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sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 4 days ago

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Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 9

A/N: IT‘S FINALLY OUT!! no real interactions between batfam and y/n in this one butttt there are some revelations and thoughts 👀 I can‘t promise when I will publish the next chapter though🩷 as I said I’m a bit busy rn!! But when I’m back I will start the work 🥰 I will write Drabble though!! Also tell me your thoughts about this chapter!! I love reading all your reactions and comments 🥹 - poppy

The apartment smelled like damp walls and mildew that never quite left, no matter how many windows she opened or how much lemon cleaner she used. The floor creaked when she moved, and the pipes rattled every time the neighbor above her flushed their toilet—but it was hers.

Hers, in the loosest, most fragile sense of the word.

Rent was due in two days. She had $7 in her wallet. Her breakfast had been an expired protein bar she found in the bottom of her backpack, and dinner would probably be the rest of the rice she cooked yesterday.

But she was alive.

And most importantly—she was free.

The tiny kitchen was quiet as she knelt by the potted plants that lined the inside of her single window. They weren’t thriving, but they were trying—just like her. She sprayed their leaves with a light mist, humming softly under her breath, careful not to wake the baby next door or Gary upstairs.

Gary was the landlord. The one that gave her this place.

Old, grouchy, mostly harmless. He paid her to care for the flowers he sold in his rundown shop two blocks away. It wasn’t enough to live off of, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t ask questions either. Not about her name, age or family. Not about why she paid in cash. Not about why she always kept the hood of her coat pulled low when she ran errands.

It had been thirty-two days since she left the manor.

Thirty-two days since she’d lied to Alfred’s face.

Since she’d walked past the gates with her bag and never looked back.

Since she’d become someone else. Or at least tried to.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the tiny case on her desk.

The contact lenses were cheap, but they worked. A flat, soft brown that covered the bright, unnatural green of her mother’s legacy. She blinked slowly as she put them in, fingers steady despite how often her stomach cramped from hunger or how the floor still spun when she stood too fast.

She had to blend in.

Be no one.

Be small.

Still, some nights—especially when the sun fell too fast or the wrong person looked at her too long—the fear returned. Heavy and loud in her chest. That someone had seen her. That someone had recognised her. That he had finally found out she was gone.

She didn’t know why she kept expecting the family to knock on her door. They hadn’t cared then. Why would they care now?

The apartment was still cold when the morning light slipped through the cracked blinds.

Y/N rubbed her arms and breathed into her palms, waiting for the kettle to hum. The gas burner made a clicking noise before catching. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake the baby next door. The walls were thin—like the ones in her memories.

She glanced toward her plants lining the windowsill. They were her secret. Hydrangeas blooming out of season. Tiny wildflowers that hadn’t existed in this hemisphere in decades. The old roses that Gary had given up on now sprawled over their pot, heavy and full of color.

“I must have a green thumb,” she’d said once, and Gary had barked a laugh and said, “Kid, if that’s a thumb, I want a whole hand of yours.”

She’d smiled.

She always smiled.

Even when it was thin. Even when it was shaking.

⸻

The fake ID in her wallet said Emilia Forenzi, age 18, born in Venice. She’d forged the name, the history, the accent. She wasn’t very good at faking the accent, but people didn’t really listen to it in this part of Gotham.

They saw a pretty girl with sweet eyes and perfect manners.

Not a Wayne.

Not Poison Ivy’s daughter.

Just her.

She tried to get a job last week at a diner near the outskirts. The man behind the counter said she looked too soft for waitressing in Gotham, but she’d promised to learn quickly. He hadn’t called her back.

Still, she kept looking.

She only made just enough with Gary’s shop and the flowers in the nearby park he quietly “claimed” as his own. He was gruff, but he gave her an extra five dollars the other day when he saw her feeding a stray cat half her dinner.

“Don’t starve for that flea-ball,” he’d said.

She had smiled, then handed the cat the last bit of her rice anyway.

____

The nightmares came every other night.

She didn’t scream anymore. She learned to bite her lip in the Manor. But her pillow was often damp by morning.

They weren’t always the same—sometimes it was the manor again, the long corridors and cold dinners and the silence when she tried to speak. Sometimes it was the moment it happened. When they looked too late. When they reached too slowly. When they mourned too little.

But more recently … more often… she dreamt of her mother.

It had been so long since she’d let herself remember Pamela Isley. Ivy.

Green eyes like hers. A lullaby voice. Warm hands and flowery perfume.

She hadn’t thought about her in years—not really. Not since Bruce took her in and no one ever said her name again. Not since she learned that “Poison Ivy is a criminal, not a mother.”

But now, alone in her silence, in her little room with its stolen furniture and secondhand blankets, Y/N wondered.

Where was she?

Was she still in Arkham?

Did she know that her daughter was dead once? That she lived again?

A part of her felt guilty for not trying to reach out.

Another part of her was too afraid.

Because even her mother might not want her.

_________________

Y/N’s POV

Y/N had no working television, but the city didn’t need one to scream at her.

It screamed through the streets. Through the rising hum of sirens. Through the headlines splattered across cracked newspaper boxes she passed on her walks.

“Vigilante Brutality Increases in Crime Alley.”

“Masked Assault in the Narrows: Third Criminal Hospitalized This Week.”

“Batarangs Found at Scene.”

Some nights, she swore she recognized the marks.

A broken window too clean. A blood trail that vanished before it reached the curb. A body left in the perfect shape of Jason’s rage. A rooftop cracked in the exact angle Dick once used to land his kicks. A cigarette packet crushed under a boot with too much calculation—Tim.

And the shadow that never missed a target—Bruce.

They were out there. All of them.

Stalking the night harder than they had in years.

And she still told herself:

It’s not for me.

It couldn’t be.

Because if it was, what would that even mean?

⸻

Gary had warned her. Again and again.

That the streets weren’t safe. That something was shifting in Gotham—something darker, tighter, more personal.

“Stay in after dusk,” he’d told her tonight, setting a paper bag of groceries on the table. “These days, Gotham’s bleeding from the inside out.”

She nodded sweetly. Smiled, even.

Then locked the door the second he left.

But she wasn’t afraid of the men in alleyways.

Not the thieves. Not the dealers. Not the hungry strangers who eyed her when she passed by.

She was afraid of the people whom she used to see as brothers.

Because if she ever saw them again—if she ever looked into those familiar eyes and saw that distant, practiced guilt or the too-late affection…

She didn’t trust herself not to cry.

Not to break.

Not to forgive them too easily.

And she couldn’t.

Not after everything.

Not again.

Damian’s POV

It had been twenty-nine days and eleven hours since Damian had last seen his sister.

Not that he was counting.

Not that he had a tally scratched into the underside of his desk.

Not that he stared at the empty seat beside him in every class like it was mocking him.

But he knew.

And it infuriated him.

The others said she’d vanished.

The others said she’d slipped past them all.

But she hadn’t slipped past him.

Not really.

She’d looked him in the eye that morning—after their fight.

After he’d grabbed her. Cornered her. Called her a liar.

“It’s nothing that will matter to you soon anyway.”

He hadn’t understood it then.

He did now.

She’d meant goodbye.

At school, her name still came up.

Y/N Wayne.

The girl who suddenly “returned to Italy.”

Back to her “supermodel mother”—at least, that’s what her friends claimed. It’s what she had told them.

They all bought it.

They called it romantic. Mysterious.

Like she’d left for a glamorous life.

But Damian knew better.

The softness in her eyes before she left wasn’t joy.

It was resignation.

He had tried—quietly at first.

Digging behind the scenes. Asking questions without being obvious.

Then, after a week, subtlety died.

He skipped class.

He hacked into school servers, city cameras, bus routes.

He threatened. Intimidated. Pressured.

He found Silas. Beat him within an inch of expulsion. Again.

And when the school didn’t act fast enough, he made them.

Silas was gone the next morning.

But it didn’t satisfy him, because Y/N wasn’t anywhere.

At night, Robin bled through Gotham.

Damian stalked rooftops not for criminals—but for a slip of movement that might be her.

He shattered kneecaps for a name. Broke ribs for a whisper.

Even the villains noticed.

“Robin’s gotten… personal again,” Harley had murmured after escaping a busted safehouse.

But nothing helped.

Each time he paused, high above the city in the bitter dark, he swore he could feel her.

Somewhere below.

Somewhere lonely.

And not calling for him.

He hated her for that.

He hated himself more.

She belonged to them. To him.

To the family. To the house. To his routine. His mornings. His world.

And now she was gone.

_____

Dick’s POV

He hadn’t been back to Bludhaven in three weeks.

The people were worried.

The criminals were thrilled.

But Dick didn’t care.

He told Bruce he wasn’t capable of “handling other lives” until he found the one life that actually mattered.

And no one argued.

Not anymore.

At first, he’d tried to believe it was all temporary.

That she had just… run off to prove a point.

That she’d come back, pouty but forgiving, with that innocent little laugh and into his arms held open like a truce.

But one month later—there were no illusions left.

His little flower was gone.

And something in him had gone cold.

The smile?

Gone.

The charm?

Buried.

Even Jason said it once—gruff and to the point:

“You look more like Bruce every damn day.”

And Dick hadn’t answered.

Because Dick wasn’t Bruce.

Bruce had forgotten her.

He had abandoned her.

But Dick had known. He’d seen.

He just didn’t act.

She used to leave notes.

Little drawings tucked into his gear bag when he’d visit.

He’d find doodles of himself and her—with giant goofy smiles—under his glove cases.

He hadn’t kept a single one.

He told himself he was busy.

She was a kid.

She’d grow out of it.

But now?

Now he was in her room every other day—just sitting, just looking.

Searching every inch of that now-empty drawer like it was a crime scene.

And maybe it was.

Because something had died in that room.

He’d found the old plush once.

The elephant one.

Alfred said she took it with her—so the one he found was a decoy.

“She knew someone would check,” Tim had whispered.

“She planned this.”

And that shattered Dick in a way fists never had.

She didn’t even trust them to miss her.

He walked the alleys at night.

Not as Nightwing.

Just as someone looking for a ghost in a little green sweater.

The one she wore all the time when she was younger—the one that matched the flowers she grew.

He used to call her his little flower.

She used to love that.

She even wrote it in one of those diary entries he found—buried in the box of discarded drawings they’d all ignored:

“I wish he would call me little flower again. I think I’d feel like he loves me if he did.”

Dick never cried. Not even when his parents died.

But when he read that—he’d just sat down right on the floor and shook.

“You were the soft one,” Jason had thrown at him last week.

“Where the hell were you when she needed you?”

He didn’t answer then either.

Because the truth was brutal:

He’d been smiling for everyone else.

Just not her.

Now he didn’t smile at all.

And when he caught anyone slacking on patrol, skipping a corner, missing a lead—he snapped.

“We are finding her.”

It wasn’t just a command.

It was a vow.

A curse.

And every night, when he sat in the shadows of her room, that vow echoed again and again like a prayer to a flower-shaped ghost:

“I’m gonna find you, Y/N”

“I don’t care what it takes.”

_____

Jason was never good at guilt.

He could shoot it in the face, bury it in the ground, drink it away.

But not this.

Not when the guilt had a name.

A voice.

A laugh.

A heartbeat he couldn’t find anymore.

Y/N.

Red Hood didn’t patrol anymore. He hunted.

He tore through the underworld like a rabid dog, taking names, putting bodies in the ER, slamming faces into pavement hard enough to shatter teeth. Criminals whispered about it. That something had snapped in the Red Hood. That he’d gone fully off-leash.

They were right.

Because she was gone.

And someone had to pay for it.

He blamed Bruce, obviously. Jason always blamed Bruce. For being cold. For being blind. For never knowing what to do with someone soft. For burying himself in work while she withered upstairs. How the hell do you forget your own daughter?

But blame was easy.

What wasn’t easy was looking at himself.

He remembered the first time she came up to him. Little thing. Barely past toddler years, wide-eyed and sticky with jam, calling him “Jayshu” in that babbling baby voice.

He didn’t say anything back.

He remembered her knocking on his door when he returned after dying — begging him to come down for cookies she made.

He told her to leave him the hell alone.

He remembered yelling. Something about Poison Ivy. Something about how she was just a seed of villainy waiting to sprout.

She cried.

And he did nothing.

She never stopped being sweet after that. She just stopped hoping.

God.

She’d always tried.

And now she was gone — not kidnapped, not taken. She left.

She left them.

Left him.

She was somewhere out there in Gotham. Cold, starving, maybe scared, and trying to make a life for herself with whatever pieces she thought she could carry.

Because they’d convinced her — all of them — that the mansion didn’t have room for her. That she was a footnote in her own damn home.

Jason swore if she was dead—

No.

She wasn’t dead.

She couldn’t be.

He refused to believe that.

He was going to find her.

If he had to burn down every alley, question every creep, put a bullet in every bastard that even looked at a girl wrong—

He was going to find his baby sister.

And this time, he wasn’t letting her go.

Not until she knew what she meant to him.

Even if he had to drag her home, kicking and crying and hating him.

Because hate was better than fear.

Hate meant she was alive.

And he could live with that.

—————— TIm’s POV

Tim hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours. His fingers trembled faintly over the keyboard, dark half-moons carved under bloodshot eyes, the whites gone dull with insomnia and stimulants. The walls of his room were drowned in screens, all reflecting her face — what little he could still find of it.

Her school file. Old pictures. Surveillance footage from Gotham Academy — months old. The last known digital remnants of Y/N Eloise Wayne.

But it wasn’t enough.

He’d run every facial match algorithm. Every public transport log. Hacked through every ID registration, health record, housing file under her legal name. And she was gone.

“She’s too smart,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. “She lied. She planned. She’s not Y/N Eloise Wayne anymore.”

The revelation haunted him. It burned, rotted somewhere behind his ribs. She had vanished under his nose, wearing a false name like a cloak — and he hadn’t seen it coming.

He had gone through every file they owned on her. Every school note, every doctor visit, every written scrawl from her elementary notebooks. He replayed her school performance clips over and over, like decoding a cipher. Her smile made his chest cave in. The applause that followed felt like mockery now.

He didn’t even know her.

He thought he did.

Now, even the way she looked at him — polite, soft, cautious — seemed like a stranger’s ghost haunting his memory.

It was always her that tried. She came to him, not the other way around. He’d been too cold. Too preoccupied. Too… utilitarian. And now she was gone.

______

Bruce

Wayne Manor was silent.

It had been a tomb since the day she left.

Bruce sat in the cave beneath it, not the man in the suit but the shell. His cowl sat on the table beside a half-finished bottle of bourbon, the second one tonight. Or maybe the third. He didn’t count anymore. What was the point?

He hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t stepped into the office in days. Lucius had called. He didn’t answer. No one in the company knew why Bruce Wayne had vanished. But Gotham still had Batman.

Only, he wasn’t Batman anymore. He was something else now. Something starving.

