her some more answers. Because truly, your captain was at a complete loss on what to do here. 

“What did you need to get?” She asked casually. This was normal, she decided. She’d pretend this was normal, and maybe then, you’d talk. 

You were almost done packing the clothes. It was an odd assortment of items that Alexia had seen you place in the bag. Mostly t-shirts and sweatshirts. And she’d never seen you wear any of it before. 

You didn’t reply right away, picking up the last sweatshirt and pulling it on. It was faded, too big on you, and there was a hole in the sleeve, but your entire body relaxed once it was on. Not much, but a noticeable amount. “Just some clothes.” 

“I’ve never seen that sweatshirt before.” Alexia commented, a wave of sadness washing over her as she began to connect the dots. 

“Yeah, it’s- it was my mom’s.” You whispered. “I just really needed to get this stuff. Sorry for leaving without saying anything.” 

Alexia looked at you, seeing a younger version of herself. Wearing a shirt that was much too big on her to bed, convincing herself that if she inhaled deep enough, it would still smell like him. Even if she couldn’t quite remember what that scent even was. 

“That’s okay, nena, I’m not upset.” The blonde gazed out the window for a moment, noticing the sun peaking above the horizon. It was bathing the room in a soft golden glow, and she noticed for the first time the broken bottle on the floor. The rest of the room was warm and soft, very you, but that bottle seemed to mar the entire atmosphere. It was a stain, and Alexia understood, suddenly, why you needed the clothes. 

You wanted the sweatshirt for comfort, yes. But this room had probably been the last place in the house that had remained untouched from your father and his cruelties. And now it had been ruined, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your most favorite possessions remaining here. Especially when you’d left. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself and spoke quietly, almost as if you’d read Alexia’s mind. “This is all I really have left of her. He got rid of the rest of it but I managed to save some of her clothes. I… I just didn’t want to leave them behind.” 

Didn’t want to leave her behind. Not in the place that had turned into hell after she’d gone. 

You were trying to be strong, Alexia could tell. Jaw clenched, blinking hard. Wiping carelessly at the never ending stream of tears. Alexia remembered trying to be strong, too. How it hadn’t even been something she wanted, it was just something she did. 

“Tell me about your mom.” The request escaped without her permission, and she jerked her head in your direction fearfully, terrified that it had been too much. Your lips were turning up at the corners, though, just a bit. Tears still fell, but you did as she asked. 

“She was really funny. We had the same sense of humor, I think, so everything she found funny, I found funny. She’d tell a joke I was already thinking.” 

Alexia hummed, a gentle encouragement as she inched closer to you. You were smiling a bit more now, still in the part of remembering that didn’t yet hurt. 

“She always helped me with my homework after school, and she always tucked me in at night. Even when I was way too old for it.” 

You took a deep breath. It was overwhelming, the love you felt for her. It felt like love, but it also felt like grief. Hot, painful, lingering grief. Still, once you’d started, you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to ever stop remembering every good thing about her. 

“She used to watch videos of people explaining football strategies, so we could talk about them. Even when she was sick she still… still watched. She never missed a game, even when she was doing treatment. She’d sit in her car and watch from the parking lot if she had too, but she never missed a game. I was always the most important thing to her. She used to say that being my mom was the best thing she’d ever been, that she’d ever be.”

“She sounds like a really good mom.” Alexia’s hand was on the back of your head, combing delicately through your hair. It felt nice. Safe. 

“She was the best.” You choked out. “She gave the best hugs, and she told me she loved me everyday. And I really really miss her.” You tried to swallow the sob that threatened to force its way out, but you couldn’t. Your grief couldn’t be contained, not anymore. It was an almost unconscious movement, turning to bury your face in Alexia’s sweatshirt. Your body shook with cries, and your captain wrapped her arms around you tightly. As if she could hold you together. 

You appreciated Alexia, more than you would probably ever be able to express. For being so patient, for coming after you, for asking about your mom. For hugging you and holding you tightly as she promised that everything would be okay. But Alexia wasn’t the person you wanted. 

The blonde didn’t understand the first time you said it, your words muffled by the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. But the second time, she did, and it felt like her heart was plummeting out of her chest. 

“I want my mom, Ale,” you sobbed. “I just- I want my mom,” 

She felt your words in her soul, and in that moment she would have done anything to give you what you wanted. It didn’t work like that, though, and she knew that all too well. So, she rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. She rocked you gently, and made promises. To herself, and to you. 

“I know, I know you do.” She soothed. “I’m so sorry, cariño. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you.” 

You only cried harder, and Alexia felt like crying too. 

Nothing felt okay. But Alexia had you, and you believed that. Or at least, you wanted to.

------

Well. Have a good night everyone. tell me if you notice any typos 🥺. also tell me if you enjoyed this because i am so incredibly unsure about it.

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 2

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The unknown child evokes conflicting feelings in Bruce Wayne, who once again finds himself needing to deal with Talia's life problems. The girl only wanted the simple desire to see her brother again, unaware of the danger she had put herself into on her journey.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I feel like maybe I could have developed a more emotional scene between Bruce and the reader, I also want to delve deeper into her thought process, but I hope to make up for that in the next part.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Alfred could finally check the exact time now that he was standing in front of Bruce's room, admiring for a few seconds the clock in the corridor's decoration, which showed 4:17 am. He prepared to knock on the door, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind: would it be more rational to wake Damian instead of his father? Throughout his life, he had faced unusual situations thanks to the Wayne family; hardly anything would shake him now. His concern, however, was not for himself, but for Bruce.

Talia was a persistent shadow in Bruce's past, still haunting him, and although he had tried to convince the butler many times that the only link he had with her now was because of their son, Alfred still doubted it. Their relationship had been complicated in many ways, either because of her ambiguous nature or Ra’s al Ghul's insistence on trying to persuade Bruce to join the League of Assassins, making Alfred fear that Bruce's morals might deviate because of this passion at the time.

