#but he still supports her as a good friend

[marcyvampire]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[g0dlyunsub]

under pressure.

getting strapped up to a lie detector as part of a bet wasn’t exactly in your plans, nor was exposing your deepest secret to spencer reid.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff! confessions, coworkers to lovers, cheesiness overload 

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: three weeks since i last posted a fic?? absolutely unacceptable *presses post button*

accompanying song :: more than friends by aidan bissett

“there’s a reason why that thing’s admissible in court,” you murmur to derek, watching as the officer packs the polygraph back into a cabinet.

derek chuckles.

“you think you can beat it?”

“i know i can beat it.”

you cross your arms and look up with a challenging smirk.

“there’s actually a lot of skepticism surrounding the validity and accuracy of polygraph testing, especially since it’s only an instrument that measures physiological changes like heart activity and perspiration. people often mistakenly assume they’re trying to deceive a machine, when really it’s all about the polygrapher, who oversees and administers the examination.”

you don’t even have to turn your head to know it’s spencer who’s just made his way into the room, derek’s lifted brow a confirmation of his presence.

“ah, look who’s finally found us. i was starting to miss you a little, kid.” 

“what are you guys up to?” spencer asks in return, his gaze shifting from you to derek, before slowly making way back to you. 

“l/n thinks she’ll pass the test with flying colors.” derek points at the cabinet and looks at you with a winsome grin.

“i won’t even have to try.” you shrug, placing your hands on your hips confidently.

“wanna bet on it?”

“loser pays for dinner. reid, you in?”

“i uh, i think i’ll just watch,” spencer politely declines, his hands nervously burrowing deep into his pockets.

derek bursts into laughter. “oh come on, kid, it’s free dinner for the both of us.” 

spencer chuckles quietly. “we’ll see.”

you make your way over to the cabinet, kneeling to retrieve the bulky device, and set it down on the table behind you. 

taking a seat, you lift your arms to secure the straps above and below your chest, and attach the blood pressure cuffs to your right arm. 

“nuh-uh.” 

you hear derek tut a sequence of disapproving clicks.

“hey kid, check to see if it’s around her securely.” derek tilts his head at spencer before nodding in your direction, adding, “don’t want you deceiving us in other ways.”

you roll your eyes before raising your arms in surrender. “go ahead, i’ve got nothing to hide.”

spencer slowly approaches you, hesitant steps overtaking his stride as he moves to stand in front of you. positioning a hand on your back for support, spencer sticks a finger between the gaps of the sides of your chest and the straps.

the straps tighten ever so slightly, causing your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. almost like an unconscious reflex, you release a breathy exhale.

“is that too tight?”

it’s barely a whisper, and he’s close, so close — his lips hover practically right beside your ear that you can feel his breath tickle the hairs on your neck.

“no,” you let out, “it’s good.”

your heart’s pounding now, and you’re thankful that you’re not hooked up to the monitor rate, at least not yet. 

“just slide your finger into the clamp,” spencer instructs, his hand guiding yours into the plate where the electrodes lightly pinch your fingertips.

“is that comfortable?” spencer asks once again, his furrowed brows an indicator of marked concern as he searches for any signs of discomfort.

“yup.”

you bite your bottom lip as spencer hooks the cords to the monitor. his attentive eyes gloss over your strapped arm and flick downwards, stopping once they take note of your bouncing legs. you still your legs almost immediately.

“alright l/n, here’s a tester.” derek approaches you and lays his hands on the table, leaning forward. “have you ever lied to get out of trouble?”

you don’t even need to think twice. with a daring grin, you respond, “yes.”

“it’s stable,” spencer nods.

a mischievous smirk plays on derek’s lips. 

“have you ever lied to hotch before?”

you huff an amused chuckle, one laced with throaty disbelief. “no.”

derek rolls his eyes, but spencer nods in your direction. “steady.” 

“oh come on, not even once?”

you raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “why… have you?”

“this is about you, remember?” derek wiggles a finger disapprovingly. “next one… have you ever had any romantic feelings for anyone on our team?”

it's a question you were most definitely not expecting.

it’s only a brief pause, but it’s long enough to have you doubting – are your eyes widening? are your parting lips betraying you? is it actual sweat that’s starting to coat the tips of your fingers or are you imagining it?

