#platonic oc

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Villains + Heroes with a Child Hero Reader

The blurb from @n0rmal-cat was the seed for a wonderful idea! Thinking about a world that functions with heroes and villains but thanks to the weird genetics of super abilities when you’re youngest, the powers you have are at their prime. This makes for the money-hungry billion-dollar idea of making you, an influential 11-year-old fight bad guys for a living. 

Forget school and getting to hang out with others your age like any normal kid—you’re saving the world!

“Watch your back Psychlock I’m coming to take you down!”

“Look kid I’m waiting for a real hero so if you would please take the fire escape to get down safely–”

“FIRE KICK!”

“Ack! Did you just kick a fireball at me!?”

What’s more unassuming than some short little kid going up against adult villains who are violently protesting how society is run? It’s the most tragic joke in the industry to see a barely 120-centimeter kid flying by with a cape and mask like the comic book heroes of old. It certainly keeps the everyday villains guessing.

“How embarrassing is it getting your plans foiled by a kid, Mega Bat?”

“Not nearly as embarrassing as watching you fly around with chocolate all over your mouth.”

“W-what!? Oh no why didn’t anyone say!”

“Probably because you were so busy zooming around no got the chance to. Agh! Please don’t wipe it with your cape, please there are napkins in my lair just don’t randomly wipe it and spread the mess.”

“Thanks!”

“Whatever.”

It's a bit of a routine gag at some point. For villains to get over the fact that they’re fighting a literal baby. Some villains purposely toy with you delaying your flight ability and putting the buttons to deactivate a bomb on a ledge you can’t reach. Some like to chat like old aunts and uncles who casually ask what you’ve been up to while you tear through their minions. Others try and give you a lesson in their anti-government philosophies. Of course, your more distant older sibling-like heroes are happy to soothe any… curiosities you might have.

“So big sis Fire Heart what about the thing about the poor getting poorer? The taxes aren’t exactly the same all around.”

“Pish Posh kiddo Shadow’s just trying to make you scared. If anything goes wrong the people are allowed to rise up and stuff.”

“But can’t the government just call in the big heroes like you?”

“Well…uh…you hungry kid? I’m happy to treat ya!”

“Oooh YES!”

The unfortunate part about your world other than its crumbling economics is the truth about the young superheroes. You aren’t the first child superhero, after all, that’s when the highest potential for powers can be reached but the amount of supers born in a year worldwide is extremely low. But with such low numbers as a strict 100 a year a horrid truth remains. Many children don’t make it to the age of 18 before their abilities consume them. Such a fate isn’t talked about too often; a silent promise not to scare the cursed children. 

So there’s always a small delay when you happily wave goodbye to your villains and the other older heroes. 

“Rapids…is it really right…not to tell them?”

“We don’t know if they’re one of the unlucky ones. No use scaring them if they aren’t.”

“But they–”

“This is why we’re not supposed to have kids….it hurts too much. Now come on we’ll have to check their work, they get sloppy when they fight the Shrimp man.”

“...right.”

It isn’t private knowledge just not talked a lot about but the villains are talking. Oh, are they talking? The best ones, the worst ones, the ones that wear a mask and live throughout society without being suspected have gathered to speak. And the topic for this meeting is you. 

“I suggest we put them in cryo-stasis! Me and my minions have made brilliant progress.”

“Too risky it doesn’t solve the problem!”

“I say we wipe their memory while we figure out how to eliminate the death marker in their body?”

“No way they still don’t even know about it.”

“Then what other method is there to choose from!?”

“I have an idea.”

He wasn’t invited. The villain they all dread. A master of destruction with seemingly no aim. They all despise him for it for tons of reasons. But when he tosses copies of a document previously classified onto the long table, everyone pays attention.

“The pigs’ research says the connected deaths are an accumulation of an implant placed beneath the skin. Remove that and they’ll live just fine.”

“Grrr they knew the whole time!?”

“Of course, they’d do that! That scum!” 

“So what are you proposing Malice?”

“Oh so sharp Shadow. Let me remove it. Provide me with the distractions I need to snatch them up, do the operation, and let them free.”

“So…you’ll let them go once you’re done?”

“You have my word.”

They wait the week before their plan goes into action. It was simple pick a small-time team up. Two average supervillains team up, nothing new for you. You’re a smart kid but this gets a lot harder when a communicator buzzes off in your ear mid-fight with desperate calls for help. 

“Help! Look I know we usually don’t include you in these but I need your help taking on these villains. They’re teaming up and it’s proving to be awful dicey!”

“F-f-fireHeart? Uh, I’ll come over if I can but Optics and Shrimp Man are working really hard today! Whoa–”

“Soon kiddo I don’t know how much longer I will last!”

It only gets worse when another hero calls out to you and then another. The city is filled with explosions and you’re just not fast enough. You’re working harder than you ever had before and the tricks that worked with the usual villains just don’t work. They all seem so focused too no jokes, no questions about what you ate or who you fought. This day is just turning out to be the worst.

“Hello, little hero.”