Alfred raised his fist to knock three times and waited patiently as was his custom, but it seemed that was not enough to wake his master. He knew the door was open and knew he was allowed to enter without knocking, so just this once he used the liberty the young man had given him over the years; because in the end, Bruce Wayne was just that, a young man, and would always be seen that way by him.

Inside the room, he turned on the light, and the intense glare made him close his eyes to avoid the sting of the brightness. Approaching the bed, he sighed at the sight of Zolpidem pills left on the nightstand. This had been the only way Bruce found to stop spending sleepless nights, reluctantly since he was too stubborn and preferred to patrol in the darkness. Waking him would be a difficult task.

"Master Bruce," he called, waiting for a response, but got nothing. Alfred felt sorry for waking him, seeing how he finally seemed to be resting. "Master Bruce," he called again, this time nudging his shoulder. The pills must have been wearing off because he started to stir on the mattress.

"What’s going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a hoarse voice while rubbing his eyes to relieve the discomfort from the lamp. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, blinking several times to see the butler in the corner. One of the room's curtains was open, and he saw the snow falling outside with the dark sky, showing that it was still night. "Is it Hugo Strange? Has he shown up somewhere?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, no, sir." Alfred paused, then licked his lips, preparing to continue and finally revealing, "There's a young lady downstairs who claims to be Master Damian’s sister." Direct, as always.

"Sister of Damian?" Bruce repeated the information, still not fully comprehending its meaning. He needed some time, just standing there absorbing the words. It seemed to be taking an eternity, but Alfred wouldn't interrupt the moment of clarity he was having.

He squinted, pushed the covers aside, and picked up the shirt he found nearby. Buttoning it up and getting out of bed, he continued, "When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir."

"Did Damian bring her here?" The question had a bitter tone but never crossed the line of respect that was drawn between them, and Alfred knew he should prepare for his interrogation. Bruce saw the alarm clock and, like the butler a few minutes ago, checked the time. "He never mentioned anything like this."

"Nor to me." Alfred suddenly extended a coat for him to take. Bruce held the fabric between his fingers, confused. "This coat is hers. There’s a map of Gotham City and a letter inside. I recommend you take a look at the addressee."

Pulling the papers from the right pocket, Bruce noticed a map folded into many smaller parts and a letter witch was still sealed, though the corners were noticeably crumpled and marked by small fingers. Carefully analyzing the cursive handwriting, he read. "I had no idea Damian still had contact with his mother. Much less that Talia had a daughter," he said, still drowsy, staring at the name 'Talia Head,' to whom the letter was addressed and recognizing his son’s elegant handwriting. Apparently, she still used the alias surname.

"It's not surprising considering you only discovered your son after so many years." The statement could have easily been interpreted as irony, but it was acidic. "She didn’t seem sure Damian lived here; I suppose she found out because of this letter."

"You left her alone downstairs?" he ignored the previous comment.

"I left her in Master Dick's care."

Bruce stared at him for long seconds and hurried out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he could already see some glimpses of Dick's hair over the back of the sofa, talking to someone, or rather, laughing with someone.

"Dick?" The voice quickly caught his attention, turning his face to see his father approaching. When Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, he could finally look at the child beside the boy. Dick began to say something, but Bruce couldn’t hear. 

He stared at the girl, analyzing everything about her, from the way she intertwined her fingers nervously to her deer-like eyes. Her iris were shining, as if she had cried, and her swollen and bruised lips were quite noticeable. She had definitely been outside not long ago, shaking and rubbing her hands together constantly to warm herself up. She seemed too sweet, but Bruce knows that appearances can be deceiving.

His gaze passed over the pendants hanging from her bracelet, a simple detail that caught him off guard. Two crossed swords and a demonic head, he understood well what they meant; they were some of the symbols of the League of Assassins, the third was a simple "T" surrounded by a moon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Talia was a possessive woman and he knew that the "T" was her way of marking property.

"Her name is Y/n," he heard Dick say after a long time.

You noticed how this man's eyes went dark while he watched you and couldn’t help but shrink back on the sofa. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and you began to feel ashamed of being stared at for so long.

"Y/n, this is Bruce Wayne."

"What do you want?" That came out ruder than he intended, but his aversion to the League of Assassins stirred a certain anger. The idea that this could all be a trap crossed his mind. You might be young and exude innocence, but you must have enough understanding to participate in their malicious plans.

"I just wanted to see my brother," you said with sadness in your voice, questioning yourself if this whole situation was worth it. Bruce knew the best way to confirm if this was all true would be by his son’s word, but the signs were so explicit that it might not even be necessary.

You don’t look anything like her, at least at first glance, but you wore her favorite colors and clothes so perfectly matched that no girl your age could choose yet, exactly to Talia's taste and with the appropriate youthful touch for your age. The pendants, the cut of your hair, literally everything had her touch. It was impossible for anyone to convince him otherwise.

"Go get Damian." He said, and Dick understood that the message was for him. Bruce needed to make sure you were telling the truth, or at least needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous. This could still be a League scheme or some plot by your mother.

"Can I see him?" Your voice was the loudest you had spoken that night. The excitement was clear, and it was so much that irrationally you stood up to follow Dick, but a calloused hand suddenly wrapped around your torso and stopped you, making your back hit a slightly prominent belly. You looked up and saw the old man again, his expression was not happy, and you realized it was directed at Mr. Wayne, who had an arm extended towards you but that never managed to touch you.

Like his face, his arm was tense, with visible veins and contracted tendons. You didn't know what his intentions were, but by the way the old man grabbed you to prevent him from laying hands on you, maybe he wasn't as good as he or Dick. It was a very scary sight., making you feel that this man could be dangerous. Trusting the old man, you turned to hug him, hiding as much as possible. Mr. Wayne’s aura was dark, very unfriendly, but you still saw how he recoiled with his face displaying a certain sense of regret.

Dick noticed Alfred's sudden movement behind him before he could leave the room. He glanced at their faces and for a moment considered whether it would be appropriate to turn back and mention the conversation he had with you to the butler in secret, but then his eyebrows furrowed thinking of Damian. Maybe he should confront the little demon first.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Bruce." Dick thought.