At night he stalked the rooftops with animal focus. Interrogated criminals with bone-breaking efficiency. Asked questions. Searched every corner of the city. Every district. Every shadow. He didn’t rest. He didn’t breathe unless it was with her name in his mind.

His daughter. His daughter.

It repeated like a pulse in his ears.

It burned behind his eyes.

She was all he had left of Ivy — that mistake, that moment — but she had been more than that. From the instant he saw her, frail and bright-eyed, he knew. She wasn’t like any of them.

She was good.

And he’d abandoned her. Buried her behind patrol logs and briefing reports and other children. The guilt made him flinch from his own reflection. He wasn’t fit to be her father.

But he would bring her back. He would. He would find her, cradle her against his chest, and keep her. Lock the doors. Watch over her like a warden, not a parent. If that’s what it took.

Because the world wasn’t safe. And neither was he.

⸻

None of them spoke about the dreams.

Not Dick. Not Tim. Not Bruce. Not even Damien, who barely slept at all.

But each night they saw her.

Not the girl who vanished. Not the child who used to smile at them and draw them flowers.

No, in their dreams, she was older. Just a little. Sixteen, seventeen, maybe eighteen — and dying.

Sometimes she was bloodied. Sometimes drowned. Sometimes strangled. Her eyes always wide, always shocked, always alone.

They woke up breathless. Sometimes screaming. Always cold. Always guilty.

None of them could explain it.

She hadn’t died. Had she?

They told themselves it was the mind, punishing them for failing her. But something deeper twisted in their stomachs, something that whispered:

You weren’t just too late.

You were never there at all.

______

Tim

Tim hadn’t slept in forty-three hours.

His coffee was cold.

His shirt was wrinkled.

His hands trembled at the keyboard.

But he wasn’t stopping.

The Batcave was silent except for the hum of outdated servers and the sharp clack of his fingers moving too fast. The screens were filled with dead ends. Burned leads. Traffic cams from the docks. Street-side black markets. Pawn shop ledgers. None of them led to her.

Y/N Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Isley.

All versions. Dead files.

He stared at the access logs of the encrypted folder Alfred once backed up manually. The old section of the system not even connected to the current grid. Half of it was still mirrored from the pre-reset servers Bruce had shut down after the Joker War.

Tim was about to close it.

But then his cursor hovered over something.

CASE FILE_413-A — DECEASED: WAYNE, Y/N E.

He froze.

Click.

His breath caught.

The screen flickered to life with a full-color dossier.

A Bat-file.

Compiled. Stamped. Finalized.

Tim’s pupils dilated as the first image loaded.

It was a crime scene photo.

A girl — slender frame, (Y/S) skin, long tangled hair matted in blood — lay crumpled in a side alley.

Her body was twisted. There were vines curled around her hands like she had tried, in the end, to summon something. The file dated her death at age eighteen. The location: Gotham Lower East.

Another picture followed.

A toe tag. Her name.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Tim recoiled in the chair, the metal frame screeching against the floor.

He clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The blood in his veins ran ice cold.

“No…”

The file was real.

Old. Buried.

Made by them.

There was Bruce’s signature. His own encrypted seal. A medical report from Leslie. Postmortem autopsy. She’d been stabbed. Multiple times. Lungs collapsed. Defensive wounds.

Motive listed: “Targeted for her parentage. Daughter of Poison Ivy. Daughter of Bruce Wayne.”

She died alone.

Tim’s stomach turned. Images blurred behind his lashes as his heart pounded in his throat. Then — faint, like an echo —

a memory.

her voice.

“It’s okay, Tim… I know you’re busy. Maybe next time…”

His hand clenched.

It made sense now. Her withdrawn smile. Her evasiveness. The way she flinched when someone used her name too sweetly. The edge of fear under her fake smiles. The lies about school. About friends.

She remembered.

“She knew,” he whispered. “Oh my god… she knew.”

Tim’s eyes scanned through the final page of the report.

A line written in someone’s hand. His own, maybe.

“We were too late.”

“She died thinking she wasn’t loved.”

“We never made it in time.”

He stood up fast, the chair clattering behind him.

No one else had seen this yet.

They didn’t know.

They couldn’t know.

But they would.

Tonight.

“They have to know,” Tim said, eyes still locked on the glowing screen. “We all failed her once. We don’t get to fail her again.”

____

The group chat pinged three times.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

❝ Everyone get to the Cave. Now. ❞

❝ I found something. ❞

❝ It’s about her. ❞

No one responded at first.

Damian left him on “Read.”

Dick ignored it.

Jason sent back a single skull emoji.

He should have expected these reactions since he has been sending the same sentence every day for the past few days.

So Tim lied.

❝ I know where she is. ❞

Within minutes, the Cave roared to life with engines and boots slamming against concrete.

Jason was the first to storm in, eyes bloodshot and helmet still on.

Damian followed, jaw clenched, already starting to bark—

“Where is she, Drake?! Where is my sister—”

Tim stood near the console, arms crossed.

“I lied.”

Jason lunged.

Fist in Tim’s collar. Slam. Back against the wall.

“You what—?!”

“I lied,” Tim repeated, voice low. “Because I had to get you all here. Because I found something.”

Bruce’s silhouette broke through the Cave entrance — suit half-on, stubble dark along his jaw, shadows under his eyes like bruises.

“Enough.”

Jason didn’t let go. Not yet.

“If this is another theory—”

“It’s not.”

Tim shoved Jason off. Hard.

The screen behind him lit up.

CASE FILE_413-A

Subject: Y/N Eloise Wayne

Status: DECEASED

Age: 18

COD: Homicide. Multiple stab wounds. Cause: Confirmed assassination.

Perpetrator: Unidentified rogue faction. Targeted for her parentage.

The room went still.

“What the hell is this,” Dick asked, already stepping closer.

Bruce’s breath hitched. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Jason froze.

“A fake?” Dick suggested.

Tim shook his head.

“Timestamped. Five years from now. This is from before. A different timeline.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re saying she died in the future?”

“She did die,” Tim said. “We all just forgot.”

They stared.

He opened the rest of the file. Images, recordings. Surveillance. Her body. Blood pooled in the alley. The report showed Bruce petitioned Zatanna and Constantine. There was a time ritual. Risky. Forbidden.

“You risked time to bring her back?” Jason muttered.

Bruce didn’t answer.

Tim’s voice cut in. Cold.

“We failed her once. She died alone. We didn’t protect her. Not any of us.”

Jason turned toward the screen. The photo flickered —

her eyes still open.

blood across her temple.

dirt under her nails like she fought to crawl away.

Damian took a step back. “No…”

“She knew,” Tim said. “That’s why she looked at us like that. Why she avoided us. She came back. And she remembered.”

No one moved.

The room was silent, suffocating beneath the cold glare of the screen where Y/N’s death flickered like an echo. The air clung to their lungs like ash — thick, bitter, and impossible to swallow. Damian had dropped to the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself, his head bowed low as if sheer will could reverse time. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering her name over and over, as if it was a prayer. As if saying it enough times would call her back.

Jason stood with his jaw clenched so tight it cracked. His eyes — wild and bloodshot — stayed locked on the image of her body. He didn’t look away, not even once. The blood. The dirt. The way she had died like a stranger in the street. He saw it every night in his head now, but nothing compared to seeing it in full color. The walls around his heart — already thin when it came to her — collapsed completely.

Dick had turned away. Not from shame, but from grief so raw it left his hands shaking. He dug his nails into his palms to stop the trembling. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the Cave apart and rebuild it out of something softer, something warmer — something that had room for little girls with flowers in their hands and letters in their drawers that he never read.

Tim stood with arms crossed, but his composure was an illusion. His voice was hollow. His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of knowing. He had chased every digital ghost in Gotham trying to find her — but this file was not just a clue. It was a memory clawing its way back. A record of a crime they all committed through silence, through neglect, through absence.

And Bruce… he hadn’t spoken since the image loaded. His breath had gone still. He looked at his daughter’s face on the screen — the girl he had summoned back into this world with rituals and desperation — and he saw her dying again. Just like before. All over again. She had called him “Daddy” in her last breath. He heard it in his sleep now.

They didn’t speak. Not for a long time. Each of them lost in the torment of the realization that this wasn’t just about a runaway child. It was about the daughter they failed — a second time. About the signs they missed. The eyes that begged them to remember.

They had dismissed her heartbreak. They had questioned her distance. They had shrugged off her quiet smiles as teenage moodiness. But now the pieces came together with devastating clarity.

She remembered. That’s why she changed. That’s why she ran. She remembered dying alone while they forgot her.

No one needed to say it out loud.

The mission had changed. This wasn’t about finding her anymore.

This was about getting her back before Gotham swallowed her whole again.

And this time —

none of them would let fate take her.

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colouredbyd · 2 months ago

Text

The Secret Life Of Pets (Hogwarts edition)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After a transformation gone wrong, Flicker is trapped in red panda form for a week. The Marauders pass her off as their pet, but curious hands and lingering eyes make staying hidden far more complicated.

warnings: fluff, animagus secrecy, fluffy moments, stuck in animagi, mention of animal torture a few times? also mentions of being displayed and coming from a zoo? technically part of a blurb series but can be read alone

w/c: 7k (im not sorry)

a/n: i absolutely adore this oh my god </3

part of my mini blurb series Flicker's Secret Adventures

masterlist

You never thought you would end up like this, tangled in the strange magic of your own making, a flicker of crimson fur and wide eyes peering up at the towering figures of your three Marauder boyfriends.

One moment, you were caught in the chaotic swell of transformation—magic thrumming hot and wild through your veins—and the next, you were stuck, bound in the soft body of your Animagus form, the world towering and unfamiliar.

It was James who first noticed, sharp-eyed and impossibly intuitive despite the chaos that always seemed to linger around him like a second skin.

He had been the one to throw a piece of parchment at you as you scuttled across the common room floor, your tiny paws stumbling over the worn wood, claws clicking helplessly against it.

He watched with brows knit together as you stumbled, tripping gracelessly before collapsing into a heap of plush fur, your tail flicking in embarrassment. He knelt down beside you, the smile he wore warm and familiar, but his eyes gave him away—there was panic there, a thread of worry woven deep.

"Alright, love," he started gently, voice coaxing, his thumb brushing soothingly over your head like it was second nature.

"Enough playing around. Time to come back, yeah? We promised a proper cuddle pile tonight, remember?" He made a little gesture with his hands, as if that would draw you out of your Animagus form like a conjuring spell.

You blinked up at him, round eyes wide and glimmering with something you couldn’t quite voice. You willed the magic to reverse, to flood back through your veins and pull you upright, human and steady.

But nothing happened. Your heart thudded heavy in your tiny chest, and you shuffled back slightly, paws scrabbling against the floor as a flicker of panic seized you.

James frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Moony, is she...is she stuck?"

Remus was already rifling through the scattered parchment on the table, lips pressed thin as he skimmed the text. "It shouldn’t be possible," he murmured, flipping through the spellwork with a focused intensity.

His eyes softened when he looked up, offering you the kind of smile that always made you feel like everything would be alright. "You’ve done it a hundred times before, darling."

"Well," Sirius drawled from the edge of the sofa, one brow arched as he twirled his wand between long fingers, "seems like she’s a bit more attached to the fur than she thought. Maybe she just wants to be spoiled."

"Wouldn’t blame her," James chuckled, his hand still cradling you gently, fingers brushing through the soft fur on your back.

"She knows we’re all absolute suckers for her."

You huffed indignantly, your tiny form shivering with the effort of it, and Sirius just laughed harder, throwing his head back as the sound filled the room.

"Look! She’s got attitude even now," he cackled, and you darted towards him, tiny paws skittering across the floor as you leapt onto his boot with a defiant squeak.

He leaned down, scooping you up with surprising gentleness, his hands firm but soft against your fur.

"Alright, alright, I get it," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before passing you back to James. "Can’t help herself."

James chuckled, though the edge of concern hadn’t quite left his eyes. He reached down, scooping you up gently until you were cradled in his hands, your tiny claws pricking slightly against his palms.

"Come on, Flicker. Try again. Give it a go, just for us." His voice softened, thumb brushing over your ears. "I know you can do it, love."

You closed your eyes, focusing as hard as you could, willing the magic to turn like a tide—but again, you remained right there, soft and curled up in James’s hands, your ears flicking in frustration.

Remus looked up from the parchment, his eyes sharp with realization. "Wait," he began slowly, his voice dropping to a hush, "I think...I think I found something."

Sirius perked up instantly, leaning forward, boots hitting the floor with a solid thud. "Go on, then. Spill it, Moony."

Remus’s fingers traced over the ink, his brow furrowing. "There’s a note here...something about prolonged Animagus form in times of heightened emotion. If the caster experiences..." he squinted, bringing the paper closer. "—if they experience emotional distress during transformation, it can...lock them in place."

James’s eyes shot back to you, still curled in his hands. "Well, that would’ve been nice to know..." he muttered, brushing a thumb over your head.

"Alright, Flicker. What’s got you all tied up, then?"

Sirius leaned back, arms stretched behind his head, his grin lazy and amused. "Maybe she’s just desperate for all the attention." They all laughed thinking what Remus said was just some joke.

But then the whole day had slipped by, melting into hours of failed attempts and frustrated huffs, the clock ticking away with no change, and you were still stuck, a permanent fixture of fur and twitching ears in their lives.

Remus had read over the spellwork a hundred times, murmuring incantations under his breath while you tried—again and again—to shift back. When it became clear that you weren’t going to change anytime soon, they devised a plan.

"We’ll just tell everyone you went home," James said confidently, lounging back on the common room couch. "Emergency family business. Your brother’s sick or something."

"And the red panda?" Remus asked, arching a brow.

Sirius smirked. "She’s our pet now. I’ll get her a collar and everything."

You growled, ears flattening, but Sirius only chuckled, leaning down to scratch your head. "Oh, come on, love. You’ll be the most spoiled pet in all of Hogwarts."

"Absolutely," Remus replied dryly, sitting back and watching you with his usual quiet amusement.

He glanced at the other Marauders. "We can’t exactly have her wandering around the castle like this, can we? People are going to notice."

And so, it was on that crisp morning, with the first rays of sunlight streaming weakly through the ancient windows of Hogwarts, that you found yourself tucked away inside the magical bag James had conjured for you.

It was a rather unconventional hiding spot, to say the least, yet it was the kind of place no one would think to look.

After all, who would expect a mischievous red panda to be snugly nestled inside the confines of a student's seemingly ordinary backpack?

Yet, despite the secrecy of your hiding place, you were far from being quiet or still. Every so often, you would stir within the bag, your little paws batting at the fabric in an attempt to make your presence known.

It was as though you couldn't resist the pull of the chaos unfolding outside, the energy of the bustling hallways of Hogwarts spilling into your cramped sanctuary.