Malice appears in the chaos with his billowing cape, all too-wide smile, and eyes glowing an ominous green. You’ve been told by all your seniors—heroes and villains alike to avoid him but here he is standing above you while you’re feeling the worst you ever had.

“You can rest easy. This will all be over soon.”

It doesn’t help that shortly thereafter your eyes close in pure exhaustion. 

Malice smirks scooping you up quite easily. Cradling your body gently as he watches all the heroes get too distracted to notice. Allowing him to wave his cape over himself and disappear.

Hundreds of kilometers away he sets you down and begins his procedure occasionally administering a sedative to keep you sleeping. The operation itself is quick, done in a grassy field that has a mattress perfect for this quick extraction.

“All finished little Hero.”

After closing the small incision he wraps you tight, a loose swaddle with a blanket his wife had knitted. Smiling at the sight of you curling into the fabric. Holding you tight he looks to the sky and waits. Half an hour and finally he sees the flame in the sky and lets out a sigh of relief. 

“My flame you had me worried I’d have to come get you, myself.”

“And leave our little bundle unattended? I don't think so!”

Flameheart and Malice both press a kiss to your head before kissing each other. It was early on that they both discovered their government-implanted death markers. One of them outright removed theirs and the other simply cut off the instant kill directive. Both have been playing their roles the best they could vaguely wishing to destroy a world that would allow such a horrible thing but then like the little spark you are it clicked. Why destroy the whole world when there were still beautiful little heroes like you coming out of it? So they figure they’ll just destroy the worst parts of course after they have you safely tucked away to enjoy your life without the worry of being a hero.

“Now my flame shall we leave, this wretched planet?”

“We shall! Have you got the serum ready? The one that will make them forget their horrible start?”

“But of course my flame, where would we be without it!”

Completely disregarding the promise made Malice and Flameheart truly believe in taking you away to live out your life on a planet Malice has long since called home. And with occasional trips to the mudball known as Earth, Malice and Flameheart hope to rid the world of the ugly parts with the hopes that when you return to rule the world will be half-decent this time. 

“Sleep our little hero, when you wake we’ll be happy to help you learn all about yourself without the world getting in the way.”

Kofi → Here Masterlist → Here Commissions → Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤

[heartz4beyonder]

This is my billion time calling hatchetfield selfshippers who would like to be moots!!!!! Reblog or dm me if y’all want :33

[thosearenotmycigarettes]

Going to make myself an OC to help heal my inner child and teenager 😍😍😍

[alpal-ult]

heartshackle smoochies!

[iydiamartinx]

TERRITORY, MARKED

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader ft. Dick Grayson

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 2.1k synopsis: Damian makes an unexpected friend at the dog park—but when his older brother tags along one day and takes a little too much interest, Damian decides one thing for certain: this was not supposed to be a shared friendship. a/n: I got this cute request from @kitkatscabinet hope you liked it 🩵

He didn’t like the noise, the chaos, or the strangers who insisted on asking where his parents were—just because he was twelve and walking around with a dog half his height. The scrutiny was always the same: curious stares, patronizing smiles, or the occasional busybody who seemed convinced he was lost. He wasn’t. He had perfect directional memory and could incapacitate a grown man with two fingers.

But Titus needed exercise, and Alfred had made a rather pointed comment that morning about how “a well-socialized pet is a reflection of his owner’s discipline.”

So here he was, standing stiffly beneath a tree with his arms crossed, watching Titus bound after a tennis ball like a slobbering oaf. His nose wrinkled slightly as a group of women near the water fountain cast him a judgmental look—three of them with toy dogs tucked neatly into designer purses like accessories. Damian could feel the weight of their stares on him and Titus and he was just about ready to call it a day when he heard a voice behind him.

“That’s a gorgeous dog,” you said, gaze following Titus. “Yours?”

Damian turned, immediately wary.

He looked you over with practiced suspicion, eyes narrowing just slightly. You were older than him—maybe around Grayson’s age—but you didn’t speak to him with the gratingly high-pitched, patronizing tone adults so often used. There was no forced sweetness, no condescension, no judgment. Not even fear. Just curiosity.

An unclipped leash hung loosely from your fingers, and a husky stood at your side, tail wagging as it trotted toward Titus with a cheerful bark.

“Yes,” Damian replied curtly.

You didn’t flinch at his curt reply. Didn’t backpedal or fill the silence with awkward chatter the way most people did when confronted with Damian’s usual icy demeanour. Instead, you just nodded as your husky bounded up to Titus, sniffing noses and circling excitedly.

“They’ve got good instincts,” you said casually, eyes on the dogs. “Mine doesn’t usually approach ones that size unless they’re friendly.”

Damian followed your gaze. Titus, ever the soldier, stood tall and still, allowing the inspection without so much as a twitch. Then, with a quiet chuff, he gave a single, measured wag of his tail and lowered his head in greeting.

A rare sign of approval.

Damian’s stance eased—just slightly. “…He doesn’t usually tolerate strangers,” Damian said slowly.

You smiled a little at that. “Guess today’s just full of exceptions.”