Frantically he knocked on the boy’s door. One, two, three, four times until he lost count. At no point did he hear any noise inside, so he began to turn the doorknob, only to find it was locked.

"Of course he’d lock it, that brat..."

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Tim's bedroom door behind him opened abruptly, making a sliver of light from inside illuminate the opposite wall. He was obviously irritated at being woken up but still had that tone of seriousness he carried most of the time.

"Where's his room key?" Dick completely ignored his brother's attitude.

"Forget it. I heard him sneak out to patrol again." Tim's voice sounded tired.

"And you let him?!" Dick snapped but reminded himself to contain it, remembering that Jason was sleeping in one of the rooms in that wing and that you three downstairs might hear the commotion. "Why didn’t you stop him?"

"And what good would it do? That boy is too stubborn." Tim tried to defend himself. "Besides, I have his location right here. He’ll be fine." He opened the door a bit more to show one of his computer monitors tracking the trajectory and heart signals of a green dot on the streets of Gotham City.

Dick looked both ways down the hallway before pushing Tim back into his room and closing the door.

"Hey, what's this? Why are you acting so weird?" Tim was startled by Dick's unusual behavior, feeling anxious as he watched him go to the computer to check Damian's exact location, observing the dot on the screen moving. Dick pressed a button, likely an emergency notification to get Damian to return home. Then he turned to Tim, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with intense seriousness.

"Tim, what I'm about to tell you might be a lot to take in, and I need you to try to understand as much as possible." Dick pointed a finger in his face, waiting for confirmation.

"You're scaring me like this. What the hell happened?"

"No questions and no interruptions! Understood?" Dick's tone was authoritative, stepping back only when he saw Tim nodding affirmatively.

"Why the hell is everyone awake downstairs? Did someone die or something?" Jason barged into Tim's room without ceremony, trying to make a joke, but when he saw the ghostly expressions on their faces, he quickly shut the door again, this time with him inside the room. "My God," he exclaimed in shock. "Can I join in on your little secret?" he asked ironically.

"Did you see the girl?" Dick asked Jason nervously, with a certain expectation.

"Yeah. I saw a girl with Bruce and Alfred. But they didn't see me, since I went back upstairs. The mood down there is pretty tense." Jason threw himself on the bed, making the mattress bounce and Tim frown in displeasure. "I think Alfred is going to give him a lecture afterwards."

"She's Bruce's daughter."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows, and Tim had to sit in the computer chair. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he struggled to believe Dick's words.

"With who this time?" Jason seemed to be reacting better than Tim to the news, even letting out a light laugh. It was a typical, caustic Jason response.

"That's not all." Dick ignored his comment. "She said she's Damian's twin."

Tim let out a short whistle, processing the idea like a complex calculation. "Tell this story from the beginning, Dick. Why did she show up now?" He finally managed to rejoin the conversation. It took a while for the shock to pass, but now he had his usual rational demeanor.

Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to recount the night and organize the information. "Apparently, she doesn't even know Bruce is her father. And he doesn't know about it either."

"Damian also never mentioned having a sister."

"Damn. Hiding one kid for a decade is something, but two?" Jason stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, a strange sensation taking over the room. But seeing the melancholic expression on Dick's face, his curiosity grew even more. "What else do you know, huh Dick?" He questioned him, sensing there was something much deeper behind this, and his brother just gave him an enigmatic look.

"She said she came here to see Damian. That she found out where he was because of a letter he wrote to Talia..." Dick suddenly froze, pulling a little box from his pocket as if it were a dangerous bomb. "While we were talking, she said a man had helped her get here. He gave her a map and asked her to deliver a present to Bruce, but she gave it to me to deliver." He handed the beige little box to the two, but it was Tim who took it.

Whatever it was, it was very well wrapped.

"Is it right to open it?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's for Bruce, isn't it?"

"I already opened it." Dick said bluntly. "I thought it might be a trap, I was careful."

"Give it here." Jason took the small box from Tim's hands. It was the same size as an engagement ring box, perfect for carrying in a pocket. He pulled the lid off and took out a card, freezing when he read it.

"What does it say?" Tim was curious, taking the card from his hands and reading it out loud:

'I sent your daughter home as a demonstration of my benevolence. Merry Christmas, Batman. Signed, H.S.’

"Holy shit," Jason exclaimed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That bastard figured out Batman's identity."

"Even worse: he knew about her before we did." Tim added reflectively, his voice barely a whisper. "That means he knows much more than just Batman's identity. He might know other things, including our identities. He probably suspects we are also vigilantes."

"I want to hear the whole story properly." Jason's intensely serious voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, determined to fully understand the appearance of this girl and how she got involved with Hugo Strange.

Dick took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Alright, here it is. Minutes ago, Alfred and I woke up because a girl showed up at the manor claiming to be Damian's sister. She told me that she had a map of Gotham and a letter addressed to Talia from Damian. Alfred brought Bruce to her, and then I went upstairs to call Damian, but I discovered that he's out on patrol. And now we're here."

Tim interrupted, "Wait, so Damian's been in contact with Talia and didn't tell us?"

"That's what it seems like," Dick confirmed, rubbing his temples. "The girl didn't even know Bruce was her father. She mentioned that a man helped her get here and gave her a map along with a present for Bruce."

Jason leaned forward even more. "And this man was Hugo Strange."

"Not xactly, he could have sent someone else." Dick nodded. "The present was that card. Strange knows about her and about Bruce being Batman. He sent her here as some twisted gift."

Tim, processing the information, asked, "Did she say anything about why Strange would do this? What does he gain from sending her here?"

"She didn't seem to know much about Strange's intentions," Dick replied. "She just wanted to see Damian. But it’s clear that Strange knows a lot more than he's letting on. He must have some larger plan in mind."

Jason clenched his fists, his anger palpable. "So, this girl is just a pawn in his game. We need to figure out what his endgame is."