“no, i have not.”

you feel heat start to creep into your cheeks, but try your best to remain unfazed as you await spencer’s judgment.

“give me… one second.”

the air suddenly feels ten times heavier.

a nervous chuckle escapes from your lips as you glance around. 

“try not to bounce your leg up and down,” spencer finally calls back, and you have to physically restrain yourself from sighing in relief. 

“alright, let’s try again,” derek announces as he finally takes a seat across from you. “have you ever had feelings for… doctor spencer reid?”

your instantaneous scoff overlaps with spencer’s. before you can respond, however, spencer chirps up first.

“y/n, don’t – don’t answer that.”

you, too, try to dodge the question with a dismissive wave. “come on, derek.”

thankfully, he rests the question aside. “fine. have you ever passed your files to someone else without them knowing?”

“yes.”

“to who?”

“to you, actually,” you boldly assert, leaning back into your chair.

“oh, she’s a rebel,” derek slyly retorts back, his gaze unflinching as spencer affirms your claim.

“did you, at any point, lie during this test?”

“no.”

“alright,” derek continues, “last question.”

“bring it.”

“do you currently have any romantic feelings for spencer reid?”

“seriously?” you swivel your head back and forth between derek and spencer, your eyes widening in disbelief at the fact that he’s repeating a previous question, merely adjusting a couple words.

it’s a question that you can’t answer. no, that you shouldn’t answer.

but this time, spencer’s quiet.

“you’re kidding me,” you laugh, “we are not being for real right now.”

“oh i’m being very real right now.” 

your heart thumps like a wild drumbeat, your pulse echoing through the veins marking the side of your neck. 

you start to lace your fingers together nervously as a thin layer of sweat covers your palms. the more you think about your moist hands, though, the more you start to sweat. it’s a constant feedback loop, feeding off of your deeply-buried secret.

slowly, you take off the straps and set the electrode in front of you, on the table. 

radio silence falls over the air disturbingly, like the entire room’s tuned to the wrong frequency. 

then, “reid, did you get that?”

it takes another five seconds for sound to fill the room once again, but the gravity of the silence is almost too heavy for you to register – your wordless confession strikes the back of your mind like an unpleasant storm, raining down on your thoughts with regret and humiliation.

“y/n, um, there’s a lot of environmental factors that can impact physiological response-”

there’s no going back anymore. 

if you don't say it now, it'll linger in the depths of your mind forever.

“i do like you.”

when there’s no response, you decide to fully commit to your confession. “you said so yourself, this isn’t about fooling the device, it’s all about the polygrapher. so, spencer, what’s your judgment?”

you swear you can hear your own pulse drumming against you and shaking your body. with the faintest whisper, spencer utters, “i think you’re telling the truth.”

after hearing his response, you shove your hands into your pockets and prepare to leave, but not without throwing a glance at derek, who’s guiltily tracing the edges of his beard.

as you approach the door, however, a hand hooks around your elbow, stopping you dead in your tracks.

spencer’s hand.

“that’s it? you’re not going to hear my response?”

you don’t look up. “no, i… fine, tell me.”

if only you knew about the collective swarm of thoughts swimming in his brain, the thoughts that are denaturing all his senses of rationality and self-control. he has so much to tell you, words that he’d spill almost instantly if he’d been better prepared.

his hand moves down to envelop your own. 

you do nothing to stop him. 

slowly, he drags your hand upwards, until it rests against his chest.

against his speeding heart.

“spencer?”

the glow in his eyes is unmistakable – his dewy orbs gaze into yours lovingly, the exchange almost a confession in itself.

“i don’t think that either of us can beat the test,” spencer softly murmurs, his breathy chuckle sounding like music to your ears.

you don’t know how to describe it – it’s a bittersweet concoction of emotions that continues to spread throughout your body the more spencer nuzzles up against you.

“no,” you voice after a pause, “i don’t think we can.”

“very cute guys, but i’m waiting on my victory dinner, so if you two can-”

“oh shush, derek, you’re ruining the moment,” you say as you break into laughter, and bury your head against spencer’s chest when you fail to recover your composure.