He studied you again, this time with a shade less suspicion. You didn’t have the overenthusiastic energy most dog people radiated. You weren’t trying to pet Titus without permission, or asking how old he was like he was a child running errands without supervision. You simply stood there, hands in your pockets, content to watch the dogs with quiet interest.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you offered after a beat, though your tone made it clear there was no pressure to respond.

“…Damian,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Damian.”

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, then let his gaze return to the dogs. Titus and your husky had taken to one another quickly, and Damian felt another piece of his wall chip when he saw how happy Titus was with his new friend. 

Silence settled between the two of you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You eventually moved to the nearby bench, letting your dog roam in a wide circle with Titus while you scrolled through your phone.

Damian didn’t sit beside you—not right away. But after a few minutes, he shifted his weight. Then stepped closer. Then finally sank onto the far edge of the bench, arms still crossed but no longer on guard.

That was how it started. The next time he saw you, you sent him a friendly wave. The time after that, you offered him a spot beside you. You never pushed for him to speak but eventually he began responding to your idle chatter, until he found himself opening up and talking about his day—about school, about people who annoyed him, about books he liked. Something about you was easy to talk to, you listened with interest, asking questions when needed, and even occasionally talking about your own daily life, which he found oddly… validating. You didn’t treat him like a child and you were smart enough that you could keep up with him. 

Soon, it became a routine. Titus and your dog would charge off together the moment their paws hit the grass, while you and Damian claimed your usual spot beneath the shade. Sometimes you talked. Sometimes you didn’t. Either way, it worked.

Damian had always found it difficult to spend time with kids his age. He didn’t understand them—and frankly, they didn’t understand him. They were loud, immature, easily distracted. The only exception had ever been Jon, and even then, their bond had been forged under very specific circumstances. Neither of them had to hide who they were. They were both born into the life of heroes but And even then, their friendship was… unconventional at best.

Damian rarely connected, even among the other young heroes His surly personality, sharp tongue, and rigid discipline kept most of them at arm’s length. Jon, ever the optimist, was the rare outlier—a ball of sunshine who somehow wormed his way past Damian’s walls with unwavering sincerity. 

You were something entirely different. A civilian. Someone completely outside the world he’d grown up in, that he began considering as a friend.

But, of course, with a family like his, someone was bound to find out eventually. Damian had done his best to keep this to himself—this quiet corner of his life that belonged only to him. He changed his routes, downplayed his outings, gave vague answers when asked where he’d been.

Still, everyone had started to notice the change.

Subtle things, at first. The way he stopped groaning every time he was told to take Titus out. The way he came back from his walks with less tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t snapping as much. Wasn’t muttering under his breath with the same venom he usually reserved for Gotham’s general population.

So when Dick insisted on tagging along one weekend—something about “needing fresh air” and “brotherly bonding”—Damian should’ve known his secret was on borrowed time. His friend, his quiet routine, his piece of normalcy… it was no longer going to be just his.

Still, he thought he’d pulled it off. He left early, ditching Dick. He even took the long way around, doubled back twice just to be sure he wasn’t followed. And it worked—he made it to the park alone. What he hadn’t expected was that Dick would show up anyway. 

“Hey, Dami!”

Damian tensed mid-sentence, shoulders going rigid as if preparing for an ambush. You glanced up in time to see the source of the disruption. With a coffee in one hand, and a leash in the other, the man beamed brightly. An adorable grey puppy trotted beside him, ears bouncing with every step, tongue lolling out in sheer delight. Her leash was slack—more of a formality than a necessity.

Taking a moment to study the man himself, he was tall, handsome, and fit, with bright eyes and a golden grin. There was an easy confidence to him, an effortless charm that told you he was a people person…right up until he saw you.

And then he just—froze.

You offered a polite, amused smile. “You must be his brother.” 

You’d heard Damian complain about his brothers enough to make a pretty solid guess. Drake and Thomas were still juniors—too young to be this guy—and from everything Damian had said about Todd, he sounded more like the leather-jacket, punch-first type. This guy? He was too put-together. Too clean-cut. Too… sunny. Which really only left one option.

Grayson. The apparent golden boy.

Beside you, Damian sighed loudly, rubbing his temples like this entire interaction was causing him physical pain. “Unfortunately.”

Dick blinked. “I—uh—hi. I’m Dick.” He caught the raised brow you gave him and immediately flushed, a faint pink blooming across his cheeks. “Richard. Grayson. Dick Grayson. That’s me.”

“…Right,” you said, lips curving into a slightly wider smile. 

Damian didn’t have to look at you to know. He could already feel the secondhand embarrassment crawling up his spine like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He was going to commit fratricide. Right here. In broad daylight.

Meanwhile, you let your gaze drop to the ball of grey fluff at his side, her tail wagging lazily as she sprawled out across the grass like she owned the park.

“And who’s this?” you asked, your tone cooeing.

Dick followed your gaze, smile brightening instantly. “Haley,” he said warmly. “She’s still a bit of a mischief maker, but we’re working on it.”

As if on cue, Haley let out a happy little yip and rolled onto her back, paws curled in the air, clearly angling for attention. You laughed, reaching down to scratch her belly, and she kicked her legs like she’d just won the lottery.