"Agreed," Dick said. "But first, we need to make sure she's safe and find out everything she knows. We also need to talk to Damian and see what tell us about all this."

Tim nodded, adding, "And we have to stay vigilant. If Strange knows this much, we can't underestimate him. He could have more moves planned."

Jason stood up, his determination evident. "We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone gets hurt."

"But what about Talia? Did she just let her daughter go out there, be deceived by a stranger, and then simply come here?" Tim pointed out. "And you, Dick? Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on the window glass was heard. The three brothers turned their heads to see Damian, clad in his Robin attire, asking to come in. "Open up already, you idiots."

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

🍒

@nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader

summary : maybe they should just lock you in your room to make sure that you won't do something dangerous.

a.n : i plan to make this a series, what do you think?

abel heilon

let's start with the most chill platonic yandere! out of the guys that i will feature in this post! abel heilon, the duke of the north with a simple mindset of 'if you mess with me then i'll mess with ya' we all know how protective he is with fiona and siegren. but just imagine, what if— just what if he has an illegitimate child who's related to him by blood that he hid from the public's eyes.

anyways, the first time he met you. he became sure of one thing. damn, you were indeed his child. with that silver hair, blue eyes and personality of yours— you were indeed his child. he can't deny that because you looked like a kid version of him. well, it's not like he is denying it tho— but what the fuck is wrong with your brain anyways?!

he doesn't know if you were abused before he met you. but why in the hell are you so obsessed with suicide anyways?! why the fuck are you even throwing yourself in battles when you were a support mage?! for the fuck sake! stop! yes, you have above average amount of mana! but the hell?! you're not as strong as fiona nor siegren! stop it!

if it's not for siegren then he wouldn't know the fact that you happily greeted the assassin that was sent by the imperial family. according to him, before siegren saved you from the assassin you even have the guts to propose to that damn assassin about committing suicide together since according to you, you have fallen in love with him— hearing that story, abel couldn't help but facepalm. (first name), you're thirteen! and that assassin is already thirty-six or worse, older!

maybe because of the stress of managing the north and keeping you safe from your suicide attempts. abel finally snapped.

look, abel likes watching you enjoying your freedom. but damn, if he doesn't do anything about this— he might end up burying you before you even reach the age of 18. he won't hurt you, he swears. that was the last thing that he will do to you. but that doesn't mean that he can't take preventive measures to make sure that you were safe.

platonic yandere! abel heilon was one of the chillest platonic yandere that existed. he will let you do anything that you want, he won't take away your freedom nor hurt you. he isn't also overbearing to the point that it was suffocating. but don't make him snap, because he can be the most suffocating and controlling parent existed.

now, on your sixteenth birthday— to celebrate it. you decided to jump onto the freezing river near the manor. you expected that you'll wake up inside your room— but no. when you opened your eyes, you were inside an unfamiliar room that has no windows. seeing that you can't use your magic, you were sure that there's a magic restricting device placed around here. what the hell is happening?

the door had opened, you looked at who it was and saw abel looking at you with a smug grin. you tried to ask him what is going on but instead of replying— abel only ruffled your hair saying that it will be only him and you from now on. and that was when you realized one thing— abel had taken your freedom away from you.

but abel didn't care. cry until you have no tears left, he doesn't care. the only thing that he cared about was keeping you alive. and this is the only thing that he know to achieve his goal. but don't worry, he will visit you everyday and give you books to make sure that you won't get bored. so, can you stop being a btch and appreciate his efforts?

he doesn't care if your eyes lost its usual enthusiasm and spark. he doesn't care if you stop eating at some point— because abel can shove the food inside your mouth to make sure that you stay alive.

oh, by the way— fiona was the one who made the room where you were staying now. she just wanted to make sure that you were safe! and the only place where you can be safe is the place where you can't use magic! so, forgive them, will ya?

“should i just cut off your arms? so that you won't be able to use your magic again?”

gallahan lombardy

okay, as far as you know— you are not really a suicidal type of person. but for your father, gallahan lombardy you are. because for gallahan, overworking is another way to try to kill yourself after all.

gallahan is a sweet person, i swear. he won't hurt you at all and isolating you? no, no, no, gallahan won't do that! but he still couldn't help but become paranoid when it came to you. you were way too focused on studying— maybe because of the pressure that you were getting from the other people.

your sleep only lasted for two or four hours, you always isolate yourself inside the library. and gallahan didn't like it at all— look, you need to take it easy and rest. the only time you leave the library was when gallahan and tia drag you outside to eat in a cafe or buy new clothes.

platonic yandere! gallahan loves to spoil you. you wanted to buy books? here you go. want to try home-cooked foods? sure, he'll cook it for you. do you want to go to the festival with tia? alright! as long as he will go with you two.

but then, a certain event made gallahan snap. it was a normal day and gallahan entered the library to drag you outside so that you could socialize with the family. but then, he saw you unconscious on the floor, buried in the books and your nose was bleeding. gallahan was panicking, he didn't know what to do. what if you don't wake up? what if something bad happens to you? or worse— what if you die? if it wasn't for shananet who saw her younger brother's panicked face and her niece's condition. then gallahan won't be able to calm down and call the family doctor.

and what is the doctor's diagnosis? you were overworked. and after hearing that, rulac lombardi, your grandfather along with your auntie and uncles saw how your father's face darkened while looking at you who was peacefully sleeping on the bed.

and then, after that incident. you couldn't help but become confused when gallahan didn't scold you— instead, when you woke up. you saw him smiling softly at you. he didn't even ask you to take it easy. he just lets you do what you want.

but what you found odd was your father started giving you foods and drinks everytime and after consuming those things. you started feeling tired and before you knew it, you always ends up asleep. and once you woken up, you were already on your room. with tia cuddling with you while your father was asleep while sitting on the chair next to your bed also asleep.

knowing how innocent your father was, you never suspect a thing. you just kept on eating and drinking the things that he was giving to you. and you never questioned why you always get tired after it. your father loves you so much, so he wouldn't do anything— right?

plot twist, gallahan actually puts drug on your food and drinks to make sure that you will take a rest and never overwork yourself again. but a year later, you started losing your sense of sight because of it. but gallahan and tia don't care when you have them? oh, just thinking about their sweet (first name) being dependent on them was enough to make them very happy.