“and you’re gonna have to pay me extra if you want me to keep my mouth shut in front of all the others,” derek retaliates, his smug grin causing you to roll your eyes. 

“i think i can wrap the straps around his mouth if you hold him against the door,” you start while looking up into spencer’s eyes, speaking loud enough to draw derek’s attention.

spencer returns with a wide smile, one that tugs at your throat to release another hearty laugh.

“yeah, i’ll grab his arms first.”

[lvnleah]

014. | meeting awfc

word count: 2k

find the masterlist here! :)

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April 19th 2024 | 3 weeks old.

It had been three weeks since you’d given birth to Finley and those three weeks had flown by. They’d been three weeks of complete bliss despite the sleep deprivation and the countless diaper changes. Every time you looked at Finley, snuggled in your arms or peacefully asleep in the crib or on Leah’s chest, the exhaustion seemed to melt away. 

You admired every tiny feature, the soft curls of hair, the tiny fingers that wrapped around yours, and the way Finley's eyes would flicker open and gaze up at you and Leah. 

The house was now filled with the sounds of coos, cries, and a lot of mess. There were moments of panic when you weren't sure if you were doing everything right, especially during the night, but Leah was always there to reassure you things were just fine.  

“Do you think he’s still hungry?” You asked Leah as she burped him, “What if I’m not feeding him enough? What if he’s not getting enough from my breastmilk?”

Leah shook her head and laughed at your panicked state, “Pretty girl, he’s fine. He doesn’t want any more right now. Look at him, he's content." She gently patted Finley's back, bringing out a small burp that made you both laugh. "See? Just needed a good burp."

Nights were the hardest. The cycle of feeding, burping, and soothing seemed endless. Most nights, Finley just wanted to be held so that what you and Leah found yourselves doing. You’d take it in turns so each of you got a little bit of sleep but he loved sleeping on Leah’s chest the most. 

In those three weeks, your world had changed entirely. Despite the sleepless nights and the constant worry, you wouldn't trade a second of it. Leah’s family were your biggest supporters and were there anytime instantly when you needed them.  

You and Leah were slowly getting a routine together but each day was different. Today, however, was special and definitely different. It was Leah's first training session back with Arsenal since Finley's birth, and you were both excited and nervous.

Leah had been eagerly waiting for this day, and you decided to bring Finley along so the team could meet him.

“Do you have everything?” Leah asked. She was in her training gear, waiting by the door as she carried Finley in his car seat. 

“Diapers, wipes, bottles, extra clothes... I think we’re set,” you replied before crouching and adjusting Finley’s blanket as he squirmed slightly in his car seat. “He’s all bundled up and ready for his big debut.”

Leah smiled, “Let’s go then. The girls can’t wait to meet him.”

You’d both been a bit strict these past few weeks with who had met Finley, Leah being a bit more stricter. You’d kept the circle of people close, for the first two weeks it was just Leah’s parents and Jacob and then it eventually ventured out to her Grandma and a couple of her cousins.

In total he’d really only met around ten people so today was going to be a big day. You both felt ready and prepared for the girls to meet him. Two of Leah’s best friends, Keira and Georgia, were still yet to meet him but both of them were planning a trip over on a weekend they had off. 

You were a mix of excitement and nerves as you arrived at the training ground, Finley snug in his car seat. Leah carried the seat while you held the diaper bag, the two of you a perfect picture of new anxious parents. The clock had just struck ten, meaning Finley was due to wake up soon and that you’d have a solid hour before he would need to feed. 

As soon as you entered the reception area, Beth spotted you. Her face lit up with excitement as she rushed over.

“Y/N!” She smiled, engulfing you in a hug, “How are you?

You giggled at her excitement. “Tired but doing good!”

“Oh my goodness, look at him!” she exclaimed, crouching down to get a better look at Finley. “Can I hold him?”

Leah nodded, “Of course you can, he’s just woken up,” she smiled before crouching down to unstrap him. She kissed his temple, gently tapping his back as he stirred against her chest. 

“He’s so tiny!” Beth cooed, as Leah placed Finley in her arms, “Hi little guy! I’m your auntie Beffy,” she leaned closer before whispering, “I’ll be the one that gives you all the sweets then sends you home crazy with your mama’s!”