Titus and your dog trotted over from where they’d been playing nearby, drawn by the sight of the unfamiliar puppy. Their postures were relaxed, tails wagging in casual curiosity as they circled around to greet her. Dick crouched down and unclipped Haley’s leash without hesitation, giving her a soft pat on the side.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Haley didn’t need to be told twice. With a delighted bark, she bounded forward to meet the others. Within moments, the three dogs were weaving around each other in playful loops, tails high and tongues lolling, a flurry of paws and joyful energy filling the open stretch of grass.

Pushing past his momentary embarrassment, Dick dropped onto the bench beside you without being asked, angling his body a little too fully in your direction. His smile was quick to return, all easy charm and boyish confidence.

“So,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You’re the mysterious dog park friend. I’ve heard… absolutely nothing about, because apparently someone likes to keep secrets.”

You chuckled, casting an amused glance at Damian. “I didn’t realize I was being kept a secret.”

“You weren’t,” Damian snapped, a little too quickly and defensively. “But my brothers are like rabid dogs who I didn’t want scaring you off.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, clearly amused instead of offended. “Scaring her off? What, do we bark too loud or something?”

You snorted. “The more important question is, do you bite?”

“Only when threatened,” Dick said with a wink. Then he leaned in just a fraction, pitching his voice low enough that, presumably, only you would hear. “Or when asked.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it, the corner of your mouth twitching despite yourself. There was a spark in his eyes, teasing and a little too pleased with himself, and you hated how easily it made heat crawl up the back of your neck.

You were cut off by Damian’s groan as he saw the look you two shared, slumping back against the bench with the kind of dramatized misery usually reserved for Shakespearean death scenes. “You see? This is why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, come on, Dami,” Dick teased, nudging his little brother with his elbow. “Don’t be like that. It’s not my fault our new friend is cute.”

Your lips parted in surprise, a soft huff of laughter escaping before you could stop it. 

“She is not our friend,” Damian muttered.

You turned toward him, brow arching with interest. “Oh?” you said, drawing the word out, clearly amused. “So what am I?”

Damian opened his mouth, paused, frowned like the question had personally offended him. “You’re… mi—my,” he settled on, vaguely flustered. “My friend. Not his.”

Dick raised his brows, then gave a low chuckle, the sound soft and unbothered. “Hey, no one said she can’t be friends with both of us.”

Then he glanced your way, that familiar glint in his eyes.

“Though I wouldn’t mind being a little more than friends.”

Your heart skipped, just once, and the way his smile deepened told you he noticed your flushed cheeks.

From beside you, Damian huffed, arms crossed tight. “I just didn’t introduce her because I didn’t want you hitting on her,” he grumbled.

Your smile softened as you leaned back against the bench. “Don’t worry, Dami. You’ll always be my favourite.”

He nodded like that settled the matter entirely, posture relaxing ever so slightly as he turned his attention back to the three dogs still tumbling across the grass.

But the moment his gaze was elsewhere, Dick leaned in again, his voice low and smooth.

“What do you say to dinner?” he murmured, the words warm against the air between you. “Give me a chance to change your mind about your favourite.”

You turned your head toward him, brow raised, a smile tugging at your lips. Your eyes flicked to Damian—still fully distracted— before looking back at Dick, biting your lip.

“It’s a date.”

Next Chapter →

[haeoflii]

NERD VS GEEK EPIC HYPERFIXATION BATTLE! FIGHT!!

(click for better quality)

After a heated battle of pure yapping, unnecessary sculpting history and badly re-enacted Batman scenes, the battle ends in a tie cause they're both losers

[kabumisun]

read left - > right

she ace on my trap til i pola

[bunnis-monsters]

Platonic!yandere bee hybrid sons that refuse to let anyone touch their queen. In this scenario, you were taken against your will to be a queen, forced to pump out eggs.

You’re their mama, and they’re tired of others using you!

When you could no longer incubate eggs, they planned on killing you and capturing a new queen… but your sons wouldn’t have it!

You’re tired, you need to rest and be pampered and they’re here to make sure you never go without proper care!

The original bee hybrids hadn’t been kind enough to you, simply using your body to create more bee hybrids, but what they didn’t know is that you would create the most loyal sons that would free you from your captivity and slaughter those who would even think about laying a hand on their precious mama!

They take you to a quiet place, taking care of their mama and forming cuddle piles, all buzzing comfortingly and making sure you’re happy and safe. They never want to see you in pain again.

All you ever did was love them, make sure they grew up knowing that they could be anyone they wanted. And they all wanted to be your protectors.

They just had to take down the hive, and now you could retire with your family. Your little ones clung to your breast, feeding as your older sons focused on maintaining the hive and ensuring you’d never have to worry about producing eggs again. They didn’t care if the hive ended with their generation, they wanted you to have a peaceful and happy life!

Their fuzzy bodies and soft chubby faces all nuzzle and snuggle into you from every angle. To be loved is to be protected and cherished above all else, and you were loved dearly.

[acosmicbee]

Child of War

God of War x GN Child Reader

"Only the best for me." Was the demand the war god made of your village. It was a small village, but one that dedicated itself to solely worshiping the bringer of war. It was a controversial opinion as villages usually paid homage to gods other than their direct patrons, but here it was different.