“sorry, honey! this is just a precaution, okay?”

[acid-ixx]

lovefool by the cardigans

— series concept ft. soft yandere dc! x bimbo/himbo reader

soft yandere! dc characters x himbo/bimbo/careless reader... who's just a bundle of joy to be with... where all the villains have an agreement to never mess with you, hell even kidnap you occasionally from the arms of the heroes just to hear you rant endlessly about your 'mundane' life as if you weren't just abducted... where the heroes would quite frankly sometimes have to put you in some sort of human leash because you wouldn't literally panic if there's a gun pointed against you...

the urge to make a shitpost/romcom series just because i listened to lovefool by the cardigans... no idea of platonic/romantic but i'm just moving on with the flow... a bit more on the romantic side ig...

i'm going feral at the thought of a wild goose chase with you, because one second you're bundled up in the arms of the justice league, each one of them scheduled to strictly watch over you, another is stationed near the door as they'd be the one to get you anything you want or need— then suddenly you're at a villain's lair that houses all the bad guys and then oops! you accidentally inhaled the scarecrow's fear gas but you're not reacting?! is your mind filled with air...? all your response was a quirk of your eyebrows and a question that's just "is there any signal here? the league told me to call me if i'm in any trouble...?" which then you would quickly take back and instead would smile at them like some goons didn't just threaten you with a knife to your neck just because you screamed, calling the scarecrow's mask a sack of moving, possessed potatoes.

originally, most villains would whisk you away from the arms of your vigilante babysitters but then they discover you're just a bundle of joy who laughs at the shittiest joke anyone could make, who snorts at their 'funny' antics and words, who grins when they take pictures of you to use as bait that you're being held hostage. it kind of goes to the point that their original plans all go to waste and they decide to just, take you all for themselves. they don't even know how you were able to survive being thrown around carelessly by the shoulders of big, muscular men, but they're more jealous at the image of you giggling and running your hands through muscles arms and toned abs; so they took it in themself to be the ones to guide you through your now makeshift room, hoping you would fawn over them with those cute stars in your eyes...

and if you were taken back into the arms of the vigilantes? oh god, the heroes can't even scold you because you'd be already hugging the next person in the room, babbling endlessly about your adventures with the villains and ignoring their seething envy with just how much you brag about how some are "too hot to be evil! i think i can change them!" because why are you talking about some randoms who just kidnapped you for their own gain when you have them right there? no way are you now getting out of their sights, them trying so hard to even distract you from going outside because "it's just too dangerous to be out there, boo! you're safe with us."

and you just nod your head with that toothy grin of your! are you seriously unaware of how much the richest of the rich are willing to pay for just an hour of your already shining presence? hell, you're just too... out of it, to the point you'll be the one who discovers their secret identities just by accidentally noticing details that nobody with functioning thoughts would even think about.

"batman! you must be bruce wayne, right?" you randomly approach him one day, with a foot tapping the floor impatiently. you stare at him like you had made a scientific discovery.

"... how do you know...?"

"'cause you're both hot and rich and whenever i get a feel of mr. wayne's abs, they're the same size as yours—!" and you continue to guess his children's identities all correctly with a quip of how hot they are or how you wish one you were fit and toned enough to have honkers as big as them...

... that night, you're spending it in the batcave with bruce and his children trying their damn best to brainwash you into keeping their identities a secret, to which you reply with a nod and an airheaded smile. but then the moment they remove you from the straps constricting you in a comfy bed, you'll be running off to alfred, ranting about how you can't believe that you guessed their personas right and if he knew it all along too...

huh, guess that's what makes you all the more charming.

a/n: please do comment or send in asks if you're interested in this as much as i am... i wrote this in quick succession and altho i am planning to make this series a shitpost one or a lighthearted romcom one, i rlly want to amp the yandere-ness hehe. it was fun writing this albeit it being written in about 10 minutes or less. ignore the header ill change it soon 🫦

[moonstruckme]

the sleepy remus drabble was everything but what about sleepy james x reader just cuddling on the couch with remus and sirius teasing them omfgg

Thanks for requesting lovely! I realized halfway through writing this that I wasn't sure if you meant rem and sirius were there platonically or not, but I hope this is alright <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 870 words

Even when you hear the voices, you pretend you don’t, too comfortable on the plush cushion of James’ hoodie. Opening your eyes isn’t worth the effort. 

“Is this what they do when we’re not home?” Sirius’ voice is low and ripe with faux outrage.

James hushes him, so he’s awake apparently. His thumb moves over your tummy, big hand tucked into the warmth between your sweatshirt and your bare skin. “You’ll wake her,” he says, voice still sticky with sleep.

“She ought to be awake, it’s five in the afternoon!” 

Remus’ voice is softer, skeptical. “I don’t see how either of you expect to sleep through the night if you nap like this during the day.”

“We manage,” James yawns. 

You hear Sirius huff. If the muscles in your face were more active you think you’d smile. “I thought we were going to Marlene’s thing tonight,” he complains. 

“Still planning on it.” James’ palm splays over your middle, warm and safe. “We’re resting up.” 

“This is how you prepare for Friday nights now? Fuck, we must be getting old.” 

You whine at his volume, nuzzling your face into James’ chest. 

“Oh, so she is awake. What, sweet thing, you don’t feel like saying hi?” 

This time James coos at your protesting sound. His hand slips from beneath your sweatshirt to wrap around your shoulders, shielding you from your pestering boyfriend. 

“Oh, let’s have a bit of sympathy,” Remus says, sounding amused, “she’s had a long, hard day of napping. She deserves a bit of rest.” 