Viv stood a few feet away, looking at Finley with a mix of awe and nerves. “He’s so small,” she said, not daring to come closer. “I’m afraid I might break him.”

Beth laughed, “You won’t, Vivi, you’re an awkward tattie!”

Viv leaned in for a closer look but still kept her hands to herself, clearly nervous. A few seconds later Lia walked through the door, gasping when she saw Finley. 

“How are you both?” She asked you as she hugged Leah before moving onto you. 

Leah smiled tiredly, “We’re good, tired, but good because it’s all worth it.”

"Look at this little one!" Lia exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. She approached Beth slowly, her hands reaching out and rubbing Finley’s fingers. "Can I?”

Leah nodded, her smile reassuring. "Of course. He's awake and in a good mood."

Lia carefully took Finley from Beth, her touch gentle. "Oh, he's just perfect. Hi there, little one," she cooed softly, rocking him gently in her arms. 

Next, Leah led you both to the changing room to set her stuff down. As soon as you walked in, Katie, Lotte, and Alessia stopped what they were doing, eager to meet the newest member of the family.

“Let me have a cuddle!” Katie insisted, gently taking Finley from Leah’s arms. She rocked him back and forth, her expression softening. “He’s gorgeous, you’ve got your Ma’s frown haven’t ya?”

“Oi!” Leah joked, her frown ironically on her face, “It’s just because he’s not able to smile yet.”

Katie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, let’s see in about a year. He’ll still be doing it!”

Lotte was next to hold him, “Hi there, little guy,” she whispered, her spare hand playing with Finley’s tiny fingers. “You’re gonna be the coolest little gooner, aren’t you?”

Finally, Alessia had her turn, her touch gentle and careful. “Hi Finn,” she said softly, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re so adorable! Ella’s going to be so jealous I got to meet you before she did.”

After everyone had their cuddle, you moved on to the canteen. There, Kim, Victoria and Laura were sitting around a table. 

“Look who’s here!” Kim exclaimed, walking over to greet you. She was quick to engulf you in a hug. 

“How’re you doing?” She asked you, “Getting enough sleep? Recovering okay?”

You laughed at her motherly instincts, “I’m doing good. Yes and yes, I’m getting enough sleep with Leah’s help and recovery is going well. I’m lucky.”

“Do you want to hold him?” You asked, looking down at Finley who was awake in your arms. 

“I’d love to.” She smiled before she took Finley in her arms, her face lighting up. “He’s beautiful. Congratulations.”

Laura and Victoria took turns holding him, both excited. “He’s going to be a little heartbreaker,” Kim said, making everyone laugh.

Finally, you headed to the gym. There, Steph, Kyra and Caitlin were in the middle of a workout. As soon as they saw you, they stopped what they were doing and came around.

“Hey, look at this little cutie!” Steph said, as she approached you. 

“Oh he’s adorable!” Caitlin added, appearing at Steph’s side. 

Kyra grinned, “Aww, he’s so tiny. Can I hold him?”

You nodded, gently passing Finley over to her. “Sure, just make sure you support his head.”

“Be careful you don't drop him," Caitlin said, “He’s only tiny.”

Kyra took him carefully, cradling him in her arms with a gentle touch. “Hey there, buddy. Welcome to the team!” she cooed. “You know, you’re probably the first baby I’ve ever held without trying to get them to kick a football. I won’t try it because your Mumma kinda scares me…”

As Kyra rocked Finley gently, she added with a mischievous smile, “I’m just saying, if he’s anything like me, he’ll be scoring a few goals by the time he’s six.”

Steph rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, "Yeah right,"

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And how exactly do you plan to teach him that? What if he’s a defender.”

Kyra grinned. “Well, I could always give him a head start. Maybe I’ll teach him how to dribble before he can even walk.”

Everyone laughed, but Kyra wasn’t done. “Or, you know, we could use him as a new training technique. If he starts crying, that’s when you know the defence is slacking!”

Leah shook her head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous, Kyra. But I guess if Finley can handle your training methods, he’ll be just fine.”

Caitlin chuckled, "I wouldn't just trust her alone with him any time soon."