You poked your head out from beneath the folds, watching, curious, as the swirl of students passed by, their hurried footsteps and muffled voices blending into a symphony of uncertainty.

The air around the entrance to the Great Hall felt thick with tension, the kind that only comes with the unexpected—something was happening, though you couldn’t quite make sense of it. From your hidden position, the sights and sounds made it impossible for you to remain still for too long.

"Shh, Flicker," came James's voice, low and urgent, as he gently pressed you further into the bag, his hands cool against your fur. "No one can see you. You need to stay hidden."

You weren’t sure if James had truly grasped the depths of your mischief, or if it was the sheer amount of chaos that had taken root in the hallways that made him think a red panda could remain unnoticed for long.

Either way, you weren’t inclined to cooperate because why would you when you were a panda?

You wriggled, your small body twisting inside the bag as you tried to free yourself from its confines. A determined paw snaked out from the edges, batting at his fingers, your silent protest unmistakable.

"Hey, Jamie," came Sirius's familiar drawl from somewhere above you, lazy and dripping with amusement.

"You torturing the poor thing in there? Flicker deserves better than your clumsy handling, don't you, darling?"

"Clumsy?!" James shot back, sounding almost wounded as he gave the bag an indignant shake—enough to make you squeak in protest.

"I’m keeping her from getting caught, which is more than I can say for your brilliant ideas! Remember last week? With the broom closet and the Filibuster Fireworks? Nearly had her tail singed off."

You shoved your little paws through the gap, reaching for the space outside, your claws scraping lightly against the soft edges of the bag as you sought freedom.

Sirius chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could hear the shift of his footsteps as he came closer. "C'mon then, give her here. You’re going to smother her with all your hovering."

There was a brief shuffle before you felt the bag open slightly, the light pouring in bright and blinding for a moment before you blinked up and saw Sirius grinning down at you.

"Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes," he murmured, his hands reaching in and scooping you up with surprising gentleness.

The moment you were free, you leaped instinctively, scrambling up his arm and curling up in his embrace, your fur brushing against the soft wool of his sweater as you buried your head against his chest.

"You spoil her," James muttered, crossing his arms with a huff as Sirius cradled you like something precious. "One of these days, she’s going to run straight past me and head right for you."

"Already does," Sirius replied with a smirk, settling down onto the nearest bench and letting you curl up in his lap. His fingers scratched idly behind your ears, and you couldn’t help the little chirrup of delight that escaped you.

"She knows quality when she sees it. Right, Flicker?"

"I think you mean reckless idiocy," came Remus’s soft voice from behind you, his presence as familiar as sunlight.

He slipped onto the bench beside Sirius, his gaze flickering to you with a fondness that made your heart squeeze. "Honestly, I’m surprised she even tolerates the two of you."

"That’s because you bribe her with honey biscuits," James quipped, dropping into the seat across from them and kicking his feet up onto the table with a satisfied sigh. "I saw you slipping her some last week. Traitorous, really."

"Not traitorous if she’s mine," Remus replied smoothly, reaching over to give you a gentle scratch under the chin. "You always come back to me, don’t you, sweetheart?"

You chirped in response, stretching out your paws to brush against his hand, and he chuckled softly. Sirius snorted, leaning back and watching with a grin. "Alright, alright, no need to start a custody battle over Flicker. We all know she prefers me."

"Oh, do we?" James raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a grin. "I think it’s about time we test that theory."

Sirius's grin widened, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "What do you say, Flicker? Should we make this interesting?" His fingers danced along your back, and you leaned into the touch instinctively.

"Winner gets you for the whole weekend. No interruptions. No distractions."

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Merlin help us," he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips, a rare softness that lingered in his eyes as he watched you snuggle deeper into Sirius's lap. "Just don’t blame me when she leaves you both behind and comes straight back to me."

"Dream on, Moony," Sirius drawled, his fingers brushing through your fur in soft, gentle strokes. "She’s ours, and she knows it."

And with that, you settled comfortably into Sirius's arms, soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the sound of their banter a lullaby in the chaotic world of Hogwarts.

For a moment, the rest of the castle faded away, and it was just the four of you—tangled in playful arguments and whispered promises, hidden away from the madness of it all.

It was only a few moments later when the familiar swish of footsteps signaled Lily’s approach, her confident stride cutting through the lingering haze of morning chatter.

She walked past with the kind of purposeful elegance only she seemed to possess, her crimson hair catching the light like flames against the stone walls of the Great Hall. But then she stopped, her gaze snagging on the peculiar sight before her—Sirius lounging on the bench with you curled up cozily in his lap, Remus settled comfortably beside him, and James looking far too pleased with himself across the table.

Lily raised an eyebrow, her emerald eyes sharp with curiosity as they flickered to you, nestled snugly in Sirius's arms. "What," she began slowly, her tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and faint amusement, "is that?"

Sirius barely flinched, his grin widening as he lifted you up slightly, your tiny, fuzzy form wriggling a bit in his hands as you blinked up at her.

"Oh, this?" he replied smoothly, as if he had been waiting for the question all morning.

"Just our new class mascot. Her name’s Flicker." He cradled you a bit closer, his fingers brushing gently over your fur as if to demonstrate just how harmless and adorable you were.

Lily's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring in their depths as she crossed her arms over her chest. "A red panda?" she repeated, voice laden with disbelief.

"Since when does Hogwarts allow exotic animals as mascots?"

"Since we decided it," James cut in cheerfully, leaning forward with a grin that was just shy of conspiratorial. His elbow hit the table with a soft thud as he propped his chin on his hand, completely unbothered by Lily's incredulity. "You know how it is, Evans. We like to keep things interesting around here."

"Interesting?" she echoed, glancing between the three of them as if waiting for one to crack. "Is that what you’re calling it now? And what exactly are you planning to do if McGonagall finds out?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively, the motion causing you to bounce slightly in his lap, though he steadied you almost immediately with a gentle pat.

"Oh, come on, Lil. When has Minnie ever caught us doing anything before?" His grin was wolfish, all sharp teeth and reckless confidence.

"Flicker here is very well-behaved, don’t worry. You won’t even know she’s around."

Lily's gaze lingered on you, her eyes tracing the soft tuft of fur on your head, the flick of your tail, the way your paws settled so comfortably against Sirius's arm.

"Very well-behaved?" she questioned, her voice softening just slightly, almost as if she were addressing you rather than them. "You lot can barely keep yourselves out of trouble. What makes you think you can manage...this?"

"Because she loves us," James interjected confidently, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression plastered across his face. "We’ve got it all figured out. Flicker’s part of the family now, aren’t you, darling?"

You chirped softly, nuzzling further into Sirius's lap as if in agreement, and he chuckled, his hand resting warmly on your back. "See? Practically domesticated," he added with a grin, scratching just behind your ears.

"And if you must know, I’m a very responsible pet owner!"

Remus snorted softly, turning the page of the book in his lap with a flick of his wrist. "Responsible isn’t exactly the word I’d use," he murmured under his breath, though his eyes were alight with amusement.

Sirius feigned offense, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Moony, you wound me. I’m an excellent caretaker." He glanced down at you, eyebrows raised as if prompting you to confirm his statement.

You looked up at him, blinking innocently before pressing your head against his hand, and he beamed with triumph. "See? She agrees."

Lily sighed, though you could see the smile threatening to break free at the edges of her mouth. "You three are absolutely ridiculous," she said finally, shaking her head as though she could hardly believe the scene before her. "I hope you know that."

"And yet," James said mildly. "you still show up every morning to watch the show."

Her cheeks flushed just slightly, and she glanced away. "Only because someone has to make sure you don’t blow up the Great Hall."

Sirius smirked, leaning back against the bench and stretching his legs out comfortably. "Admit it, Evans. You’d miss us if we weren’t around to cause a bit of chaos."

Lily rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "Right. Just try not to get her caught," she said finally, casting one last look at you, her expression softening just slightly. "She’s...cute."

"She’s perfect," Sirius replied, and his voice held just the faintest hint of affection as he gave you a gentle scratch behind the ears. "Don’t worry. We’ll keep her safe."

You chirped again, nestling deeper into his lap, and the three of them fell into easy banter, voices overlapping in the kind of harmony only they seemed to possess.

Breakfast was winding down, students rising from their seats in clusters, the dull roar of chatter punctuated by bursts of laughter. You were still nestled comfortably in Sirius’s lap, his hands absently scratching behind your ears as if you were a particularly affectionate house cat.

Remus was pouring over the Daily Prophet, brow furrowed in concentration, while James had taken to balancing toast crusts on his wand tip, much to the annoyance of a few first-years watching with wide eyes.

It was almost peaceful—until the heavy oak doors swung open with a theatrical flair, and Professor Slughorn strode in like he owned the place.

"My, my, my!" his voice boomed, catching not just your attention but the entirety of the Great Hall’s. Heads turned, whispers sparked like kindling, and you instinctively curled tighter against Sirius, your tiny paws gripping his robes with desperate urgency. He just chuckled, patting your side.

"Easy there, Flicker. It’s just Sluggy. Probably heard about our little secret."

James muttered under his breath, "If he did, we’re finished. Think he knows about the fireworks last week?"

Remus didn’t look up from his paper. "If he did, we’d be scrubbing cauldrons for Filch by now."

Slughorn approached with that characteristic bounce in his step, velvet robes swishing dramatically behind him. His eyes locked onto you with the kind of delight usually reserved for crystallized pineapple or rare potions ingredients.

"A red panda?" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Tell me, boys—where did you get such an exotic creature?"

You could feel the collective freeze of the Marauders, like time itself had stopped to watch them scramble for an answer.

Your heart thudded painfully in your tiny chest, eyes darting wildly between their faces, as if silently begging them to think of something—anything—to explain your presence.

But Sirius, ever the performer, broke into a grin so wide it was almost dazzling. "Ah, Professor," he began smoothly, lifting you up a little, your paws dangling over his arm. "This is Flicker. Our new mascot."

You squeaked. Actually squeaked. Sirius’s hands were firm beneath your belly, holding you up as if you were some sort of prize he’d won at the fair, and you could feel the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

Mascot? You twisted slightly, little paws swatting at Sirius’s fingers in protest, but he held fast, his grin never faltering.

James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Our what?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, but Sirius ignored him, flashing Slughorn that perfect Black family smile, all charm and effortless grace.

Slughorn’s eyes widened with delight, his hands clapping together again. "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" he exclaimed, leaning in so close you could smell the sharp tang of peppermint on his breath.

"I’ve always said that Hogwarts could use more practical demonstrations. And what better way to teach students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A red panda! I’ve never seen one in person—oh, Kettleburn will be thrilled! I’ll send word immediately!"

Your tiny heart skipped several beats, panic creeping in like ice water down your spine.

Kettleburn? you thought frantically, memories of his wild-eyed enthusiasm for anything remotely dangerous flickering in your mind.

You squirmed harder, your claws catching on the soft wool of Sirius’s robe, but he just chuckled under his breath, patting your head. "Settle down, Flicker," he whispered, too low for Slughorn to hear. "We’ll sort this out."

But his eyes told a different story. There was a glimmer of worry there, barely masked by the confidence in his grin.

"Professor," Remus interjected gently, folding his newspaper and setting it aside.

"She’s... well, she’s not exactly trained for... public appearances." He shot you a pointed look as if trying to convey something reassuring, but all you could think of was the horror of being paraded in front of a crowd of wide-eyed students, poking and prodding at you with eager hands.

You whimpered. The sound was soft, barely audible, but Sirius’s grip tightened just slightly in response. His hand rubbed soothing circles into your fur, but it did nothing to still the trembling in your tiny frame.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively. "What better way to teach the students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A bit of hands-on experience! Why, I bet Hagrid would love to assist!" His eyes sparkled even more.

"I’ll have word sent to Kettleburn today! We’ll feature her by next week’s lesson—oh, just imagine the students’ faces!"

Your ears flattened, and you shoved your little head into Sirius’s chest, burrowing as deep as you could. His hand cupped around you protectively, but the panic was setting in fast, thoughts racing through your mind faster than you could grasp them.

What if they find out? What if I can’t change back? What if I get stuck in some sort of magical creature sanctuary, away from all of them—away from—

Sirius’s voice rumbled through his chest, grounding you just a little. "Professor," he started, his voice uncharacteristically firm, "I’m afraid Flicker’s a bit... delicate. Not really suited for large crowds."

Slughorn chuckled heartily. "That’s what lessons are for, Mr. Black! Handling delicate creatures with care and understanding. Oh, it’s going to be marvelous!" He clapped Sirius on the shoulder before turning on his heel, humming some sort of jovial tune as he strode out of the Great Hall, velvet robes swishing grandly behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finally, James broke it. "We’re doomed," he said flatly, leaning back in his chair with a look of pure resignation.

Remus ran a hand down his face. "Paraded in front of the entire school. Kettleburn. Hagrid. Merlin knows who else. This is a disaster."

You whimpered again, burrowing deeper into Sirius’s lap, and his hands came up to cradle you instinctively. "Shh, shh," he whispered, voice softer now, soothing. "We’ll fix it. Won’t we, Prongs?"

James straightened, though his expression was still somewhere between disbelief and reluctant determination. "We have to. If Slughorn sends word to Kettleburn... we’re out of options."

You peeked out from the crook of his arm, eyes wide and unblinking, searching their faces for something—anything—that resembled a plan. But there was only grim silence and the occasional fidget of hands nervously tapping against the table.

Remus met your gaze, his eyes softening. "We won’t let anything happen to you, Flicker. I promise."

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the echo of Slughorn’s cheerful humming still lingered in the air, and all you could think about was Kettleburn’s wild grin as he prepared the next "practical lesson."

As the day stretched on, time seemed to move both too quickly and impossibly slow, each tick of the clock echoing louder in your ears. It wasn’t long before you were being passed around like some kind of peculiar trinket, hidden beneath folds of cloaks and tucked carefully into backpacks.

When Sirius had you, you were draped across his lap, his long fingers running absently through your fur as if you were merely a luxurious accessory, a living piece of velvet that purred and nestled against his hands. He would lean back in his chair during Transfiguration, feet kicked up on the desk, and idly scratch behind your ears as McGonagall’s voice droned on about advanced transformation techniques.

"Comfortable, Flicker?" he’d whisper, voice low enough that only you could hear. His grin would spread slow and lazy, eyes glimmering with mischief.

"Not a bad life, is it? Carried around by the handsomest bloke in school, pampered and adored... could be worse."

You would huff in response, pawing at his chest in protest, though you had to admit there was some comfort in the warmth of his lap and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your paws.

Sirius would chuckle at your weak protests, smoothing his hand down your back as if to coax the tension from your little frame. "There, there," he’d murmur. "You’re safe with me."

But when classes changed and the halls began to flood with students, you were hastily scooped up and deposited into James's arms. He’d cradle you close, barely breaking stride as he navigated the bustling corridors with effortless confidence.