Here, when the god of war took it upon himself to speak to lowly mortals, it was seen as an act of favoritism for being so loyal. So when the priests had reported his words, people scrambled to listen.

Everyone sacrificed their best to him, from wedding rings to fancy dresses to the ripest fruit. For you, that meant watching as your beloved toy bunny was burned at his alter. You watched his fur turn to ash as his button eyes melted from the heat.

Your father and stepmother had demanded it of you, and while you could vaguely remember the lessons on how sacrificing was a great act of devotion, it didn't make it any less of a loss. The only thing that kept you from bursting out into tears was being told how much the war god would look down at you favorably for taking part, even as a child.

What you didn’t expect was to find your little bunny back on your bed at home. He was sitting right where you always left him by your pillow. His fur was just as soft, even if he carried a faint smell of smoke and something a bit more metallic.

You just laughed, hugging him tightly. You didn't hear your parents' whispers about what this might mean for you. How you were clearly favored by the war god for him to return your toy so readily.

There was talk of having you become one of the tenders of his temple, dedicating your life to him. They called over the priests and elders when the next sacrifice was met with a similar result.

The cloak your parents had told you to burn, the only one you had as winter approached fast, was back on the hook by the time you got home. In fact, the broken clasp that was prone to slipping loose had been fixed with an actual silver button.

That earned you the envy of several of your peers, all of whom also wanted to be noticed by the war god, but it never happened for them. When the god demanded a sacrifice they would also burn their toys and cloaks, hoping for a sign.

Instead, they'd receive nothing in return. Soon that jealousy would turn into hatred. Why did you get to be the special one? Why not them? They'd never touch you, but you could hear them as they mocked and teased you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

"The god has asked for another sacrifice. This time it seems he wants something other than material possessions." One of the priests said, sitting with your parents. You were listening from the other room, as your father and stepmother whispered back and forth for a while.

"Y/N has always been favored." Another priest chimed in. "Their death would not be in vain as they would be doing the greatest duty to the war god. In fact, he may even call upon their spirit to serve him even in death."

"How much are you willing to give us in return?" Your stepmother asked. At that you stopped listening, crawling into bed as you pretended this was all a bad dream.

When you were taken to the temple the next day with nothing but your bunny and cloak you knew what was happening. You saw the way they lied, saying they'd see you soon, as you were handed off to one of the priests and escorted deeper into the temple.

They had some of the priestesses bathe you in scented water, scrubbing you clean. Your hair was washed and brushed out, styled neatly. Then you were dressed in white robes before you had been whisked off somewhere to meet your doom.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

Your bunny and cloak had been taken somewhere along the way, and that's how you knew it was almost time for you to die.

You cried as they tied you to the table, preparing the knife. It was only once the chant began and the priest was standing over you, about to end it when everything stopped.

The priest's arms faltered before the knife slipped from his grasp as something shot from his chest. He fell down, narrowly missing you, with a sword stabbed through his abdomen. The priests in the room gasped, bowing down to the man who stood in front of you. He shielded your prone form with his own, wearing battle armor made of gold and stained with blood.

"When did I ever say that I wanted my sacrifice killed?!" A voice hissed. It sounded angry and held a power to it that immediately reminded you of a war cry. "You need to listen, fools. Such stupid mortals."

The ropes holding you fell away and you were lifted into strong arms. You looked up at your savior with tear filled eyes, which made him frown. In an instant, your bunny was being placed into your arms as he wrapped your cloak around your shoulders.

"Some things shouldn't be seem by such a young child, even if you are my child now. Sleep little one, even war can feel mercy sometimes." He placed a finger on your forehead and sleep instantly clawed at your vision.

"My siblings always said I had a big ego," he started, staring at the other priests who had just attempted to sacrifice you. "As the god of war I've always been sacrificed the best of the spoils. I've always gotten the best, and I deserve the best."

His voice suddenly dropped as he gently set you aside, his eyes blazing with anger. They were the color of freshly spilled blood with the practiced control of a soldier. "But however big my ego may be, my anger towards this disgusting mortal town is a million times bigger."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

When you woke up next, it was in a beautiful bedroom among the clouds. The home of gods and goddesses... and you now. Although it wasn't long before you had also been made immortal, given a title by your new father.

Y/N. The child of War. Immortal of mercy and the innocence of childhood.

[be-xkyy]

𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑌𝑎𝑛! 𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑛

Warning: platonic yandere, possessive, jealous, crying, a little cute?, this is PLATONIC.

This is something platonic that I don't know why I wrote, since it's not part of my usual content... but the idea came to me and I wrote it in an hour or so, so here it is. 🤷🏻‍♀️🖤

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Masterlist

Part 2

Yandere Little Son who is a beautiful and energetic 5 year old boy, your only baby, your only son for now (forever) who adores his mommy, YOU, with all his heart.