You nodded, “Definitely not.”

Kyra gasped as she handed Finley to Steph, “Oh my god! Can I hold him in that baby wrap thing or take him for a walk?!”

Leah chuckled, “Maybe when he’s a bit bigger,” she smiled, “He’s fussy in the carrier, he just wants to be held all the time.”

Eventually, Beth and Viv came back into the gym and Beth sneaked another cuddled. Viv, still feeling a bit hesitant, watched as Beth confidently held Finley and cooed over him.

Beth, holding Finley close, glanced at Viv with a grin. “Come on, Viv. He’s not made of glass. You can’t break him.”

Viv laughed nervously, her hands trembling slightly. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try.”

Viv slowly reached out and took Finley from Beth’s arms. Her eyes softened as she gently cradled him. “Oh, look at you, klein,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. Finley blinked up at her, his tiny hand opening to clutch her finger. 

Viv settled into a more comfortable hold. “I think he’s fallen asleep,” she said softly, noticing Finley’s eyelids fluttering shut. “He’s so peaceful.”

Beth chuckled from beside her. “See? I told you he’s not going to break. He’s just a sleepy little guy.”

Viv, her nerves eased, smiled at Beth. “He’s cute.”

“Y’know a baby suits you two.” Leah nodded, laughing at them as they doted over Finley.”

Beth shook her head, “I think we’ll just stick to Myle for now, neither of us are ready to be parents!”

After a while, Finley began to stir, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft cry. Viv was quick to hand him back to you. You and Leah exchanged a knowing look.

“Time for a feed,” you giggled, gently taking Finley from Viv’s arms.

Leah led the way to a quieter room nearby, you settled into a comfortable chair. Finley was quick to start feeding, your hand rubbed over his tiny bit of blonde hair. Leah sat beside you, your spare hand in hers. 

“You’re doing great, you know,” Leah whispered, placing a kiss on your temple. 

“So are you,” you replied. “Everyone loves Finley, start of the show.”

Leah smiled, watching Finley. “He’s already got a whole team of aunties who adore him. He’s going to be so spoiled.”

As Finley finished feeding and drifted back to sleep in your arms, Leah glanced at her watch. “I should get ready. Training starts in a bit.”

You nodded, standing up carefully to not wake Finley. “I’ll come watch, if he wakes up I’ll just take him for a walk.”

Leah grinned, kissing both you and Finley before heading off to join her teammates. You made your way back to the training grounds, finding a quiet spot to sit and watch the session. Finley stayed asleep in your arms, his tiny arms moving every now and then. 

The hours flew by, and before you knew it, the training session was over. Leah jogged over, slightly out of breath but beaming with pride. “How did we do?” she asked, leaning in to kiss you.

“You were amazing,” you replied, smiling up at her. “Finley’s your biggest fan.”

Leah laughed, taking a now awake Finley into her arms. “Well I wouldn’t have it be anyone else.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

hii I don’t know if you are doing requests but if you are could you please do one with toto Wolff x wife reader where she’s just given birth and her in-laws make fun of her or give her mean comments and she gets all upset but doesn’t tell toto to keep the family peace but he finds out and gets a tad upset at her for hiding it but he rips his family a new one please please!!

Unconditional Support

Word Count: 999

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

Summary: Y/n shares her vulnerability after giving birth, revealing the hurtful comments from Toto's family that make her question her worth, prompting Toto to confront them with fierce protectiveness

I don't speak Polish so if something isn't right pleas let me know so i can change it.

Also my requests are still open

______________________________________________________________

Toto stood at the window, the hospital room filled with a serene quiet. You rocked the baby gently in your arms, trying to focus on the peaceful moment, but your mind kept drifting back to the things his family had said. Every comment felt like a dagger, cutting deeper than you’d let yourself admit. You’d spent so much time second-guessing your own reactions, wondering if you were being too sensitive—just like your ex-friends and ex-boyfriend had always claimed.

But this felt different. You had just given birth. You were vulnerable, exposed, and instead of support, all you got was veiled judgment.

Toto turned around, sensing your unease. He crossed the room in a few strides, sitting beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly, his dark eyes filled with concern. "You’re not yourself."