His arms were strong and sure, and you had to admit there was something oddly reassuring about the way he held you—like you were something precious, something that needed protecting.

"All right there, Flicker?" he’d ask with a grin, glancing down at you nestled against his chest. You’d blink up at him, wide-eyed and a little dazed from the constant shuffling, and he’d laugh, that bright, boyish sound that echoed down the stone hallways. "Didn’t think you’d be having such an eventful week, did you?"

You wanted to snort, to roll your eyes, but the movement would draw attention, so instead, you nestled deeper into his arms, hiding your face beneath your tiny paws. He just chuckled, reaching up to brush a thumb along your head. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Just a little longer. Promise."

And so it went. Hour by hour, class by class, you were shuffled between them like some bizarre game of pass-the-parcel. In Charms, Remus would tuck you neatly into his satchel, a flap left carefully open so you could poke your head out and watch Flitwick wave his wand with enthusiastic little bursts of sparks.

You would feel the rumble of Remus’s voice as he answered questions with that effortless intelligence of his, and every so often, his hand would dip into the bag to scratch behind your ears absentmindedly.

"Don’t worry," he’d whisper to you when Flitwick’s back was turned. "We won’t let anyone see. You’re safe." His eyes would soften, the kind of warmth there that made your tiny heart stutter.

But the worst was yet to come.

The days passed in a blur of stolen glances and whispered reassurances, the Marauders seamlessly passing you between them with the kind of practiced ease that made it almost feel natural.

You were hidden in the folds of Sirius’s cloak during Transfiguration, nestled in Remus's satchel during Charms, and cradled against James’s chest as he barreled through the hallways with his usual reckless enthusiasm. It was strange, existing as something fragile and small, something to be protected—but it was safe, and for now, that was enough.

By the third day, you had almost begun to relax, lulled into a fragile sense of security by their careful handling and the way they always seemed to know just where to tuck you away from prying eyes. They joked and laughed like it was all a grand adventure, and for fleeting moments, you almost believed it too.

But the fourth day—the fourth day came with a sense of foreboding that settled in your bones the moment the morning sun filtered through the high windows of the common room. You woke curled up in Sirius’s lap, his hands gently combing through your fur as he murmured nonsense to you, the flicker of the fire casting warm shadows across his face.

“Big day today, Flicker,” he whispered, his voice too soft, too careful. He was trying to hide it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers faltered just slightly as they traced gentle circles behind your ears. You poked your head up, blinking sleepily at him, and he gave you a grin that was just a little too wide. “Slughorn’s got a bit of a surprise for us.”

James snorted from across the room, lacing up his shoes with quick, efficient movements. “More like a surprise for you, Pads. You’re the one who decided to parade her around like a trophy.”

Sirius shot him a look, one hand curling protectively around your back. “Oh, come off it. It’s not like I planned for him to catch sight of her.” He glanced back down at you, his grin softening. “Besides, Flicker here’s tougher than she looks. Right, love?”

You squeaked in response, pressing your paws against his chest as if to say I am most definitely not tougher than I look. Remus chuckled from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and expression wry. “Pretty sure she just called you a liar, Pads.”

“Oh, she’s always dramatic.” Sirius leaned back, letting you nestle into the crook of his arm. “She’ll be fine. We’ll be right there with her.”

But his words did little to ease the gnawing pit of anxiety growing in your stomach. You tried to curl up tighter, burying your head beneath your paws, but Sirius only scooped you up and set you gently into James’s waiting hands. “C’mon, Flicker. Time to be brave.”

You weren’t sure if bravery was something you could muster, but you had no choice. They bundled you up carefully, wrapped in Sirius’s scarf and tucked against James’s chest as they made their way through the winding corridors of the castle.

Students bustled past, chattering and laughing, completely oblivious to the small red panda being smuggled through the halls. For a moment, you almost wished you were one of them—unbothered, unaware, living in blissful ignorance of the chaos waiting just beyond the classroom door.

But when the heavy wooden doors to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom creaked open, all that false security crumbled into dust.

By the time Thursday morning rolled around, the anxiety had settled deep in your bones. You'd been shuffled from one Marauder to the next all week, crammed into bags, hidden under cloaks, and even smuggled into the dorms when Filch wasn't looking. But none of that compared to what awaited you in Care of Magical Creatures.

Slughorn was practically vibrating with excitement as students gathered around. He stood at the front of the room, his arms spread wide as if he were introducing a royal guest.

"Alright, class!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together with a flourish. "Today is a rather special occasion! We have a guest!"

You felt Sirius’s hand tighten around you as you sat curled up in his arms. “Alright, Star of the Show,” he murmured with a grin. “Ready to steal the spotlight?”

James leaned over, barely hiding his excitement. “She’s gonna make history. Hogwarts’ first red panda mascot.”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Or Hogwarts’ first red panda incident. Either way, it’s going to be memorable.”

Slughorn gestured grandly to where you were very much not trying to escape Sirius's grip. "Everyone, gather 'round! Today, we are honored—absolutely honored—to be introduced to Flicker, the Marauders' very own red panda!"

A ripple of whispers spread through the class, heads craning and eyes widening as Sirius, looking like he’d just won the lottery, sauntered forward and placed you on the front desk. You immediately flattened yourself against the surface, eyes darting nervously as dozens of faces leaned in.

“Blimey,” Marlene whispered, nudging Mary. “Did they actually steal it from a zoo?”

Sirius smirked. “Rescued. We like to think of it as a noble cause.”

James nodded solemnly. “She was in dire need of Marauder protection. A proper adoption, really.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And what exactly does a red panda need protecting from?”

“Everything,” Remus replied dryly. “Including this class, apparently.”

Slughorn looked positively enchanted, his eyes practically twinkling as he leaned down to inspect you. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! Such an exotic creature! And so tame! Have you named her?”

“Flicker,” Sirius announced proudly.

“Flicker,” Slughorn repeated, beaming. “How charming! I must say, I’ve never seen one so calm in captivity before.”

James bit back a laugh. “Calm. Right. Definitely calm.”

Slughorn, oblivious to the chaos that usually followed you, straightened up and addressed the class. “Now, students, let’s observe her behavior. Does anyone know what red pandas usually eat?”

Sirius shot a sly look at James. “Mostly biscuits and James’s Transfiguration notes.”

James looked affronted. “Oi! That was one time!”

Remus cleared his throat. “Twice. She ate your notes on Animagus transformations too.”

Slughorn clapped his hands again. “Well, we certainly don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Let’s see how she behaves if we give her some space. Mr. Black, would you mind setting her on the floor?”

You tensed immediately, looking up at Sirius in pure betrayal. Set you down? In a classroom full of curious students?

Sirius patted your head gently. “It’s alright, love. Go on, show them how well-behaved you are.”

He placed you carefully on the floor, and immediately, you froze, unsure whether to bolt or hide. The entire class was watching you expectantly, and you could feel your little heart pounding.

“Well...go on, then!” Slughorn encouraged. “Let’s see her move around!”

Marlene whispered, “Is she supposed to do something?”

Sirius leaned back, all confidence. “She’s planning. A strategic genius, our Flicker. You’ll see.”

James nodded sagely. “Yeah, you have to give her a minute to assess her surroundings. Very methodical.”

Remus hid a smile. “Or she’s just terrified.”

Finally, you took a cautious step forward, sniffing the air. A girl giggled. “She’s so tiny! I didn’t know red pandas were this small.”

Sirius shot her a wink. “She’s compact. Portable chaos.”

Just then, Slughorn leaned down a bit too close for comfort, and you did the only reasonable thing for a red panda—darted between his legs and made a break for the nearest table.

“Oh!” Slughorn exclaimed, nearly toppling over. “Quick! Someone—”

James casually leaned against the desk. “Nah, she’s fine. Probably just checking for treats.”

Lily couldn’t help but snort. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

You finally settled under one of the desks, peeking out from behind a leg as if daring anyone to come closer. Sirius just grinned proudly. “Look at her. Master of stealth.”

Slughorn, now slightly disheveled, composed himself. “Well! It appears she’s rather spirited indeed! Perhaps we can use this opportunity to discuss animal behavior and instincts.”

James raised his hand, overly enthusiastic. “Oh, I know! She’s exhibiting classic...uh...panda instincts. You know, finding small, enclosed spaces to...strategize.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “James, that’s not a thing.”

Sirius was already heading over to coax you out, crouching down with a biscuit in his hand. “Alright, Flicker. C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging here. Be a good girl.”

With a huff, you slowly edged forward, cautiously nibbling on the offered treat while keeping a wary eye on Slughorn.

Slughorn seemed satisfied, nodding wisely. “A fascinating creature, indeed. I shall have to look into care instructions for next week. Perhaps even arrange a guest lecture with Professor Kettleburn!”

You froze mid-chew, and Sirius shot James a look of pure panic. “Next week?”

James mouthed back, You deal with it.

Remus just sighed, already making mental notes on how to stage a panda disappearance before the next class.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, the entire castle seemed to sigh with relief. You had survived a week of smuggling, hiding, and narrowly avoiding catastrophe as a very chaotic red panda, and now the Marauders had one final mission: turning you back.

The Room of Requirement was dimly lit with soft, golden light, the enchanted ceiling glittering with stars that twinkled like distant, gentle promises.

You sat in the center of the room, curled up comfortably on a cushion Sirius had insisted you have. Around you, the boys were gathered—James with his wand out, Sirius cross-legged and practically vibrating with anticipation, and Remus standing just in front of you, wand poised but gaze soft and steady.

“Well,” Sirius began, drumming his fingers against his knees, “It’s been a good run, Flicker. I daresay you’re the best-looking red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.”

James snorted, flicking a stray leaf out of your fur. “I mean, she’s also the only red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.” He paused, grinning. “But still. You wore it well.”

Remus crouched down to meet your eyes, his expression gentle. “You ready?” he asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the top of your head. His touch was soothing, his palm warm against your fur.

You stared up at him, your little heart beating just a bit faster, and then you nodded—or, well, you thought you nodded.

Sirius gasped. “Did you see that? She nodded! Merlin, she’s even cute when she’s agreeing to get zapped.”

James elbowed him. “It’s not zapping, Padfoot. It’s reversing. There’s a difference.”

“Both involve magic and potential explosions,” Sirius replied cheerfully.

“Enough,” Remus said, shaking his head with a fond smile. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

You held your breath as he raised his wand, his voice steady and clear. “Reverto Corpus.”

A warm, glowing light shot from the tip of his wand, enveloping you in a shimmering haze. It wasn’t like the last time—this time, it was gentle, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. You could feel the shift, your bones stretching, your fur retreating, and for a moment, everything was weightless and light.

When the magic faded, you were there, back to your human form, sitting in the center of the cushion with your hair tousled and your eyes wide with surprise.

You blinked once, twice—then looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers as if you couldn’t quite believe they were back.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the boys staring at you as if you were some sort of mirage. And then, all at once—

“Y/N!” they shouted in unison, voices overlapping with pure, unrestrained joy.

Before you could even catch your breath, you were pulled to your feet and swallowed in a blur of arms and warmth. James reached you first, nearly lifting you off your feet as he wrapped you in a bear hug, squeezing so tightly you almost forgot how to breathe. “You’re back!” he exclaimed, voice muffled against your hair.

“Properly back! Merlin, I missed your stupid face.”

“You missed my face?” you wheezed, squished against his chest. “I missed my hands! You have no idea how annoying it is to eat with paws!”

James laughed, pulling back just enough to beam down at you, his glasses slightly askew and eyes bright with happiness. “You did look pretty adorable, though. All fuzzy and helpless.”

“Helpless?” you echoed, incredulous. “I bit Sirius twice!”

“And I still have the scar,” Sirius announced proudly, shoving James aside with a dramatic flourish. His hands cupped your face, eyes raking over you like he was memorizing every feature. “There she is,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“There’s my favorite troublemaker.”

You grinned up at him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Missed me, huh? You only wanted me back so I wouldn’t chew up your shoes again.”

“Hey!” Sirius scoffed, lips curving into a grin. “That was one time, and they were brand new!”

You laughed, bright and unrestrained, and Sirius leaned down without warning to press a loud, smacking kiss to your lips. “There,” he said, his grin widening. “Just in case you missed those too.”

“Absolutely didn’t,” you replied, wiping your lips dramatically. “Ugh, now I’m probably cursed.”

“Oi!” he laughed, shoving you gently. “I’ll have you know I’m very hygienic.”

“Right,” you teased. “That’s why Remus has to confiscate your cologne every week.”

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest. “Et tu, Flicker?”

Remus was next, his approach softer, his eyes searching yours with a kind of disbelief. He stepped forward slowly, like you might disappear if he moved too fast.

His hands came up to cradle your face gently, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re alright?” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “No lingering side effects? No sudden urges to climb trees?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I make no promises about the trees.”

His smile grew wider, and before you could say another word, his arms were around you, pulling you close. His chin rested on your shoulder, and his voice was softer, just for you.

“Missed you so so much, dovey” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity.

You held him just as tightly, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed him in. “I missed you too, Remmy” you whispered. “Even if you did laugh when I fell off the bookshelf.”

“That was objectively funny,” he murmured against your hair, and you could feel him smiling.

You swatted his shoulder playfully as you pulled back. “Next time I’m a red panda, I’m clawing your jumper.”

James clapped his hands together, practically bouncing on his feet. “Alright, I say we celebrate! Three butterbeers, on me!”

“You mean on my tab,” Sirius corrected, raising an eyebrow.

James waved him off. “Details.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room and spilling into the walls like sunlight. You hadn’t realized how much you missed your own voice until it was back. Until they were all here, crowding around you with so much love and warmth you almost couldn’t breathe.

Sirius draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like you belonged there. “Well, now that you’re back, I guess we have to start sneaking you properly into the common room again.”

“Please don’t suggest a disguise,” Remus groaned. “I’m not turning her back into a panda just so you can live out your fantasy of owning an exotic pet.”

Sirius grinned, entirely unbothered. “Admit it, you miss her climbing into your lap.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

James raised his hands dramatically. “A toast! To Flicker—who lives on forever in our hearts, even though she was rubbish at staying hidden!”

“Hey!” you cried, laughing. “I was stealthy! You lot just dragged me everywhere!”

“Semantics,” Sirius said with a wink.

And as they led you out of the Room of Requirement, arms draped around your shoulders and laughter filling the halls, you couldn’t help but think, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

#colouredbyd #marauders era #marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader fluff #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin angst #poly!marauders fic #dead gay wizards from the 70s #marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader fluff #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fluff #james potter fluff #sirius black fluff #marauders drabble #sirius black x reader fluff #james potter x reader fluff

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, more angst (IM SORRY IT'LL GET BETTER SOON I PROMISE).