Yandere Little Son who since he was a baby was always calm and happy in your arms, but only with you, since he would sob and scream at the top of his lungs when someone else grabbed him (including his father)

Yandere Little Son who despite everyone saying that he would become more independent and less clingy when he grew up, that didn't happen. Oh no. He just became more attached to you and when he learned to walk he started following you around (like a little duckling)

Yandere Little Son who took his first steps walking towards you, his first words were "Ma—ma!", all his drawings are of you and him (and a distant figure in a corner that according to your son's own words is his father. At least he added it... right?)

Yandere Little Son who was sobbing and screaming when you first took him to daycare, the teacher told you that all kids were like that on their first day and that your son would calm down when he was with the other kids. Only an hour later you received a call from daycare to go pick him up since he wouldn't stop crying.

Yandere Little Son who learns at home with a private tutor since he doesn't want to be separated from you at any time, he pretends to get along with the tutor in your presence only to kick her hard under the table when you go to the kitchen for lemonade (he gets upset when she takes it easy and doesn't give up)

Yandere Little Son who approaches angrily and kicks his father with all his might (it doesn't hurt) when he sees him kissing you, his little hands push him (without moving him even a millimeter) while he yells at him in a shrill voice.

"Get away from my mommy! Get away, get away!".

Yandere Little Son who every night sleeps in your room regardless of you putting him to bed in his room, he leaves his room to go to yours, climbs into bed and lays right between you and his father, he snuggles up to your side squeezing his teddy bear while asking you to tell him a story (he falls asleep halfway through)

Yandere Little Son who always wants to match your clothes, always helps you in the kitchen when you're cooking something (he ends up covered in flour) and always gives you flowers when you go out and even when you're at home he cuts the flowers from the neighbor's garden to give them to you (your neighbor comes to your house upset because your son pulled out all her daisies)

Yandere Little Son who started crying when he found out you were pregnant and had a little brother or sister, he sobbed clinging to you hiding his face in your stomach saying he doesn't want a little brother or sister.

"NO! Mommy... sniff— sniff... I don't want a brother or sister! You'll stop loving me and only want him! sniff—"

Yandere Little Son who lets you comfort him by taking him in your arms telling him that even if you have another child he will always be your baby, your first son, that you have special affection for him, he stops crying hiding his face in your neck even though your words calm him down, he takes his head out of your neck to look at you his little hands gently grab your cheeks.

"And if I don't like my little brother when he's here... can we return him? Give him to someone else who wants him... ok mommy?"

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Monster Child//

I’m not talking about an Eldritch being or Lycan grappling with their werewolf side. I’m talking about a real Monster Child. Outwardly just another typical darling little girl. Curious and outspoken with a bright disposition anyone at a glance wouldn’t bother to question otherwise. But this Monster Child is evil. Wicked. Totally twisted inside and a menace to all the normal functions of civilization. Because deep down something is just…not right.

“Ha, I hope when the rat poison kicks in they’ll be back with their family! Or better yet on their doorstep.”

They're just awful…and it’s not because of their childhood. They have two loving parents in an upper-middle-class home, in an inclusive neighborhood. They just opened their eyes one day and decided they adore other people’s pain.

“Honey, will you tell me what happened to the dog?”

“He…in…ba’thment!”

“...Why are they in the basement?”

“Cause dead!”

And unlike the other horrors centered around troubled kids, she doesn’t bother hiding it. Like the Monster Child she is, Lacy, doesn’t bother hiding it. Her parents are more than aware of the red flags she so clearly waves, it’s their reactions that truly beckon her. She doesn’t care if the old woman down the road wags her spotty finger and cusses her out. She just ignores it. That is until the old hag woman starts threatening to send her to a facility. She knows that without her parent’s consent that isn’t going to happen anytime soon…but that doesn’t stop the house at the end of the block from becoming vacant.

“Lacy…no one’s seen Mrs. Frock in a while would you know anything about that?”

“....Mason you know what the answer to your own question is. Please use your brain.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m your father!”

“You’ll be dead if you keep screaming at me.”

“Mason! Please!”

That doesn’t really change when she meets you. Whether you’re a teacher, a neighbor, a new step-parent, or even just a regular in a place she frequents. When she latches on she doesn’t plan to let go and it doesn’t matter if you’re 60 kilos heavier than her. 

You’re hers now. 

“(Y/n).”

“Yes, Lacy?”

“Would you rather Wilson or Riley survive a fall down the stairs?”

“What?! I’d want them both to survive! Better yet no one falling down the steps at all!”

“Hm guess that means you want both. We’ll see what fate has to say.”

“Lacy please!”

Unlike other possessed children or incredibly jealous children, she’s not moved by your opinion of her. She doesn’t care. In fact, she relishes in the realization on your face as you realize her cruelty knows no bounds. Purposefully committing her acts of terror in plain sight. As stated before Lacy doesn’t care about who knows about what she does. It’s when you get in the way of her fun or her time with you+ that she has an issue.

“I didn’t want to hurt you Detective but I’ve been away from (Y/n) for long enough.”

“Well I can’t let you go until you help me understand why you were at–”

“NO. If I don’t see them within the hour, your partner’s remains will be found in an unflushed toilet.”