You tried to smile, to push it down, but the weight of it all was pressing on you too hard. "I don’t know," you whispered. "I don’t want to make it a big deal. Maybe I’m overthinking things. Maybe I’m just being sensitive."

Toto frowned, his grip on your knee tightening slightly. "Sensitive about what?"

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But the memory of Eva’s voice, sharp and critical, wouldn’t leave your mind.

"Your mom…" you started slowly, "she said, *‘Ach, du siehst müde aus’* (Oh, you look tired), and I know I *am* tired, but the way she said it—it wasn’t just concern. It was like I was already failing somehow. Like I should be doing more, looking better. I’ve just had a baby, and instead of asking how I feel, she’s telling me I look bad."

Toto’s jaw clenched, but you continued, the words pouring out now.

"And then Katharina, she didn’t even say congratulations before she looked me up and down and said, *‘You’ll want to lose the baby weight quickly, right? There’s a Pilates instructor in Vienna…’* I know I’ve gained weight—of course I have, I just carried a child—but she made me feel like it’s a race to get rid of it. Like my worth is tied to how fast I look ‘normal’ again."

Your voice wavered, but you pushed on. "And Margit—she took the baby right out of my hands and said, *‘Das ist nicht richtig. Soll ich es dir zeigen?’* (That’s not right. Should I show you?) I was trying my best, and she acted like I didn’t even know how to hold my own baby. I already feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and she just made me feel… useless."

Toto stood up, his face dark with anger. He started pacing, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Why did you let them say those things to you?"

"I didn’t want to cause problems," you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I thought… maybe I was just seeing it wrong, like I always do. Maybe I was interpreting everything too negatively again. But the more I think about it, the more I realize… it wasn’t okay. They made me feel small. Like I wasn’t good enough."

Toto stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "You were right. They were out of line. I’m not letting this slide."

Before you could stop him, he grabbed his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he found his mother’s number.

"Toto, wait," you pleaded, "don’t make this worse—"

But his face was set, determined. He brought the phone to his ear, speaking in rapid Polish as soon as his mother picked up. "Mamo, musimy porozmawiać." (Mom, we need to talk.)

You could hear the faint sound of his mother’s voice on the other end, but Toto’s expression didn’t soften.

"Nie, nie później. Teraz." (No, not later. Now.)

He glanced at you, his eyes blazing with a protective fury. "Dlaczego mówili takie rzeczy do Y/n?" (Why did they say those things to Y/n?) His voice was cold, demanding answers.

You watched, feeling torn between relief and anxiety as Toto continued to tear into his mother over the phone. You couldn’t understand everything, but the tone was unmistakable—he was furious, and he wasn’t going to let this slide. He paced back and forth, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke in quick bursts of Polish, likely recounting every hurtful comment you had shared with him.

After a few moments, his voice softened slightly, but his anger was still clear. "Nie obchodzi mnie, czy miały dobre intencje. Nie pozwolę, żeby tak traktowali moją żonę." (I don’t care if they meant well. I won’t let them treat my wife like that.)

He paused, listening to his mother’s response, before he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. "To musi się skończyć. Teraz." (This has to stop. Now.)

He hung up the phone, his face still tense, and turned back to you. "I’ve told them," he said, his voice softer now but still firm. "They won’t be speaking to you like that again."

You looked down, guilt flooding through you. "I didn’t mean for this to turn into a big thing…"

Toto knelt beside the bed, taking your hand in his. "It’s not your fault. They were out of line, and you deserve better. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just didn’t want to cause problems. I was so scared I was overreacting."

Toto cupped your face gently, his thumb wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. "You’re not overreacting. You’re not being too sensitive. You’re my wife, the mother of our child, and no one gets to make you feel less than the incredible woman you are. Not even my family."

You let out a shaky breath, finally feeling the weight of their comments lift just a little. You had doubted yourself, but Toto was making sure you’d never have to doubt him.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Can i request headcanons please? Of ford with a single mother reader with a Child that is friends with dipper and mabel(they probably meet bc of the kids), they are in the town bc reader's ex is an abusive prick that couldn't handle the divorce so they go to gravity falls to start again.