You want to remind him it’s your day off, but speaking feels like giving into wakefulness, and that is something you are not inclined to do. Instead, you try to wriggle beneath the blanket halfway up James’ torso, curling in on yourself like a roly poly. He helps you out, pulling it up to cover your head and draping an arm over your balled-up form. 

“It’s her day off,” he says, your hero. “Why shouldn’t she get to rest?” 

“That’s fair enough,” Remus allows, “but why were you sleeping?”

James hesitates. “Well, I didn’t have anything to do after training and she…she lured me in.” 

It’s true. James after rugby training is like Remus after he spends all day reading; he’s all worn out and pliable, and you’d practically only had to open your arms for him to fall right into them and then a cuddle on the couch had turned into a two-hour nap. Terribly unfortunate. Certainly not your plan all along. 

You decide it’s your turn to protect James from the others, wriggling up on his chest and covering his head with the blanket. You see his smile through half-lidded eyes, and outside of your little cave, Remus chuckles. 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” 

“I think we should get in bed and have a cuddle they’re not invited to,” says Sirius. “See how they like it.” 

“I’m not sure we can leave them in good conscience.” The sound of Remus' smile makes you smile, your cheek smushing into James’ chest. “She’s just taken Jamie. If we let her go on like this, she’ll have them both sleeping ‘til tomorrow.” 

That actually sounds rather appealing. 

“They’re jealous of us,” James whispers. You hum your agreement, and he kisses the crown of your head. 

“We could go to all their favorite things,” Sirius proposes. “Make them remember the benefits of leaving the couch.” 

“Like what? Watch sports?” 

“And eat pastries. She loves a sweet.” 

“Mm, yeah. I could fancy a sweet.” 

“From the shop on sixth? They should still be open, yeah?” 

“Stay strong, angel,” James whispers. “Don’t let them break you.” 

“They ought to be. Oh, and the pub down that way will be showing the Manchester match tonight. We could stop and see that.” 

“Sick and twisted!” James throws the blanket off, uncovering you in the process. “You never watch football with me.” 

“I have,” Remus hedges, “that one time.” 

“Last year! And you were reading your book on the other side of the pillow!” 

He turns sheepish. “Didn’t realize you’d noticed that.” 

“But now you’re going to watch it just to spite me?” 

“No,” Sirius admits. “We were never going to watch football, Jamie, sorry.” James deflates, and you squeeze him tight around the middle in a show of solidarity. 

“But we can go by the bakery on our way to Marlene’s thing,” Remus says, adding when you perk up, “if we leave soon enough. They make those danishes you like on Fridays, don’t they?” 

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice croaky and hopeful. 

“That’s me, babe,” Sirius teases, “and I’m down to stop by, but only if I get what I’m owed.” At your blank look, he raises a dark brow. “My welcome home kiss?” 

Oh. “You’re gonna have to come down here,” you mumble. He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but obliges you, bending at the waist to take your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours firmly. He does the same to James once you’re done, straightening with a satisfied look on his face. 

“Appeased?” Remus asks placidly. 

“Yes,” Sirius answers, “the evening may now continue. Up, you two. We’ve got places to be.” 

[doromoni]

After Lunch Snacks | LN4

Part 2 of Lunch Preferences

Ships : Lando Norris x Personal Chef! Reader , Platonic! Oscar Piastri x Personal Chef! Reader

Genre : Fluff

Summary : Now that you knew Lando’s lunch preferences, it’s time to explore what’s for dessert.

A/N : I delivered on my promise for a part 2! 🫶 @smoothoperator-forever700 @same1995

Part 1.

It was universally acknowledged that Lando Norris had the palette of a 5-year-old. Always opting for the safety and comfort of spring rolls and chicken nuggets.

That is why the whole paddock had been led to a shock when Lando had admitted in an interview that he had been exploring a whole lot more options in terms of food. Why? Because he wanted to make his girlfriend, Y/N L/N happy.

* Fish Tacos

Lando and the other drivers are now gathered for the driver’s parade. The drivers might deny it, but they secretly loved doing this before the races, as this allowed them to catch up on each other’s lives.

“You ate fish? No , I don’t believe you” Carlos’ disbelief was instant — their sushi-eating fiasco immediately came to mind.

“It’s true mate! I ate Fish tacos.” Lando bragged smugly to the Spaniard.

“What’s true?” Max then joined the conversation.

“Lando said that he ate fish” Carlos mimicked what Lando said to the Dutch driver.

“Bullshit, I doubt it” Max sniggered, shaking his head.

“It’s true! Y/N cooked something for date night. “ Lando explained

“Did Y/N shove it down your throat or something?” Max asked skeptically

“WHAT? NO! But I did eat it by mistake …. I ate her meal instead of mine, so in a way it was not intentional ” As Lando continued to yap, the 2 older drivers couldn’t help but laugh. They were right to assume that Lando would not eat fish willingly when he couldn't help it.

“But when you knew that it was fish, you stopped eating? What did Y/N say?” Carlos couldn’t help but ask, finding the situation funny.

“I finished everything, Mate. It was that good! I think I could eat anything Y/N cooks” Lando implored, now a soft smile present on the Brit’s face as he remembered his girlfriend.

“Mate, you’re whipped” Max teased

“ I mean, if your girlfriend is that pretty, caring, funny, and can make stroopwaffles anytime, anywhere — you would be too” Lando rebutted with pride.

* Ube Cake

“Thank you for baking, Y/N. Lily has been craving your ube cake for a while, she’ll be so happy for this!” Oscar said happily, as he dug into his slice of cake. This boy used his girlfriend as an excuse when you know for a fact that he was the one obsessed.

You and Osc are in the McLaren Kitchen, it was just after qualifying and the two McLaren drivers had both done excellently. And when your Aussie friend had begged you to bake the cake that you brought to the f2 paddock before— you really couldn’t say no.

“ Y/N? Babe, are you in the kitchen? “ You suddenly hear your boyfriend’s voice coming at a distance.

“Yup, I’m in the kitchen with Oscar” you hollered back to Lando, as you continued to slice the cake. But stopped when Osc tapped your hand, catching your attention.