Notes — Welcome to Oracle Red Bull Racing, Amelia Brown.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2020

The office was quiet in the way only offices designed for genius could be; not sterile, but reverent. Drafting boards and CAD monitors hummed quietly in the background, interrupted only by the soft tick of a mechanical clock that someone had insisted on keeping analogue.

Amelia sat stiffly in the chair opposite Adrian Newey.

He was perched on a stool beside a massive whiteboard, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained faintly with pen ink, as though he’d been sketching ideas directly into the fabric of his shirt. His presence was oddly... nerve-racking.

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.

Amelia rolled her golf ball between her hands in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee. Adrian made a few marks on a fresh sheet of paper, muttering under his breath. It sounded like a stream of formulaic gibberish to anyone else. To her, it was almost a lullaby.

He paused. Looked at her. “Do you have any thoughts?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear them.”

Adrian hummed, and then there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will always listen. I will also always tell you when you are wrong.”

She swallowed, then nodded. Then she gestured to his paper pad. “You’re already sketching the '21 nosecone?”

“Yes. The frontal vortex targets under the new regs are… absolutely maddening. They’ll make cooling a nightmare.” He muttered.

She shifted forward, almost involuntarily. “Mm. Not if you separate the low-pressure bleed early and feed it into the underside of the side-pod. It could trick the wake into thinking it’s interacting with a full-body airflow.”

He went very still.

“Interesting,” he said slowly, standing and crossing to the nearest drafting board. He didn’t ask her to explain it again. He just started drawing. She stood too, walking around the conference table in order to stand at his side. Without looking at her, he handed her a pen.

She made a face at it. “I like red.”

He didn’t say anything. Just took the black pen back and found her a red one.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, they had filled three boards, made seven sketches, and the early formation of a concept that wouldn’t just survive under the 2021 regs; it would thrive.

They hadn’t spoken much, not conversationally. Just fragments.

“This doesn’t breathe well at speed.”

“What if we taper the upper control arm here instead?”

“Why does this remind me of the '98 car?”

But somehow, it worked.

By mid-afternoon, Adrian glanced up at her from the schematic they were both hunched over.

“You think in shapes,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You think in sound.”

He smiled, and it was full of promise. “We will make a wonderful pair, Miss Brown.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Oh. Good. I was afraid that you would regret spending three million pounds on me.”

He stared at her for a long moment before laughing shortly. “No regret, Miss Brown. Not a single one.”

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel anxious. Or lonely. Or burning with the guilt of abandoning McLaren, the team that was synonymous with her family name.

She tucked the golf ball back into her pocket. “I’ll draw up a more formal aero flow map tonight.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, flipping to a new page. “We’ll build it first. Then reverse-engineer the explanation.”

She grinned, sharp and fast and excited. “We can do that?”

“We can do anything we want.” He told her.

—

Christian pushed open the door to the technical office with the kind of hesitant curiosity reserved for someone who was pretty sure they’d told everyone to go home six hours ago.

The light was still on.

At first, he thought maybe the cleaners had left it by mistake. But as he stepped inside, the faint scratch of pencil on paper, the rustle of blueprints, and the hum of two very intense brains in quiet dialogue stopped him dead in his tracks.

Adrian was barefoot now, barefoot, perched on a wheeled chair with one leg pulled up under him like some kind of engineering gremlin, holding a scale model in one hand and gesturing toward it with the other, mid-monologue.

Amelia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a yellow golf ball tucked beneath her heel, grease-smudged notebook balanced on her knee, jotting notes at lightning speed while murmuring confirmations like, “Yeah, but the boundary layer separation’s going to collapse here—unless we change the outwash angle…”

Neither of them noticed Christian standing in the doorway.

The room was covered in paper. The whiteboards had no white left. Someone, probably Adrian, had scrawled equations on the glass wall. There was a half-eaten croissant on the radiator. Half of the work was done in black ink. The other half was done in red.

He took one silent step backward.

Paused.

Then slowly, quietly, pulled the door closed behind him.

From inside, he could just barely hear Adrian’s voice, “Did I ever tell you about the time I built a full wind tunnel model out of my wife’s hairdryer and a vacuum tube?”

Amelia sucked in a breath. “Did it work?”

“It blew the roof off my shed.”

She laughed, genuinely, full of lightness.

Christian exhaled and reached for his phone.

—

iMessage — 00:45am

Christian Horner

We are going to become world champions.

Helmut Marko

How can you know?

Christian Horner

Newey is barefoot. His intern is laughing.

Helmut Marko

Mein Gott.

—

The drive home from Milton Keynes had been quiet; just the low hiss of the car heater and the soft murmur of the radio.

It had been her first week working at Red Bull Racing. She’d stayed in Max’s flat, the one he kept in Milton Keynes but only used when he was in town for sim sessions.

The high of her first week was still humming under her skin; the buzz of purpose, of being understood, but underneath that, exhaustion tugged at her bones. She felt stretched thin. Too much stimulus, too many new faces.

But the moment she stepped through the front door, into the warm, lemon-honey air of the house she’d grown up in, none of that mattered.

Her mum was in the kitchen, back turned, humming softly to the radio.

Amelia didn’t say anything.

She dropped her bag quietly, kicked off her shoes, walked straight over and folded herself into her mother’s arms from behind, pressing her forehead between her shoulder blades, breathing her in.

Tracy stilled. Just for a moment. Then she reached back, tugging Amelia around until she could hold her properly; one hand at the back of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders, thumb rubbing slow circles into her jumper.

“Hello, darling,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

Amelia pressed closer, her cheek against her mum’s collarbone. “I missed you too.”

They stood there like that for a long time, the hum of the radio filling the silence between them, a wooden spoon tapping gently against the edge of a pan.

“I saw the article,” Tracy said eventually, voice soft. “And the photos.”

Amelia tensed.

Another piece had gone live, following the Motorsport.com exclusive. Red Bull had shared her official announcement — complete with photographs of her in team gear, standing in the middle of Max and Alex.

Tracy didn’t let her pull away. “You looked very professional. And happy.”

“I am,” she said, too fast. Then again, slower. “I am. I just… I’m wishing that he wouldn’t make it so hard.”

Tracy sighed into her hair. “Your father’s not angry with you, love. Not really. He’s angry with himself. He had no idea that you were even receiving offers, let alone considering any.”

Amelia swallowed. Shrugged. “He didn’t want me at McLaren. He never offered. I gave him every chance to.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Tracy pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “And you were right not to wait forever. You did the brave thing. You put yourself first. I’m proud of you.”

Amelia blinked fast. “I’m not used to that,” she admitted. “Putting myself first. It feels… selfish.”

Tracy brushed a strand of damp hair from her face. “No. Not selfish. It’s how you grow. You’re building race cars with Adrian bloody Newey. That’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

Amelia smiled, weakly. “They call me Mini Newey. All of the engineers. Christian. Max thinks that it’s funny.”

Tracy chuckled, pulling her into a tight squeeze again. “They should call you Better Newey.”

That pulled a real laugh out of her, small and sore and soft.

“Now,” Tracy said, letting her go, “go change into your favourite pyjamas and let me feed you. I bet you haven’t eaten a real meal all week.”

“I’ve been living on machine coffee and stale pastries,” Amelia admitted, already peeling off her jumper.

Tracy shuddered. “Criminal behaviour. Go on, love. I’ll have dinner on the table in ten.”

As Amelia padded toward the stairs, warmth blooming in her chest, she heard her mum call gently after her. “He’ll come around. He loves you too much not to.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded once, before disappearing up the stairs.

—

iMessage — 01:43am

Lando Norris did u leave bc of me like. mclaren it’s okay if u did i just. i just need to know feels like maybe u did and idk. i feel shit also this is prob a bad time. i had like 5 beers and a shot of smth blue was v blue. tasted like acid

Amelia Brown No. Not because of you. You don’t matter to me that much.

Lando Norris ouch ok but like partly bc of me?

Amelia Brown Not everything is about you, Lando.

Lando Norris but some things are

Amelia Brown You started ignoring me. For no reason. Then I got a job designing a future championship-winning car. Those two things are unrelated.

Lando Norris when did u become so meannnn :(

Amelia Brown I’m not being mean. You’re just used to me being quiet when people treat me badly.

Lando Norris i didn’t mean to treat u badly i just panicked everything was getting weird and real and i didn’t know what to say

Amelia Brown So you said nothing. That’s still a choice.

Lando Norris yeah. i know. i’m sorry i miss u sometimes just thought u should know that

Amelia Brown That doesn’t change anything.

Lando Norris yeah i figured ok

Amelia Brown Go home. You are going to feel terrible tomorrow morning.

Lando Norris already do thanks i guess goodnight mini newey

Amelia Brown Don’t call me that

—

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop open in front of her, the Red Bull Racing CAD interface glowing on the screen. Max was half-stretched out on the couch behind her, a bowl of strawberries balanced on his stomach and a bottle of Heineken in hand.

“Okay,” Amelia said, tapping the trackpad. “Front wing redesign is about eighty percent locked. We’re still playing with DRS and airflow under braking, but I think what we’ve got is going to make the car ridiculously sharp into corners.”

Max took a sip of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Ridiculously sharp sounds nice.” He noted.

“It’ll bite if you get lazy,” she warned him.

He shrugged. “So, just like you.”

Amelia didn’t even look up at him. Over the past few weeks of working with him, she’d learned how to decipher his tones — he was teasing her. “I’m not lazy. You’d die without me.”

He tossed a strawberry at her. She caught it and took a bite.

She turned back to her laptop, sighed, and opened up the email thread that she and Adrian had going.

Max cleared his throat. “Ah, have you talked to your dad yet?”

Amelia’s fingers froze over the trackpad. “No.”

Max nodded. “He’s still not talking to you?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’.

“Your mom?” He questioned.

“She’s trying. He’s just… stubborn. You know what he’s like.” Amelia exhaled. “He thinks I betrayed him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know that now.” She rubbed her temple, leaned her head back against the couch. “But I also think I became inconvenient. It was easier when I was just the kid who wanted to build toy cars in the corner. Now I’m—”

“Mini Newey,” Max offered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She groaned. “Max, stop.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are, though. And you’re building my car, so I’m not complaining.” A pause. “Have you talked to Norris?”

Amelia blinked slowly, then shut her laptop with a quiet snap. “He messaged me two weeks ago. Drunk. Asked if I left McLaren because of him.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. “He just… doesn’t get it. He thinks that everything is about him.”

Max laughed. “He’s nineteen. His brain is still soft.”

“I’m also nineteen,” she muttered, tipping her head back against the couch to look up at him. “I think he’s just emotionally illiterate.”

Max blinked, then grinned. “Tell him that to his face. I’d pay to see it.”

“You’re not a world champion yet,” she shot back. “You don’t get to make demands like that.”

He leaned in, until their faces were almost level. “I will be. And when I am, I’ll buy you a stupidly expensive watch for every podium we get.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that now.”

“Mark my words,” he said, puffing his chest in mock pride.

They sat there for a while — not quite friends, not just colleagues. Something in-between. Teammates in the truest sense. Bound by a shared obsession: a championship. A car so fast it betrayed the law of physics.

“I miss him,” she said quietly.

Max exhaled through his nose, slow and even. “He’s a nice boy. Stupid, but nice.”

“I know.” Her voice was barely a breath.

—

iMessage — 18:15

Fernando Alonso How has your first month at RB been? Do I need to make any angry phone calls?

Amelia Brown It’s been great. Everything’s going better than I could’ve imagined. I’m already making progress. Adrian and I work really well together.

Fernando Alonso I told you so, did I not? You two are very alike!

Amelia Brown It’s a perfect fit, actually. I feel like I’m finally being heard.

Fernando Alonso Good, good. I knew it. You made the right choice. And now, you’re three million pounds richer. That helps too.

Amelia Brown Haha, yes. Very much. I would've probably taken £5, so, thank you for handling the negotiation for me.

Fernando Alonso Mi Nina, for your talents, they would have paid three billion.

Amelia Brown I miss you so much. When are you coming to visit?

Fernando Alonso Soon. I’ve got some meetings in London next month.

Amelia Brown Anything exciting?

Fernando Alonso You’ll be the first to know if there is.

Amelia Brown :)

—

Lando stood with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched, posture defensive. Across the polished meeting table, Zak leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor like it might offer him an answer he hadn’t already lost.

The silence had stretched too long.

“She’s really gone, huh?” Lando finally muttered.

Zak didn’t look up. “Yes.”

Lando blinked hard. He wasn’t sure what he expected; some kind of denial, maybe. Some reassurance that there was still a version of this where she came back. That maybe Red Bull was just a phase. A test. Something to prove a point.

“She left a hole here,” Zak said eventually. “Not just in the team. In the culture. She was…” he paused, trying to find a word that wouldn’t sound too sentimental. “I didn’t realise how important she was to the team. How much she was involved in.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. “We all let her down.”

Zak looked at him then. Really looked at him. “You liked her.”

It wasn’t a question. Not judgment, either. Just a fact. Like pointing out a flat tire or a burning building.

Lando flinched. “Yeah. I really liked her.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to us,” Zak said quietly. “Any of us. You should’ve fought for her.”

“I couldn’t.” Lando’s voice was sharp, brittle. “I was scared. And stupid.”

Zak let out a rough, humourless laugh. “And I was selfish. I never gave her the recognition she deserved.” He paused. “She was the brain behind the Mercedes deal.”

Lando’s head jerked up, eyes wide.

Zak’s voice dropped, heavy with something close to guilt. “She pulled it all together, handed it to me in a file with start-to-finish instruction. Never asked for credit. I knew she wanted more, deserved more, but I didn’t give it to her. Not because she wasn’t ready. Because I wasn’t brave enough.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I didn’t want to be the one who gave her a shot, because I knew what people would say. Nepotism. Favouritism. They’d talk about her name before they ever looked at her work. And I thought I was protecting her from that.” He shook his head. “But I wasn’t. I was just holding her back.”

Lando stared at him. Silent.

There it was.

The ugly truth of it all.

Lando swallowed thickly. “She was never going to stay.”

“No,” Zak said. “No. I don’t think so.”

Lando ran a hand over his face.

She had belonged here once. She had. And they’d both let her feel like she didn’t.

Now she was designing the future with the enemy.

And they just had to sit back and watch it happen.

—

The paddock buzzed with the usual pre-season chaos; the rhythmic whirr of engines, the sharp sound of tires scraping against the asphalt, and the chatter of team members huddled in tight circles.

Amelia stood near the Red Bull garage, her posture stiff but her eyes alert, scanning the familiar sea of cars and faces.

It was the start of the 2020 season, and everything felt both familiar and brand new. The sharp smell of fuel lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of freshly waxed cars. But this time, she wasn’t in McLaren orange or one of her father’s old team shirts; this time, she was in Red Bull team gear. Black and dark blue with that iconic bull on her chest, the Red Bull Racing logo proud on her back.