I just really like the thought of ford helping reader to deal with the burnouts and erasing her doubts of being a good mother, also i like to imagine that ford can get very protective over reader and her kid when her ex is around.

Im having a total brainrot😅

Of course!!

Ford x mother reader

When you first moved in its you probably needed something to occupy your kid while searching for a school that summer, so after a lot of hearing around, you decided to take them to the mystery shack for the day.

They instantly made friends with Mabel and Dipper, and as they started hanging out more and more, they started going to the shack almost everyday.

They spend a lot of time at the Mystery Shack, and Ford notices your presence and at first might even be a but suspicious, (still has some bad habits from bill)

At first, he’s distant, as he tends to be either working or with dipper and mabel, not quite paying you much mind, but as he sees the way Dipper and Mabel always hang out with your kid, his curiosity about you grows.

You start having small conversations when you come by, mostly about your kids. Ford appreciates how much you care about your child, even though you often look exhausted.

Ford is incredibly observant, so he quickly picks up on the fact that you’re dealing with more than just normal parenting stress. You’re trying to rebuild your life after a difficult divorce, and he notices how drained you seem at times.

One day, he finds you sitting on the porch of the Shack, rubbing your temples after a particularly rough day. Ford, ever the intellectual, starts off by offering practical advice—time management tips or relaxation techniques he’s read about.

But when he realizes that what you really need is emotional support, which is of course, not his strong suit, but he trusted his best.

He listens to you vent, reassures you that you’re doing an incredible job, and tells you how much your child admires and loves you.

Again, Ford is not always the best with feelings, but he goes out of his way to remind you that parenting is a difficult task, especially as a single mother, and even with all that, your still doing a good job.

He helps ease your self-doubt, telling you how much progress you’ve already made by giving your child a safer, happier life in Gravity Falls.

When your ex comes into town, either trying to contact you or causing trouble, Ford becomes intensely protective. He doesn’t tolerate threats, emotional or physical, especially when it comes to you or your child.

Ford’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. He stands taller, eyes narrowing as he keeps a close watch over you and your ex’s interactions, making sure your ex knows he isn’t welcome.

If your ex tries to approach the house or causes any distress, Ford won’t hesitate to step in. He’s not afraid to use threats, (do you remember when Ford was full on ready to shoot a man because he wouldn't let Mabel keep her pig??)

He’ll give heartfelt compliments, like telling you how your child has grown happier and more confident since coming to Gravity Falls, which he credits to your strength as a mother.

Ford has a knack for finding ways to reassure you with solid, rational observations, making it impossible for you to deny your own success.

He often reminds you that surviving an abusive relationship and creating a better life for your child already makes you a phenomenal mother.

Over time, Ford’s admiration for you grows. He’s impressed by your resilience and your ability to care for your child despite everything you’ve been through. He feels alot of respect and affection for you, which he’s not always sure how to express.

He’ll offer to help you with anything, from fixing things around the house to watching your child when you need a break. You became an important part of his life, so he’s always there for you.

Ford begins to take on a more involved role in your child’s life, becoming almost like a second father figure.

Your child feels safe with Ford, and they even confide in him when they feel worried about their father. Ford reassures them that they don’t have to fear anything anymore, he’ll always be around to protect them.

Mabel definitely sees all this and immediately goes to match make you, Stan alongside. Dates, alone time, whatever, do not mess with Mabel when she sees a potential couple

Hope you liked these ^^

[chrzzboo]

Broken bond

Summary: after meeting her brother’s teammate a romance begins. Even after being strictly forbidden from getting involved with a driver it still somehow happened.

Reader x Carlos

Reader x brother Charles

Genre: angst/ fluff

I leaned against the wall in the busy Ferrari garage, my heart racing with anticipation. My brother, Charles Leclerc, was about to compete in the Monaco Grand Prix, and I was here to support him. The garage was filled with the sound of engines being fine-tuned, the occasional whir of tools, and the sound of hushed conversations between engineers and mechanics.

As I waited, my gaze wandered around the garage. The mechanics were working tirelessly to ensure that Charles' car would be at its best for the race. There was a sense of focus and intensity in the air, everyone fully committed to their tasks. Some technicians were making adjustments to the car's tires, while others were running last-minute checks on the engine.