“I’ll give you a thousand bucks, Lando won’t eat this when you offer him a slice” Oscar suddenly wagered to you as you saw Lando enter the room.

“You’re on Piastri, be ready to pay up!” You whispered hastily to the Australian. And you quickly schooled your facial expressions.

“Hi babe! Congratulations on qualifying. You did amazing, I’m so proud of you” You beamed up at Lando as he side-hugged you and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, baby! I love you“ Land cooed at you as he pressed his lips to yours.

“You two are gross, I regret allowing this” Oscar wagged his fork between Yau and Lando in disgust at your display of affection.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your arms finding their way to Lando’s waist.

“Oh shush it, Ohscah. No cake for you “ you tutted as you tried to pry the sweet treat away from the Australian.

“I'm joking! You and Lando are perfect together. your future babies will be beautiful and then you’ll live perfectly happy lives .” the Younger papaya driver said in haste as he held his cake closer.

“Flattery can only do so much. Piastri “ You said and Lando sneakered.

“Ohh, cake? Why is it purple though? “ Lando asked in both curiosity and a little bit of distrust.

You and Oscar meet eyes and the bet was absolutely on.

“ You want to try a bite, babe? “ You asked your boyfriend, slowly pushing a clean fork and a new slice to his side.

“What is it though?” Lando pressed but was now holding a fork and was closely inspecting the treat.

Oscar not sitting idly, and not wanting to lose 1000 dollars. Egged on Lando’s skepticism.

“You probably wouldn’t even like it. It’s made from potatoes” Oscar said looking so innocently.

You glared at your bestfriend.

“No, it’s not made from potatoes. It’s from the ube yam. I believe it’s from the Philippines. Remember the Adobo and the fried chicken from Jollibee we ate last month, this came from the same country. You tried to persuade the British driver.

“OH! I loved those. Alright, let me have a bite of this” Lando then took the fork and dug in.

“And you owe me a 1000, Oscy - wosky,” You said as you jumped in success.

“What? You bet on me?” Your boyfriend, who had icing all over his mouth asked, both betrayed and attracted by your actions.

“You bet we did, Babe. And I just won a 1000 “ you cheered kissing his cheek.

While Oscar couldn’t care less, he was just eating happily on the side.

* Paddock famous brownies

“I’m sorry , my girlfriend texted. What’s the question again?” Lando smiled broadly to the interviewer.

“Oh? What did she say?” The interviewer perked up at the mention of the british driver’s girlfriend. She had been a paddock favorite eversince she had been feeding everyone who had the pleasure of meeting her.

“She baked her brownies!” Lando cheered

And as he said that several hollers from drivers were heard from behind the camera .

“ Yo, Lando! I want one”

“Hey~ Landino , you promised me a piece last time!”

“Oi Lando , Y/N said that she baked that for us! “

[purple-plum-petals]

⊱ What It’s Like Cuddling with Him ⊰ || Mr. Gap Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Gap (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): None! Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~590 words. Request: “Please I've been dying for content 😔 can I get uhhhh mr.gap content plz ?? I can't stop thinking about him popping up between ur blankets on you. Love ur homicipher stuff so far btw 🩷” Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the kind words! I’ve been enjoying writing for the fandom, too. Everyone has been so incredibly supportive, and that just means the world to me as a writer who never thinks their work is good enough. I love you, Homicipher fandom. 😭🫶 I went ahead and did headcanons about how Mr. Gap would be as a cuddle buddy since you mentioned the scene of him popping up between the blankets (and because they’re a lot easier to crank out than full-on drabbles haha). I hope you enjoy!  

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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🕳️: The first time Mr. Gap surprised you by suddenly appearing under the covers, you nearly died of a heart attack right then in there before scolding him to never do that again. He simply rolled his eyes at you, calling you boring before disappearing into the void once again. He never did stop like you had asked him to which, honestly, wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Eventually, you got used to his sudden presence to the point where it didn’t startle you as horribly as it used to (much to his disappointment). 

🕳️: Even if you don’t get startled by his appearance as often as you used to, that doesn’t mean you never get scared when he suddenly pops up. He enjoys spooking you, smiling widely whenever you gasp or let out a shriek when he lunges at your face from under the sheets like an alligator shooting out of the water to grab unsuspecting prey in its maws. He leaves with a chuckle if you smack or try to hit him, vanishing before you can do any damage. Your reactions are funny to him, and he enjoys being able to get a rise out of you. 

🕳️: You eventually become fed up with him and ask him with a huff if he wants to cuddle after lifting your covers and seeing his face in the darkness underneath, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. He grimaces and asks you what that even means, not familiar with the term. After explaining it to him as best as you could considering the language barrier, his semi-disgusted expression doesn’t change, and he leaves faster than it took you to blink. This continues for a while, you ask him with a smirk if he wants to cuddle with you which successfully manages to chase the trickster away (you just have to threaten him with physical affection... good information to know).

🕳️: However, one day, Mr. Gap doesn’t leave after your half-hearted threat. He stays and stares up at you with a blank look on his face before, to your shock, agrees to cuddle with you. It’s strange laying in bed with a ghost that doesn’t have a body in the conventional sense, his head resting on your chest while his arms rest limply at your sides (he usually doesn’t hold you back, instead laying on you like a dead fish). While you can feel the presence of a form on top of you, whenever you try to catch a glimpse, you cannot see anything resembling a body underneath the covers. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though, and he reminds you of a weighted blanket. 

🕳️: Mr. Gap doesn’t move or make much noise whenever you two are cuddling, an occurrence that has become more frequent as time goes on. He isn’t the biggest fan of physical touch, but he finds himself not minding the way your hands feel threading through his hair or the sound of your beating heart while his ear is pressed against your chest. The noise is strangely comforting... 

🕳️: If you inquire about his lack of commentary, he looks up at you and smirks, asking if you would give him your heart. You just tell him no with a smile since you were used to his questions at this point and close your eyes, your hands returning to combing out in knots in his black locks without another word… He kind of hates how he doesn’t find himself disgusted by your touch, and he can’t help but wonder why that is. 