And tucked around her neck, a pair of navy blue Red Bull ear defenders.

She glanced to her left. Max was chatting animatedly with Christian, the two of them gesturing towards the car as the crew worked around it. Adrian was nearby, bent over a laptop, his face creased in concentration. Amelia would soon be next to him, diving into the data and throwing out her ideas. But for a moment, she lingered at the edge of the paddock, trying to ease herself into this new, new, new.

Amelia’s gaze drifted toward the McLaren garage, even though she knew she shouldn’t be looking. There was Lando, standing with her dad, his usual smile present but different. Amelia tried not to flinch.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her ear defenders, the cool plastic grounding her, just a little. She had left her golf ball in her office, determined not to need it.

Her eyes flicked back to the Red Bull car, sleek and aggressive in its design. It was more than just metal and carbon fiber. It was partly her work, her heart and soul poured into something tangible.

And then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a camera crew approaching her.

Her stomach dropped.

The journalist’s voice reached her first, though she barely registered the words. “Amelia, first season with Red Bull Racing. You’ve been working behind the scenes for a while, but now you're here, in the paddock, in full Red Bull gear. How does it feel to be wearing navy blue now, after spending so much time with your father’s team, McLaren?”

Before she could formulate any kind of response, a familiar presence appeared beside her. Max.

He stepped in without hesitation, his body language calm and protective as he leaned slightly into her space. His gaze shifted to the interviewer, who looked briefly excited at the new addition.

"Need an out?" Max asked her, his voice low enough only for her to hear. His stance was relaxed, but there was something in the way he held himself; a quiet assurance that, if she needed him to, he would get her away.

The camera crew hovered expectantly, but Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t let the pressure reach her. He stayed right there, like a grounding force beside her.

"Amelia?" The interviewer prompted, waiting for her response.

Max’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. “Say whatever feels right,” he murmured, offering her a smile that was small but understanding. “You don’t owe them anything.”

For a moment, Amelia felt the tension drain from her. This wasn’t a performance. She didn’t have to give them the perfect soundbite. She could speak her truth, on her own terms.

She took a deep breath and, feeling Max still there, solid and supportive beside her, looked directly at the interviewer.

“It feels powerful,” she said simply, her voice steady but soft. It was the truth. For the first time, it felt like she was owning her decisions, not just navigating them. Powerful because this was her journey now. Because, despite everything, she was in total control.

The interviewer didn’t push for more, probably sensing the finality in her words. But the moment lingered for a second longer, like they were all collectively taking a breath.

Max gave her a subtle nod of approval, his lips twitching into a smirk.

And, just as quickly, the two of them turned and started walking away, the cameras still rolling behind them, but it didn’t matter. Amelia’s shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting, and her feet carried her toward the garage.

—

iMessage — 19:51

Lando Norris I’m sorry. I know that’s not good enough but I am I’m really sorry. And I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I’m not being sarcastic. You looked beautiful on camera. I’m glad Max was there with you. I wish it had been me.

Amelia Brown Congratulations on the podium finish, Lando.

—

The morning sun was bright over the circuit as Max and Amelia walked into the F3 paddock. Amelia was wearing a denim dress. Max, in his typical laid-back skinny jeans and plain shirt, had his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap perched low over his eyes. He was always eager to watch the younger drivers, always curious about who might be the next big thing in motorsport.

She was more used to the engineering side of things, but she’d been a fan of motorsport in general since she was a child. The thrill of being here just to watch was amazing.

They settled into the VIP viewing platform. The race kicked off with an energy that seemed to buzz in the air. Engines roared and the young drivers raced past, navigating the tight turns and high-speed straights with a determination that made Amelia feel the thrill of the sport she’d always loved.

As the race unfolded, Amelia’s eyes were drawn to car 81; Oscar Piastri. The young Australian was carving through the field with an almost eerie calm, moving up with a precision that belied his years. He raced like someone who had been here for ages, his every move instinctive yet calculated, as though he had been born for this.

Amelia felt that familiar pull. It was the same feeling she had gotten watching Lando in Formula Renault all those years ago — a sense that she was witnessing something special. Piastri surged ahead, eventually crossing the line first, claiming the win in the season opener.

“Damn,” Max muttered, impressed. “Kid’s fast.”

Amelia leaned in closer to the barrier, watching as Piastri celebrated with his team, their joy radiating from every hug and high-five. She turned to Max, who was watching her closely, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t get too attached,” he teased. “He’s not yours to claim yet.”

“I’m not trying to claim him,” she replied, her tone steady, though there was an undeniable certainty in her voice. “But I will. When the time comes. And I think...” She trailed off, watching Piastri for a moment longer. “It will come for him very soon.”

Max grinned, shaking his head fondly. “Always thinking ahead, kleine zus.”

Amelia’s eyes remained on the Australian driver, a quiet feeling settling deep in her chest. She couldn’t quite place it.

“His manager?” she asked, her gaze still on Oscar as he laughed with his team, the world around him seeming to pause for a moment.

“Mark Webber,” Max replied, his voice neutral, but his expression unreadable.

“Ah.” Amelia’s lips tipped upward into an amused smile. Mark Webber, who had been central to Red Bull's rise in the sport. She glanced sideways at Max, then back at Oscar. “Mark Webber,” she repeated, her voice soft. “It’s strange, isn't it? Fernando and Mark; rivals. And now, I’m working at Red Bull thanks to Fernando, and Oscar is under Mark’s wing.” She looked at Max, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Formula One is a funny place.”

Max grinned, clearly entertained by the thought. “You can make connections out of anything, can’t you?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the young driver in the distance. “I guess I do,” she said, her voice quieter now, a subtle sense of realisation setting in. “And somehow, they always seem to circle back to Red Bull.”

It was funny how Formula 1 worked that way: legacies, rivalries, and new beginnings always intertwined.

—

iMessage — 00:42am

Amelia Brown

Are you in Woking?

Lando Norris

Yes…?

Amelia Brown

I’m home alone. Come over. I am still angry at you, but I’m ready to talk to you now.

Lando Norris

Ok im omw like right now

NEXT CHAPTER

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no-name-omo · 23 hours ago

Note

Hello, I'd like to make a request for an older brother figure reader for Corin who also works for Victoria House Keeping as well. He whether they're actually blood related or not is up to you, but since they old based off old Movie monsters I was thinking that the reader could be base off of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The reader themselves is a rather calm, patient, and thoughtful individual who thinks things through before actually commiting to something. Due over exposure of Either it had a unique effect on the readers brain which caused the Mr. Hyde personality to manifest. This being is while can be equally as cordial tends to also be more violent and deceitful then the other half. I thought the dynamic would be interesting for Corin and on a bigger scale Victoria House keeping would have to deal with.

[A/N] Heyyy! If you're curious, I wrote a fic that goes more in-depth about this Reader. You can find that one and all of this Reader’s fics in The Gentleman and the Monster: Masterlist

[Type] Series / Head-Canon

[Summary] Corin spending time with her older brother figure the gentlemen and the monster aka split personality disorder

[Genre] fluff / reverse comfort / Angst / platonic

[Paring / Characters] Corin and m! Reader

[reader explain]

Corin Wickes

The Gentleman

🧸 Corin tripped mid-sentence while giving a report. You steadied her elbow before she hit the floor, barely reacting. “Easy there.” She grumbled something under her breath, and you just gave a quiet chuckle. “You don’t need to rush. We’ve got time.” That helped her breathe a little easier.

🧸 She brought you a fresh pair of gloves after training, neatly folded. “Y-you left your spares in the locker,” she said. You took them without ceremony, giving her a nod. “Thanks. Good eye.” She didn’t say much after that, but she hovered nearby, like she wanted to make sure you were okay.

🧸 You found her sitting in the supply room, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up when you stepped in. “I-i just ne-needed a minute.” You didn’t ask questions. You sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “Take all the time you need.” She nodded. That was enough.

🧸 Corin quietly followed you on inspection rounds. She didn’t speak until you handed her a clipboard. “You’ve got good instincts,” you said. She blinked, surprised. “M-me?” You glanced down at her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. Keep learning. You’ll get even better.” she beams with a smile as her pace matched yours after that; thanks to your support.

🧸The lounge was quiet for once. You sat on one end of the couch, reading over reports. Corin sat on the other, humming faintly as she stitched a tear in her apron. Neither of you spoke much, but the silence was comfortable; not empty. Every now and then, she’d glance over and hold up her progress, and you would compliment on her skills.

The Monster

🧸"Useless little brat," he sneers, circling her. "Always fumbling, always afraid. What makes you think you're worth protecting?" Corin stiffens. Her lips part, but no defense comes. Still, her eyes don’t leave him. “He never said that,” she whispers. “So I won’t believe it came from him.”

🧸He leans in, grinning wide. “Maybe I’ll rip that stupid teddy bear. Or would you rather I break you?” Corin flinches but doesn’t move. “You won’t,” she whispers. “Because he’d hate you for it.” Her knuckles are white, but her voice never wavers. He just chuckles in response.

🧸Blood drips from his arm, torn and raw. He laughs. “What’s one more scar? It’s not like he’ll remember.” Corin rushes forward, panicked. “S-stop hurting him!” Her hands hover over the wound, shaking. “You share a body, y-you don’t get to ruin it.”

🧸 The spiked whip cracked through the air, aimed squarely at her chest. She didn’t flinch. He grinned, too easy. But the strike froze inches from her, his hand trembling. “Tch… what the hell’s wrong with me?” he snarled.

🧸Fire licked at the ground as he laughed low, voice like embers. “Why do you stay, huh? Waiting for him to come back? That’s pathetic.” Corin stepped forward, fists clenched, voice shaking. “You’re the pathetic one. You need his strength just to existbut all you do is mock what you’ll never be, real”Her words hit. His grin cracked.

Zenless Zone Zero x reader taglist List: none

The Gentleman and the Monster taglines: none

#zzz x reader #zzz x y/n #zzz x you #zzzero x reader #zzzero #corin wickes #corin wickes x reader #corin x reader #corin zzz #zenless zone zero x you #zenlezz zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #zenless zone zero #male reader #m!reader

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justauthoring · 2 years ago

Note

I really like your Tokyo revengers He’s Taken scenario. What if it happened in reverse where someone told the boys that they would be a better fit for reader <3

TOKYO REVENGERS - UM, SHE'S TAKEN?

includes: manjiro "mikey" sano, hanma shuji, baji keisuke and kazutora hanemiya all include xfem!reader!

a/n: this is so late but i felt i should actually do a request for once :) and i always love me some jealous boys!

MIKEY:

The audacity of this man.

That was all Mikey could think.

Did he not know who he was? Did he not know who you were dating? The Invisible Mikey, Toman's Leader and the most handsome boy you knew?

Clearly not.

Frowning, Mikey watches with barely concealed disdain as your classmate (the one you’ve been complaining to him about for weeks now) follows you outside of the school. He couldn’t always pick you up from school with Toman business and the like, but today he’d made sure he’d be able to after you’d texted him the day before that your annoying classmate had proceeded to take his infatuation with you a step further and follow you out of school. It had taken you great convincing to get him not to ‘walk you home’ as he so eloquently put it – stalking more like it – and though you’d tried to play it off, Mikey knew how scared you were.

The second your eyes fall on Mikey making his way over to you, he sees the instant relief that floods through them. Despite everything, Mikey can't help but feel slightly smug at that, hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets as he crosses the distance over to you.

"Y/N-channn!" He calls out, arms stretched out towards you and with a single brief glance at the boy next to you, you all but race towards him, allowing yourself to fall into his arms. Mikey hates the way he feels you shake slightly beneath his fingertips, and he throws a not-so-subtle glare the classmates way, who – as he figured – is glaring right back at him.

"Y/N," the classmate calls, and Mikey's eyes narrow at his familiarity when regarding you. "Who's this?"

You lean back from his hug, and Mikey can see you look rather annoyed at the question – clearly, you've told him this before.

"Mikey," Mikey cuts in dryly, "her boyfriend."

And he must really not know who Mikey is because he has the gall to laugh.

"Boyfriend?" Haru laughs, mockingly and loudly, head thrown back as you cast a quick glance up at Mikey in uncertainy, trying to gauge he's reaction. Truthfully, Mikey looks unphased. "I thought you were joking about that, Y/N."

And then Haru steps forward, moving towards you; "I mean, you and me make a much better–"

It happens in a flash. Suddenly, you're no longer in Mikey's arms and rather set gently behind him, Mikey’s body blocking your view as Haru's hand that was outstretched towards you is now tightly grasped in Mikey's fist. A quick glance at Haru's face, and you can tell that Mikey's grip is tight, his face twisting with pain.

"Did I forget to mention?" Mikey smiles, "I'm also the leader of Toman."

Haru's eyes widen and he looks scared–well, shitless.

Mikey's grip tightens, finding the way all colour leaves Haru's face rather amusing and the way the panic wells with pain as Mikey bends his arm to the point of just being about to break.

"Now, what was that about you and Y/N-chan being a better match?"

"I was wrong!" Haru cries, voice pitching pathetically, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"Don't apologize to me," Mikey shrugs, "apologize to Y/N-chan for making her so uncomfortable for the past few weeks."

Slowly, Mikey takes a step back, allowing you to fall in the view of Haru again, who, near crying, falls to his knees. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

Cheeks red slightly in embarrassment, you turn to Mikey.

He lets go with ease, Haru falling to the ground with one last cry, before Mikey makes his way to you, pulling you back into his arms with a wide grin.

"Let's go eat!" Mikey calls out with a cheer, snuggling into you. "I want you to feed me!"

HANMA:

"I mean, you're no good for her."

There's a beat. One long, single beat of silence before Hanma can't hold himself back anymore and he burst into laughter.

You, whose stood next to him, looks at him in disbelief, eyes widening as Hanma all but cackles in response to Asahi's words. Asahi, to be fair, looks just a stunned, and with a frown, you step towards your boyfriend, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Shuji!" You hiss, grip tightening on him.

He falls quiet at that, letting his eyes drift across you briefly, taking in the worried look in your eyes and the laughter stops at that. Hanma lets his eyes fall back on this boy, Asahi apparently, and the frown deepens – you were scared of this guy? He looked like wind might blow him over.

Besides, didn't you trust him to protect you?

A single glance back at you, and you're still throwing worried glances at Asahi, shuffled close to his side.

Guess he had something else to prove then.

"That's funny," Hanma finally speaks up, letting his eyes fall on Asahi with disinterest. "Hilarious actually." But all the humour has left his body, and Hanma simply stares back at the boy with a straight face.

Asahi falters, just slightly.

"I-I mean, you're a deliquent!" He calls out, gesturning in front of him at Hanma, before his eyes fall on you. "I mean, surely you can see that being with him will be nothing but a bad influence. If you were–"

Hanma steps in front of you, blocking you effectively from him.

"You don't get to talk to her," Hanma states rather bluntly.