“Lacy–”

You’d think an eight-year-old a little over a meter would be easy to restrain but Lacy is a Monster Child. She’s tasted blood before and she doesn’t plan to stop anytime soon. And when you stand in the carnage she’s made in your name you wonder if she can love at all. If she’s only using you as an excuse to murder and maim. 

“I love you the most! That’s why!”

Rules | Kofi | Commissions

[thecloudsaremyhome]

Imagine being the first born to the yandere fae king, even though you were his first born he has no reason to spend time with you, feeling as if you are an inconvenience. he only married your mother for political reasons after all so their was no sense of love.

This of course hurts. You that he doesn't feel any ounce of love for you, only a duty subjected on him. But then he had to go and fall in love with a human, who came to this paradise of your world on a coincidence, an it hurts even more that he doesn't even spare you and your mother a glance at all. To enormed with who h calls his true love. It shouldn't hurt but it does.

But then she got pregnant. An suddenly you weren't his only child, he devoted his heart an soul into his true love and their precious baby that you were left in the dust and the worst part is, you don't understand why? Why can't he love your mother like h loves that human woman? Why can't he love you like he loves his precious second child.

It was infuriating, an you made it known of your displeasure, not carrying of the consequences, but the human doesn't seem to mind in your displeasure toward her no she embraces it, because that's the only form of attention you'll give her and yes she has a child now but that doesn't stop her from loving you the same!

She just wished she was your real mother, well she could make due until she could frame you precious mother and be the only mother in your eyes, but first her husband needs to pay attention to you first.

Authors note: this idea just came out of nowhere, should I make this into a oneshot?

[cumtastiics]

tw ( yandere. past neglect mentioned. )

a/n: plz supprot my gambling addiction and buy me primogems

Unedited btw snippet of draft I was supposed to post

"come on, won't you come back home? for us?" his voice was usually soothing to listen to, but it sounded so... desperate.

your finger hovered over the next voice message, debating whether you should listen to it or not.

you gave in, unfortunately.

"listen to grayson for once, (y/n). everything's been out of control since you've-" jason's voice was cut off by another voice, the same one you'd always hear taunting you.

"don't you feel any sort of shame, (y/n)? it's embarrassing having to tell people my own sibling ran off," damian's voice sounded bitter almost, as if he had no form of guilt, due to being part of the reason for you moving out.

it's not like you even ran away anyways, you were 19, you were legally able to move out.

there was, maybe a minute left of the message as your phone died on you.

[p-seduonym]

Switched at Birth

A/N: I wrote this all in one setting don't at me if it sucks. Okay? I wrote this with @luludeluluramblings Switched at Birth concept in mind. Give her some love cause she's awesome! I'll probably write more if you guys like this one. I also gave Reader a lastname cause (Lastname) felt too awkward.

Yandere!Batfam x Switched!Fem!Reader x Yandere!Wayne!OC

You like to think you were an ordinary girl.

You grew up in a sleepy suburb, on a street where all of the houses looked the same. Two parents and a handful of siblings, the quintessential nuclear family. Your father worked an office 9-to-5 while your mother tended to the house. Every morning began the same, with you being pulled from your sleep by the clamor of your family starting a new day. Breakfast, a routine affair around the kitchen table before you hurried to catch the school bus.

You attended public school your entire life, going through its monotonous rhythms with your siblings. Your highschool, never exceeding 850 students, was unremarkable, known - just barely - for its sports teams than for any academic prestige . But you only had a passing interest in sports. You had average grades across the board, from athletics to chemistry, and a comfortable but modest group of friends. This year was your final, with graduation looming in the future.

Each evening, you returned home the same way you always had: stepping off the school bus to the scent of a home-cooked meal and the familiar chatter of your family.

Yes, you were an ordinary girl.

Or so you told yourself.

Even with your striking features—sharp angles and piercing eyes that none of your family shared. Even with your demeanor—calm, composed, distant, no matter how warmly you tried to act. Even with the strange, invisible wall that always seemed to separate you from those you loved.

Despite everything, you were ordinary.

That’s what you thought.

Until you met her.

Melissa Wayne.

She introduced herself to you one Saturday evening. You were the only one home to answer the door. Your father was working overtime in the office and your mother had coaxed your siblings into running errands with her. You barely managed to avoid the chore by claiming you had to study for an upcoming exam. Instead, you were halfheartedly flipping through notes when you heard the chime of the doorbell. 

Your mother always said you had a scarily keen eye. In the split second that followed you opening the door, you absorbed every detail. 

A girl, no older than you, stood poised on your porch. She wore a pristine school uniform, her hands folded neatly over a leather messenger bag. Her blazer was buttoned to perfection, her tie knotted with precision. A plaid skirt fell modestly just above her knees, and polished loafers gleamed against the weathered wood of the porch.

It was immaculate, almost, how out of place she was.

“Hello” Her voice was soft, cautious – as if she wasn’t entirely sure why she was here either.

“Yes…hello?” You sounded more like you were asking a question rather than greeting a visitor.

“I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Is this their house?”

“Yes, it is. They aren’t here though. Sorry” You replied

She blinked at you slowly. She didn’t seem perturbed, as if she expected this.

“Then.. you must be their daughter?”