[soobibabe]

chapter one - the proposal

synopsis: Y/N, a 28-year-old dreamer whose plans for marriage and motherhood crumbled when her fiancé, Jae-on, decided to "see other people," leaving her adrift in a sea of unfulfilled expectations. Just as she’s about to face the cringe of attending his baby shower with his new girlfriend, her best friend Jungkook swoops in with a wild idea; why not embark on a platonic co-parenting adventure together?

pairings: jeon jungkook + reader genre ▸ romance [mature content in future chapters

Jungkook’s place felt like a second home to you. There was something about the way the late afternoon light filtered through his sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room, that always made you feel… safe. His apartment wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy, lived-in space, but it was warm, inviting—everything you needed right now. You sank deeper into the couch, clutching the throw pillow to your chest, feeling its familiar softness as you stared absently at the half-finished jigsaw puzzle on his coffee table. There were still pieces scattered everywhere, a mess that neither of you seemed too bothered to clean up. It was one of those things you’d start but never quite finish—like most of your plans lately.

The sound of clinking dishes came from the kitchen as Jungkook rummaged through his cabinets. "Tea or coffee?" he called, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Tea," you answered, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. You rubbed your forehead, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You heard him chuckle softly. "You okay in there? You’ve been weirdly quiet since you got here."

Was it okay? Not really. But you didn’t want to say that out loud just yet. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking."

"Thinking doesn’t look good on you," he teased as he stepped back into the living room, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed you one, sitting down next to you on the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "Talk to me."

You took the mug from him, warming your hands on the ceramic before exhaling a long sigh. "It’s Jae-on."

There it was. His name, still bitter on your tongue, even after all this time. It had been over a year since Jae-on called off the engagement. A year and a half, actually, but who was counting? You, apparently. You hated that you were still thinking about him, that he still had some kind of hold over you, even though you both moved on.

Jungkook gave you a knowing look, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he turned slightly to face you. "What’s he done now?"

You hesitated, feeling the familiar knot of frustration and resentment tightening in your chest. "He’s... getting married."

Jungkook didn’t blink. "I see." His voice was calm, measured, like he was processing it carefully.

"And not just that," you continued, your fingers tightening around the mug. "They’re having a baby. Jae-on and Garam."

You said her name like it was a bad word, which, in your mind, it was. Garam. The girl from high school who always seemed to have her life together, who always got what she wanted, and apparently now, that included your ex-fiancé.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Yu Garam? The one who used to follow you around like a puppy?"

"The very one." You groaned, sinking further into the couch. "Can you believe it? They’re throwing a baby shower, and guess who’s invited."

His expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "You don’t have to go, you know."

"I know." You stared down into your tea, swirling it absently. "But part of me feels like... I should. Like I have something to prove."

"To Jae-on?"

"To myself, I guess." The words came out slower than you expected, as if you were admitting it for the first time. "I thought I’d have it all by now, you know? The husband, the kids, the house with the white picket fence. And instead, I’m sitting here... single. Childless. Invited to my ex’s baby shower." You let out a humorless laugh. "It’s ridiculous."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, just watching you. His presence, as always, was steady, grounding. "It’s not ridiculous, Y/N. You had a plan. It just... didn’t go the way you thought."

You shook your head. "My plan’s been wrecked, Kook. Nothing’s gone the way I wanted it to."

"That doesn’t mean you can’t still have what you want," he said, his tone thoughtful. There was something about the way he said it, though, that made you glance at him, catching a glint of something unfamiliar in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated, like he was weighing his words carefully. "You want kids, right? You’ve always wanted to be a mom."

"Yeah... obviously." You frowned slightly. "But that’s not happening anytime soon."

"Why not?"

You blinked, unsure where this was going. "Because... I’m single? You kind of need someone to make that happen, Kook."

He shifted on the couch, leaning forward a little, his arm brushing against yours. The closeness felt... different. Warmer. He was looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite place, a softness to his gaze that made your stomach flip.

"You don’t need someone else," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You have me."

You froze, your mind trying to catch up to what he was saying. "Wait... what?"

Jungkook smiled, a small, almost shy smile, which was so unlike him it threw you off balance. "I’m serious. You want a baby, right? Why not do it together?"

You stared at him, your heart suddenly beating louder in your ears. "Together? Like... us?"

"Yeah." His eyes were steady, sincere. "We’ve known each other for years. We’d make great parents. We don’t need to complicate things with romance or any of that. We could just... raise a kid together. Be a family."

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. The idea was... insane. Wasn’t it? And yet, as he sat there, his expression so earnest, so serious, you found yourself... considering it.

"But, Kook," you started, your voice shaky, "this is huge. I mean... having a baby? That’s not something you just... do."

"I know," he said, his voice still soft, his eyes never leaving yours. "But you’re my best friend. I’d be with you every step of the way. You wouldn’t have to do it alone."

Your mind was spinning. This was Jungkook. Your best friend. The one person who had been there for you through everything, and now... he was offering you something you hadn’t even thought was possible. A way to have the family you wanted without waiting for someone else to come along.

But was it really that simple?

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You glanced down and saw the email notification. You already knew who it was from.

"Baby shower," you muttered, picking up the phone and showing him the screen. "Jae-on and Yu Garam are sending invites."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened slightly as he looked at the email, then back at you. "Well," he said, his voice lower now, "maybe when we go, we’ll have our own announcement to make."

You blinked, your heart jumping at the sudden shift in his tone. Was he... serious?

"You really mean that?" you whispered, searching his face for any sign that he might be joking.

But his expression was calm, sure, and when he spoke again, his voice was firm. "I’m dead serious, Y/N."

The air between you felt different now—heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. This was Jungkook, your best friend. The person you trusted most in the world. And yet, here you were, teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

"Think about it," he said softly, leaning just a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It could be exactly what you need."

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