Asahi turns to him, lips parting.

"You're not worthy enough to talk to her, pipsqueak. So let's keep this between you and me, huh?"

The air changes, thickens, and although you can't see it, you can practically sense as Asahi grows nervous, registering the glint in Hanma's gaze as he stares him down.

"I mean, surely, if you knew I was a... what did you say? Delinquent." Hanma snorts, "you think you'd have the brains to realize I'm not someone to mess with. And I don't take kindly to idiots like you trying to tell me who my girl should or shouldn't be with."

Hanma takes a step forward then, towering over the boy whose skin has grown pale, eyes flooding with fear as he stares up at Hanma.

"I especially don't take kindly to you scaring my girl either."

"I-I–"

Grabbing Asahi by the collar of his jacket, Asahi falls silent as Hanma pulls him up until he's standing on the tip of his toes, kicking his feet beneath him.

"But it seems I screwed up too, huh? My girl shouldn't have to be afraid because she should know I'd never let anyone touch her, let alone look at her if they made her uncomfortable."

There's a pause and Hanma's gaze grows wild as his fist slowly raises beside him, Asahi's cries of panic and pleads of mercy simply a background noise.

"So it looks like I gotta show her why."

BAJI:

"You're loud."

Well, Baji guessed he couldn't necessarily argue with that.

"You're rash."

That, too... maybe.

"You're not very smart."

Uh, ouch.

"You act without thinking. It could get Y/N hurt."

Okay, well that was just rude.

You were always Baji's top priority.

Well, that and fighting. But, still.

"I think I'd be a much better fit for her."

Baji should've figured this is where the conversation was going. Letting his eyes drift across the boy stood in front of him, he takes in the sight of his Toman uniform. He doesn't readily recognize the boy, so he's certainly not in his division.

Ballsy, he'd admit.

But stupid nonetheless.

He's probably in Mitsuya's division, Baji laughs to himself.

Well, not for much longer.

"I'll take your silence as a sign you agree with me–"

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," Baji chuckles, grinning down widely at the boy. "What makes you think you're so great for Y/N? I know she's happy with me."

Lips parting, the boy pauses; "what?"

"You listed off all the reasons why you think I'm not a good fit for her, right?" He quirks a brow, and the boy nods. "So, tell me why you think you're a good match for her. You win, I'll break up with Y/N. And if you lose... well, needless to say." With a wide grin, Baji cracks his knuckles, baring his fists down at the boy.

The boys eyes widen, and he fumbles for a second, before he steels himself, inhaling deeply.

"Well, I'm smart, for one–"

"Wrong," Baji cuts in, "Y/N doesn't like smart guys. Why else would she have gone for me?"

Faltering, the boy shakes his head; "w-well, I'm a good cook–"

"Y/N prefers cooking herself," Baji shakes his head. "It's her passion."

Cheeks redenning, the boy rushes to add; "I-I'm! I'm strong!"

Baji just laughs; "not as strong as me. You're not even a vice captain of Toman!"

Thoroughly embarrassed, the boy hesitates, face bright red.

"Looks like you lose," Baji sings, stepping towards the boy. "I mean, if you really knew Y/N, you'd know the most important thing."

"W-What?"

"That none of that matters because she loves me!"

"You can't just–"

He never finishes what he's about to say before a fist makes contact with his cheek, knocking him off his feet and sending him straight to the ground.

Baji glances down at him with a blink.

"Strong my ass."

He makes a move toward him, before;

"Keisuke!"

Eyes lighting up, Baji spins, grinning at the sight of you. "Y/N!"

You fall in front of him, eyes flickering from the boy groaning on the ground back to him, "did you get in another fight again?"

Baji shrugs; "the guy deserved it. Not much of a fight either.”

And your eyes fall back on the boy on the ground and there's a flicker of hope where he thinks you might help but, but then after a moment you follow Baji's lead, shrugging, letting him take your hand in his before leading him off.

Guess Baji was right – you really did love him.

KAZUTORA:

"I mean, didn't you go to juvie?"

Frowning, Kazutora glares at the man, Daiki as he'd introduced himself as, in front of him. He was apparently a co-worker of yours, though Kazutora's never heard you talk about him before.

Stuck at this party your work was holding for you as a celebration for the promotion you'd received and your excellent work at the company, Kazutora had gotten a whole half hour of your time before you'd been whisked off by two woman, you offering an apologetic smile over your shoulder in response.

At the time, Kazutora hadn't minded – this night was for you after all and he wanted you to enjoy it.

Now, though? He desperately wanted to leave.

"How do you even know that?" Kazutora asks, his patience thin.

"I did some research when Y/N mentioned your name," Daiki shrugs. "Of course, when she mentioned you she hadn't mentioned that."

It's obviously meant as a jab. But Kazutora knew you weren't embarrassed of him – at least, he'd been pretty sure of that.

"Well, it's not really any of your business is it?" Kazutora cuts in, barely able to contain the snide in his tone. He barely liked socializing with people anyway, especially strangers, but he'd gone for you and because he wanted to be apart of your celebration. It was the least he could do after all you'd done for him.

But now he wishes he’d stayed home if he had to continue dealing with this guy.

"Still," Daiki insists, "aren't you embarrassed? I mean, such an upstanding woman... it's a wonder why she ever chose you."

"I chose him because I love him for him," you cut in and Kazutora’s eyes widen, glancing over his shoulder to see you making your way over to him. You look absolutely stunning, dressed in a floor length Y/F/C dress and when you notice his eyes on you, you smile at him, before it falters as you turn back to glance at your coworker. "But I hardly think that's any of your business anyways."

You fall next to Kazutora, wrapping your arm around his waist as you fall into his side, and the second you do, you squeeze Kazutora's side, and he realizes you're trying to reassure him.

"Y/N–!"

"Honestly, Daiki," you breathe out, voice coming out purposely exasperated as you roll your eyes. "I've had this conversation with you multiple times. I am happily in a relationship and your obsession with my personal affairs is strange and inappropriate. Given my promotion, I could easily have you fired."

Kazutora watches as the man's eyes widen, cheeks bleeding red as he shakes his head; "my-my apologies. Please, you don't have to go that far. I'll... I'll make sure I stop."

You raise a brow, holding the man with bated breath for a moment, before you nod. "Just don't let it happen again."

Daiki scurries off without another word, desperate to get away and Kazutora watches as you let out a sigh, shoulders falling as you shift, coming to stand in front of him, hands falling on his hips.

"I'm sorry about him. He's been... annoyingly persistant about asking me out for the past bit. I thought he'd have stopped when I reported him last week but when I saw him talking to you just now, I realized he hadn't."

Kazutora glances down at you, meeting your gaze.

You understand what he's trying to say before he even does; "nuh-uh," you shake your head, tugging him closer to you. "Don't let a word that idiot says get to you. He's just a pervert anyways. He spends half of his time looking down my shirt and I would never want to be with someone like him over you."

Biting his lips, Kazutora smiles softly; "I love you."

"I love you too," you grin, before slipping your hand into his. "Now, come on, I want to introduce you to my friends."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tr #tr x reader #mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #hanma shuj #manjiro sano #hanma shuji x reader #baji keisuki #baji keisuke x reader #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora hanemiya x reader #tokyo revengers hcs

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crikitune · 6 months ago

Text

waittt wait imagine the batfam doing the "we listen and we don't judge" trend!? (forgive any formatting errors, first time making a post like this!)

all: we listen and we don't judge!

dick: when I first came to the manor, i used to strategically time whenever I'd do acrobatics -off the chandeliers and stuff, of course- to when bruce was about to walk in just so i could see him look terrified and start freaking out. it was the height of comedy to me

jason: lowkey a mood... damian: tormenting Father seems to be a common passtime with this group.

all: we listen and we don't judge!

barbara: when i first became oracle, i hacked all of my ex-boyfriends devices and gave each one irreversible viruses. now anytime i get bored, i go mess with their replacement electronics in reversible but annoying ways

steph: sounds incredibly healing! cass: as you should.

all: we listen and we don't judge

jason: when i attacked tim in the titans tower, i did it in an adult-sized Robin costume.

steph: PFTT- WHAT duke: ...why, man? just why?

jason: ...I thought it was symbolic and poetic justice.

all, laughing a little: we listen and we don't judge!

cass: When i was still learning to communicate, I'd sometimes pretend not to understand what people told me so that I didn't have to answer their questions and they couldn't pester me about it ☺️

jason, laughing: ohhh cass that is EVIL tim: god, i wish i could do that with the board members...

all: we listen and we don't judge

tim: when i was going to Brentwood during my Robin days, my alcoholic roommate found my Robin costume, put it on, then passed out in it, so I had to literally peel it off of him and then gaslight him into not remembering it.

dick: WHAT. jason: bet you couldn't get that smell out for ages. tim: i really, really couldn't...

all: we... we listen and we don't judge!

steph: when i first met tim, i smacked him in the face with a brick. also i started dating him without knowing his secret ID, so that was pretty brutal...

cass: you deserve better. tim: hey! i wasn't that bad! steph: ehhhh you were, but it's okay cus I love ya and we're over it now!

all: we listen, and we don't judge.

duke: uhm. around when i first started living at the manor i thought it would be funny to pull a prank on Dick, so I put nair in his shampoo. it backfired spectacularly.

dick: THAT WAS YOU!? damian: i thought only Todd would be so idiotic... steph: *breaking down in laughter* tim: you were the one who started the 4 month long prank war!? jason: duke. i'm going to hit you. duke: ...aha, oops?

all: we listen... and we don't judge.

damian: ahem. you all remember the box of kittens i found on patrol a few weeks ago, which father forced me to bring to a shelter? *nods* well i did not give them to the shelter. they are in my room. i let them out everytime you all are out.

steph: ohmygod, dami, whattt jason: damn, you are a delinquent after all!

dick: wait damian. where are the kittens now.

damian, who's hoodie looks suspiciously padded: nowhere.

dick: damian show us the kittens right now-

all, as dick starts wrestling damian to retrieve the kittens: we listen- and we don't judge!

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whorefordean · 1 year ago

Text

three's a crowd

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: reader wants to have a threesome. rafe doesn't share, but he does have a solution.

wc: 2.1k

cw: unprotected p in v, use of pet names (princess, baby, sweet girl), slight degradation, praise, dvp, use of toys, mentions of a threesome, mentions of anal, "cock" was probably overused?, um I think I blacked out while writing this so probably bad writing/errors (also idc but sorry)

18+ mdni

to be honest, the conversation was over before it ever started.

“can we have a threesome?” you had asked the question so innocently, so sweetly, that for a moment you truly believed that rafe would say yes. that is, until his head whipped around, and he glared at you like you’d just told him you committed arson. although, he probably would’ve agreed to arson.

“what the fuck did you just say?” rafe asked so quickly, you had barely caught it. you wanted to laugh at the look on his face. his eyes were wide open, despite him just waking up. it’s barely nine in the morning, and rafe had just finished pouring a cup of coffee. what a way to start the day.

“i said, can we-”

“don’t start with the dumb shit this early,” rafe scolded before you could finish repeating yourself. you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re not sure why you even wanted to have a threesome. maybe you’d read one too many why choose novels. maybe it had been the wet dream you’d had a few weeks ago. who knows, but a part of you is slightly upset that rafe wouldn’t even entertain the idea. not that you would either, if the roles had been reversed.

“rafe, come on! it’s not even that serious! i think it could be fun, and you could even choose the guy,” you try to persuade him with puppy dog eyes. rafe stares at you for a minute before scoffing and leaning closer to you.

“the only cock you’ll have inside that greedy little cunt of yours is mine. got it?” rafe growls lowly as he grips your chin. you pout up at him, and rafe rolls his eyes.

“well, unfortunately for both of us, you don’t have two dicks, rafe!” you argue pathetically, throwing your hands up in the air. he releases your chin and moves back to his previous position at the counter. the room is silent for a few minutes while you glare at him.

“not even, like, barry?”

“drop it.”

so you do.

nearly three weeks later, you’ve resigned to the fact that you don’t really wanna fuck another dude. nobody could give you the pleasure that rafe can anyways. but a small piece of you wants to know what it would feel like. maybe you’d suck rafe’s cock while riding another. you gnaw on your cheek at the thought, clenching your thighs together.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when rafe waltzes into the living room with a smirk on his face. he’s holding a plain brown box under his arm that he promptly drops onto the coffee table.

“what’s that look for?” you ask him, staring at him suspiciously. rafe licks his lips, tipping his head towards the box.

“open it,” rafe tells you. you squint at your boyfriend but lean forward and grab the box anyway. you pop the lid open and furrow your brows. slipping the item out of the box, you gape at rafe.

“rafe, is this what i think it is?” you ask breathily, wetness pooling in your panties as you look at the toy. rafe grins proudly, nodding.

“you said you wanted two dicks, baby. now, you’ll have two of mine,” rafe says, puffing his chest out as he crosses his arms. the toy in question is a perfect replica of rafe’s cock. you stare up at him from your spot on the couch, trying to find any words to describe how fucking badly you want him in this moment.

“rafe, sit down,” you say quietly. rafe quirks his head, still grinning at you. he watches as your eyes glaze over with need.

“why?” rafe teases. his hands grip his biceps, and you can already see the tent forming in his jeans. his hips jut forward as he adjusts his stance, and if you weren’t already on your knees, you would’ve been in an instant.

“please, rafe. let me suck your cock,” you beg him softly, standing up to slip out of your panties. the shirt you’re wearing belonged to rafe at one point, and it tickles at your thighs when you kneel back down in front of your boyfriend. rafe’s sharp inhale sends a wave of pleasure rolling through you, and he nods before sitting down on the couch.

before you can do it for him, rafe is slipping his cock out from the restraint of his jeans. you whimper when he starts stroking himself, spreading the pearls of precum down his shaft. he groans, making you pout.

“rafe, please,” you beg him, shifting your thighs trying to alleviate some of the frustration building inside you.

“just a second, baby. think it’s okay to think about some other guy using that sweet pussy? you can watch me feel good without you for a second,” rafe groans, squeezing his dick just a bit harder. you whine and when he pays you no mind, you glare at him. rafe’s head is tossed back in pleasure as you reach behind you to grab the toy from the table. you slip it into your mouth, still glaring at rafe. he finally looks at you when your nails dig into the fabric of jeans.

“so fucking impatient,” rafe rolls his eyes, watching as you suck on the dildo. your tongue swipes at the vein the same way it does on rafe’s real cock. he leans forward, gripping your throat.

“you said you wanted to get used, baby. i’m still a little offended. maybe you should try to make it up to me,” rafe tells you condescendingly, releasing your throat as he leans back against the couch. you release the toy with a pop before suctioning it to the floor. you hover over it as you finally touch rafe. you stare up at him with wide eyes as he spits, the thick glob running down the length of his shaft. you inhale sharply, lowering yourself onto the toy as you wrap your lips around rafe.

you moan at the feeling. being stretched out by rafe was the highlight of your life no matter which way he was using you. being able to suck him off and have his cock inside you at the same time? heaven. rafe hisses when you take him deep into your throat. his hand tangles into your hair, holding you there.