You leaned against the door frame. The setting sun’s rays hurt your eyes. 

“Yes, I am. Can I help you?”

The girl studied you. You studied her back. A slight breeze whistled between you two, tussling her hair.

“My name is Melissa Wayne. May I come in?”

It would have been perfectly reasonable to say no.

She wasn’t here for you—she wanted your parents. You didn’t know her. The logical thing would have been to ask her to come back another time.

Logically speaking, at least.

But something about her made you pause.

Despite the crisp uniform and air of sophistication, Melissa Wayne looked… lost. Unsure. Almost like she expected to be brushed aside. Like a stray left in the rain, having been passed by one too many times.

So, you gave her a courteous smile and welcomed her in.

Your mother always taught you to be polite to strangers, so you asked her if she wanted some tea or coffee.

“Tea would be nice” She murmured standing just outside the kitchen’s doorway, watching as you began to boil some water.

You rummaged through the pantry as you asked over your shoulder “What’d you like? We have green tea, chamomile… I think there’s some black tea left.”

Silence. You couldn’t see her, but you could feel her gaze on your back—heavy, contemplative.

“...Any is fine” She finally settled on, as if that was the safe answer.

By the time you turned around, the kettle was set to boil. She was still standing. You gestured for her to sit, and she did, carefully smoothing out her skirt before reaching into her leather messenger bag.

She pulled out a stack of documents, setting them on the table between you. You picked them up and scanned the pages.

Hospital records. Gotham City. Over a decade ago.

Two baby girls, born on the same day to their respective mothers. One, the daughter of an office worker and a housewife. The other, the daughter of a supermodel and a well-known billionaire. Both babies went home that night—

But not with their rightful parents.

Slowly, you placed the papers face-down on the table. Your gaze lifted to Melissa Wayne, taking her in with fresh eyes.

At first glance, she had the refinement expected of an esteemed philanthropist’s daughter. But now, looking past the polished exterior—

Her large, round eyes carried a watery sadness—the same quiet grief your "mother" wore when speaking of her late cousin. Her shoulders were drawn tight, her hair brushing against them with every subtle shift, much like the way your "father" held himself after a long, weary day at work.

Looking closely, you saw the quiet and innocuous nature of your parents, yet weighed down with years of burden.

Melissa opened her mouth and began to speak.

She spoke of her mother, consumed by vices—alcohol, drugs, sex—and how they ultimately overtook her. She spoke of her father, a distant and cold man, who reserved his affection for his menagerie of adopted children rather than for her. She spoke of lonely manor halls, cold glances, and missed events. Isolation and loneliness.

“I-I always knew I was different from them,” Mellissa stammered with an air of defeat, “I know this is your life, but please, please, I just want to know my parents—”

As the kettle began to whistle, you suddenly embraced her, cutting off any more words. Tears trickled down your face, but you held your composure.

“You’re incredible” You whispered softly into her hair as you held her close.

Melissa, mystified, stayed silent.

If it were you in that lonely place, you're not sure if you would have fared well. And thinking of someone like your parents, so soft and harmless, being forced to endure such hardships left your chest aching in grief. You gently patted her tousled locks of hair.

“You’ve done so well,” You whispered to her. “ You didn’t deserve that. You’re so strong and wonderful and…”

You held her tight.

Meliisa Wayne was well prepared to hate you. The girl that had taken her rightful place. The girl who had all of her parents' love.

She was well prepared for that.

She wasn’t prepared for this warmth. This kindness from the one who shared blood with those who left her to rot.

Years a loneliness have left her warped and twisted, beneath her soft demeanor. She had no qualms coming into our life with the intent to take back what was hers. Why she told you her life story, she doesn't know. Maybe it felt right to air out her grievances to the one who made her suffer.

And yet you held her-- when no one else would.

You called her wonderful and strong an cried for her sake.

Melissa Wayne was prepared to hate you.

She was never prepared to love you.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story Idea #29:

Yandere ex husband! x ex wife! reader:

Darling(you) left her yandere husband after he kept her kidnapped at home and divorced him while she was pregnant (unbeknownst to him). He doesn't want to let her go and after many lawsuits and restraining orders, she manages to slip under his radar. The ex-husband doesn't give up and doesn't want to let her go, but it takes him years to track her down (because she disappeared from social media and changed her name) and when he finally finds her seven years later, he discovers her picking up her seven-year-old son from school. The little boy happens to turn around and upon seeing the yandere ex-husband (and unbeknownst to him, his father), he innocently asks his mother: "Mommy, why is that weird man following us?"

That's when Darling realizes she's been found again and runs home with her son. The yandere ex-husband can't believe the resemblance between him and that child, and after doing a couple of calculations about the last night he spent with Darling (exactly six years ago) he starts to think about the possibility that that child is his son/daughter. A long time passes and when the yandere ex-husband finally manages to kidnap them both, he tries to approach his son but he yells at him:

"You're not my dad!, i don't need you!, get off me you weirdo!. Let mommy go!" Your son scream angrily at his father, who is surprised.

Looking at your son, you knew he was right. Your ex-husband didn't know how to react to seeing your son defending you.

Yes, your little boy adored you.