“feel good, princess? hm? everything you wanted?” he snarks, clenching his jaw. you moan against him in agreement, but rafe pulls you off his throbbing dick.

“wanna hear you say it. tell me how good it feels to be filled up with my cock inside your cunt and that smart mouth,” rafe commands.

“feels so good, rafe. thank you,” you blubber as you sink further down onto the dildo. your hand finds your clit and you drop your head to rest against rafe’s thigh while using your free hand to stroke his wet cock. rafe’s warm hand rests against the side of your head, playing with your hair, as you bounce on the toy in front of him.

rafe tsks, “thought you wanted me all over, princess. open your mouth.” you comply, lifting your head up to cover his cock with your mouth again. tears burn your eyes as you take him deep. you shift your hips slightly, and the replica of rafe’s dick drives deeper into your cunt. you whimper against rafe as you rub your clit faster, searching for release.

you slow your hips, bobbing your head to pleasure rafe. swirling your tongue over his pink tip, rafe groans again. you watch rafe through teary eyes.

“look at you, baby. doin so fucking good for me. just me. ain't that right,” rafe asks rhetorically and you nod slightly. rafe smirks, thoroughly enjoying seeing you filled with him. not that he’d tell you that after the hell he’d almost raised over the situation. rafe wasn’t good at admitting fault, but seeing how blissed out you look in this moment had him second guessing your proposal.

rafe pull his cock out of your mouth. you whine at the removal, watching as your saliva connects the two of you. you drive your hips down harder, hitting the sweet spot inside of you that only rafe had managed to do before. god, he feels so fucking good. why had you ever even considered adding anyone else to this when rafe has the perfect cock?

your hands grip rafe’s thighs as you continue to fuck yourself onto the toy. rafe watches in awe, stroking himself.

“rafe, please,” you beg pathetically. rafe watches you, biting his lip.

“please what, baby?” he cooes. you dig your teeth into your lip, throwing your head back with your eyes squeezed shut.

“need you,” you mumble breathlessly. rafe shakes his head in a teasing manner.

“you have me, princess. taking my cock right now,” he says almost sarcastically. you shake your head quickly.

“mm, no. need you, rafe,” you beg again. rafe grins widely, pushing your hands off his thighs. you huff at the loss of contact but continue riding the dildo. you’re too lost to realize that rafe is standing now.

“stop,” rafe tells you lowly. you move to shake your head, but rafe catches your jaw. your eyes snap open, and rafe is glaring down at you. he looks both horrifying and delicious like this.

“stop and get on the couch. or i’ll fuck you on the floor. your choice,” rafe shrugs. you look down at the carpet, fully aware of how painful the rug burn had been last time, and stand up on shaky legs.

rafe pushes you down until your head is buried in the couch with your ass and pussy high up on display for him. rafe drags his ring clad fingers down to your dripping core. you hiss when he fully seats himself inside you.

something warm drips down your slit, and you realize that rafe spit on your pussy.

“spit on this for me, princess,” rafe tells you before positioning the toy in front of you. he’s leaned forward, chest pressed against your back while he waits for you to listen. you mewl as he drags deeper inside you. you let out a shaky breath before spitting onto the toy. rafe pulls it away from you, but you’re too far gone to piece together why.

rafe slips a finger into your pussy alongside his cock. he thrusts into you slowly, letting you adjust to the minor stretch his finger added.

“think you could take two of my cocks inside your pussy, princess?” rafe asks gently as he slips in another finger. you moan at the pleasurable pain, dropping your head back down to the couch while you try to angle your hips better for him.

“it’s so much,” you whisper, tears brimming your eyes already.

“i know, sweet girl. but you’d look so pretty with your pussy stuffed full with two of me,” rafe says lovingly. your mind whirs at the mental image of being completely stuffed with rafe.

“o-okay,” you say quietly. rafe hums.

“use your words, princess,” he tells you, teasing your clit slowly.

“i can take it,” you nod along. rafe clicks his tongue in approval before readying the dildo beside his own cock. you hiss at the drag of another cock filling you up. it hurts. then, it doesn’t. you gasp when rafe pushes the dildo in to match his pace. your eyes roll, and you go completely silent as you take whatever rafe is willing to give. tears brim your eyes as you reach down to rub small circles against your pulsing clit.

“right there, rafe,” you moan. rafe groans as you clench around him.

“keep doing that, and i’ll have to fill this greedy cunt up with something else,” rafe threatens. you clench again just to spite him. though, you hope he’ll make true on his threat.

“fuck, you would want that, huh? greedy little cockwhore,” rafe grits, pumping harder into you. you cum with tears streaming down your face, calling out to rafe. rafe cums with a groan at the sight of your tears and the way your pussy is stretched around two cocks. you whine as he finally pulls the dildo out of you. louder when he pulls his own cock out. cum leaks from your used pussy, and rafe reaches down to force it back into your drenched hole.

“don’t ever ask me for a threesome again, princess, or i’ll fuck that tight little ass, next,” rafe threatens in your ear.

suddenly, the idea of a threesome is even more appealing.

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe outer banks #obx #obx smut #rafe cameron #outer banks

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fairlyang · 1 year ago

Text

mystery girl 🕷️

w/c: 2.2K

pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. pure filth, desperate to be fucked, amazing friend shows you the way, male glory hole, choosing the thick one, age gap (20’s & 30’s), sucking dick, save a horse ride a cowboy (kinda)

a/n: bro it’s been a month since I had this idea but I was so preoccupied with the other 183749272 of my wips she was left behind🥲 but alas the reverse rookie finally (i was gonna write abt clothes but it flew past me- I was imagining a dress!)

part 1.2 — part 1.3

you were growing tired of the endless swiping on tinder and absolute douchebags you stumbled across, all that just to find someone for a small fling was way too much

at that point you’d have better luck finding someone at a bar but you also weren’t in the mood to converse with someone, especially whilst ovulating when you just needed to pounce on someone, no questions asked

so when complaining to your friends about your hungry need but lack of sex, they told you to go to a nearby sex toy store because they had gloryholes in the back. you were so stunned to even say anything because you couldn’t believe something like that even existed, let alone so close to you

one of them even offered to go with you that same night because you were already squeezing your thighs together in desperation and so you wouldn’t feel so nervous. you said yes of course and that was when she told you they also had an adult theater and you nearly fell off the couch

after a short drive of five minutes tops, you had arrived and you thought maybe you’d look around or something but nope your friend just grabbed your hand and went straight to the back. she waved at the cashier and gave him a smile, “hey al, is it busy tonight?”

al shrugged then nodded and she gave him a thumbs up before dragging you past the door and taking a right turn. “he doesn’t look like he’s meant to work here of all places.” you joke and she laughs

the man had two long braids, a tie dye shirt and what looked to be camo shorts with sandals. just absolutely random but she waved you off

“al’s cool, this is his part time-“ she utters, making you snicker

“fucked him too huh?” you tease making her roll her eyes

“and what about it?” she says playfully earning herself an eye roll

she led you the whole way through now taking a left and entering the first door, loud moans immediately being heard

“these over here are straight men and the others are gay men.” she explains and points to each section

you both walk over to the left side to where the straight guys would be and it was better quality than expected

instead of it being literal holes on walls it had a fancier getup, the men’s torsos were sticking out of a hole while laying down on some sort of table and their upper half was hidden behind black fabric. they all had pictures above their hole with a picture of their faces and their ages

“this is insane.” you mutter and she excitedly nods

“go have your pick! and don’t be afraid to be picky, choose what you need girl.” she says making you roll your eyes

she says that when there’s only two available guys anyway. There were three other guys with girls on top of them, riding away and letting out the craziest of moans

so you walk directly to the first available guy and look at his picture. a cute white guy, looked mature, thirty three years old and his name was Peter

he must’ve sensed your presence because his cock twitched. he was very long but not so thick

you preferred the girth so you went on to the one next to him and your eyes nearly fell out of their sockets

this one was fucking long and thick. so fucking thick you thought it’d be impossible to fit inside you

but anything was possible

so you looked at his picture and were pleasantly surprised to find a latino, not only that but a fine one. he was thirty four years old and his name was Miguel

how the hell both of these man were in here is beyond you but you’re so feeling so fucking lucky because Miguel’s cock was exactly what you’ve been needing

you just want to be filled to the absolute brim, feel a cock stretch you out as if it were the first time

so you climbed onto the table and Miguel’s cock also twitched out of excitement. meanwhile your friend jumped on top of Peter and was already positioning his cock to her entrance

crazy girl

you were wet but you felt like you had to be fucking drenched to be able to take him all so you scoot down his body and taking a hold of his cock. you kitten licked the tip causing for precum to leak immediately, poor guy must’ve been waiting a while..

you decide to not waste anymore time, for both your sakes and spit on it, letting it dribble down his length before stroking him with both hands. you were nearly drooling just looking at it but you couldn’t really be blamed

miguel was already moaning mainly because the girls were looking past him because he was just too thick and they couldn’t handle it. so he had to give props to his mystery girl that was hopefully going to give him a proper shot

he was already cheered up just by you knowing what you were doing. if this was all he was gonna get he’d be content with it

but you didn’t come here to please a man, that’s never top priority, top priority is taking care of yourself. though hearing his moans were just slightly changing your mind on that, you were already starting to drip through your panties

maybe it was the fact that you were only stroking him and he was moaning for you just from that, or maybe because he was a hot older man and you never had the confidence to go for men like him

definitely the latter

you figured it was enough teasing and started to take him in your mouth, or at least tried to because it was much more than you were expecting

for now you were able to take a little bit past his tip, which wasn’t too bad considering you hadn’t sucked a dick this thick and his groans weren’t exactly saying you’re doing a bad job so you continued

you started to stroke him as you tried to take more of him then pull back and going back for more. this only had him trying his hardest to not push his hips up

you bobbed your head back and forth, now able to take half of it which was for sure an accomplishment. you only prayed your pussy could do the same

he continued with his melody of grunts and groans, then some praises came along

“fuck just like that baby.”

“taking this cock so well.”

“such a good fucking girl.”

as soon as the first praise left his lips you started going faster, hearing the other two only left you moaning against him

he groaned and subconsciously lifted his hips up making you take nearly all of it

you closed your eyes and started to go lower, stroking the last bit that you couldn’t fit

you swirled your tongue against his underside as you bopped your head up and down faster resulting in him moaning even louder

at this point you were absolutely drenched and you could feel him twitch in your mouth so you fully pulled away

he thought that was it so he was preparing himself for the worst while you sat up and climbed on top of his lap, hovering over his dick as you pulled your dress up and slid your panties to the side

you lowered yourself down, grabbing his dick, and positioning it to your entrance

first you swirled the tip against your folds, just so your wetness can act as lube because you’ll need it

you then decided to grind against the entire length and it felt so amazing

you moaned and shivered as he brought a hand out just to put it on your hip, lightly squeezing the skin

finally it was time and you prayed for the best

you straightened his cock and positioned it to your entrance again, except this time you slowly were moving down. his tip alone was a painful stretch so you just stayed there biting your lip until the pain went away

it took a few more minutes before you moved down the tiniest bit. he was so much thicker than you antipciated. you thought your toys would’ve prepared you but they were to no luck helpful

you took a deep breath then let it out before going down a little more, probably not even at the half way point yet

it was starting to feel better so you brought yourself up then went down to where you could take it. you sighed after doing it again, now feeling a mix of pain and pleasure but mostly ignoring the pain

you took a good two inches when you finally felt comfortable so you went even lower, finally hitting the hallway point. “you’re doing so good baby.” he murmured, fighting back the urge to cum right then and there

you clenched against him making you both moan which was a good sign

you decided enough was enough and slammed down, whimpers escaping your lips as Miguel moaned in bliss

his hand rubbed your thigh softly as you slowly come up then slam down again. “Fuck-!“

it was now fully pleasure and you could feel him fill you entirely. his cock felt perfect inside you and you should’ve complained about your sex life sooner

you lower your body down, arching your back as you move your ass up and down. you closed your eyes and moaned every time you went all the way down

his tip was nearly grazing your sweet spot and if you went any faster both of you would be goners

but for now you took your time. it was so sensual as well as hot. Miguel had his arms behind his head just wishing he could see you. he also wanted to kiss you as he pounded into you so he could feel you moan in his mouth but it was a glory hole for a reason

you finally started moving a bit faster now, your ass smacking against his thighs each time you came down. the sounds were driving him insane

you sounded so wet and your voice was so angelic. every noise you made had him wanting to hear more of you

so he did the logical thing to be able to do that and thrusted his hips against you, taking you by surprise. he wanted to be selfish, he’s been dying to cum and you’re the first girl who dared to try his cock out today so he started to thrust his hips upwards.

he was now pounding into you as you held your position because there was no point in moving now. he groaned as he started going faster and harder, you just felt so fucking good he couldn’t help himself

he needed to have all of you so bad

he was going at such a brutal pace you thought he was going to fully come out of the hole just to fuck you properly but he didn’t

instead he took his other hand out, stopping for a solid second just to bring your ass down and wrapping his arms around you. he held on tightly and before you could object, he went back to pounding into you, no point in waiting so he went at the exact same pace again

you moaned out as he fucked you harder, the sounds from your corner being the loudest out of the whole room but you didn’t care. the sexiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on was fucking you as if you were his to take and you weren’t going to stop him

you’ve been so desperate for a hookup like this you should’ve known to look for the older men over guys your age. of fucking course a thirty year old was gonna know what to do over someone in their twenties

you were already thinking far ahead to think any time you’re horny to just drop by since it was so close and just let him fuck you however he wants in the adult theater

but the current moment was perfect too

he was mumbling dirty nothings as he mercilessly pounded into you, feeling that familiar feeling in his abdomen already. it wasn’t his fault you had such a tight pussy that must’ve been made just for him. like a missing puzzle piece

he was a groaning mess and you could just tell that you were creaming on his dick because of how wet it sounded. “fuck please don’t stop-“

his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his grip on you loosened. he changed to now doing deeper thrusts which was a perfect switch because he was hitting your g spot with every thrust and you were feeling so close to your orgasm

you tightened around him which only made him go even faster as you both moaned for one another. that did it for him and he came inside you. you whimpered and brought your body back up just for your orgasm to hit you hard and lift your hips up as he filled you completely

your heart was racing, your body was shaking, and you just closed your eyes to calm yourself down while still having him inside you

he pumped you full and you couldn’t even be bothered to complain or fight him on it. it’s what you fucking craved and deserved so maybe you gotta thank him instead

next part

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o hara #miguel ohara x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #Miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #Miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel x reader

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