Suddenly, my attention was drawn to a familiar figure as he approached me. It was Carlos Sainz, a fellow Formula One driver on the Ferrari team and Charles' teammate. He was casually walking towards me, a faint smile on his face. The sight of him immediately caused a flutter in my chest.

"Hey Y/N," Carlos greeted me warmly, his Spanish accent adding a bit of charm to his voice. He leaned against the wall next to me. "Nervous for the race?"

I couldn't help but smile back at him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "A bit," I admitted. "It's always nerve-racking watching my brother race, especially on home soil. But I know he'll do great."

Carlos nodded in understanding. "Yeah, Charles is a fantastic driver. I have no doubt he'll put on a good show out there." He paused for a moment, studying me carefully. "You're really close to him, aren't you?"

"We're pretty close," I replied, my voice soft. "Charles and I have always had a strong bond. He's not just my brother; he's also my protector and my best friend."

Carlos chuckled softly. "I can certainly see that," he said. "I've noticed how protective he is of you. He practically glares at any guy who looks in your direction."

"Yeah, Charles can be a bit overprotective sometimes," I admitted with a chuckle. "He tends to glare at any guy who even looks at me for too long."

Carlos chuckled again, amused. "Well, I can't say I blame him. You're his younger sister, after all. I'd be protective too if I had a sibling like you."

I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks at his words, and I quickly looked down at my shoes, trying to hide my embarrassment. "You're just saying that," I mumbled, but inside, my heart was skipping a beat.

Carlos noticed my reaction and smiled gently. "I'm just being honest," he said. "You're a beautiful girl, Y/N. I doubt your brother is the only one who gets protective when it comes to you."

"It's not just Charles," I added, trying to deflect the compliment. "My older brother Lorenzo and my younger brother Arthur are just as protective, if not more. It's like they've assigned themselves as my personal bodyguards."

Carlos laughed at my words, clearly amused by the situation. "Wow, sounds like you've got a whole army of overprotective brothers," he teased. "I bet they don't let you go anywhere without their approval."

"Pretty much," I agreed, rolling my eyes dramatically. "It's like they've all agreed to keep me in a bubble. It can be quite suffocating sometimes, but I know it comes from a place of love and care."

Suddenly, Charles appeared behind us, his expression serious as he took in the sight of Carlos and me talking. "What's going on here?" he asked bluntly, his eyes narrowing at Carlos.

I stifled a sigh, already knowing how this was going to go. Charles was in full protective mode, and I could see him studying Carlos with a mixture of suspicion and irritation.

"We were just talking," Carlos answered casually, unbothered by Charles' intense gaze. He gave me a quick smirk before turning his attention back to Charles.

Charles looked between the two of us, his jaw clenching. "Just talking, huh?" he said skeptically. "And what, exactly, did you two find so interesting to talk about?"

"We were just discussing the race," I chimed in, trying to ease the tension. "Carlos was just saying that he's sure you'll do great."

Charles's gaze softened slightly, but he still held onto his protective attitude. "Is that so," he said, looking back at Carlos. "Well, I appreciate the support. But I think you've had enough time talking to Y/N for now."

"And what if I want to talk to her a little longer?” Carlos challenged, meeting Charles's gaze with a smirk.

Charles's expression darkened, and I could practically see the air around them crackle with tension. "I don't think so," he said firmly. "I don't need you distracting my sister right before a race."

I watched anxiously as both Charles and Carlos were called away to prepare for the race. Charles gave me one last protective look before leaving, clearly not happy about the conversation I had with Carlos.

I stood there, feeling a mixture of emotions. On one hand, I was excited to watch Charles compete in the race, but on the other hand, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being a bit suffocated by his over protectiveness.

I knew Charles meant well, but sometimes his relentless protection felt like it was more about his own insecurities than anything else. It was frustrating being constantly under his watchful eye, always feeling like I needed his permission to talk to someone or do anything slightly risky.

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yourusername Nothing better than supporting my brother in our home country 🇲🇨

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charles_leclerc: Love having you here ma petite soeur!

yourusername: Petite? Don't get too confident brother you're just a year older.

alexandrasaintmleux: I told you that white blouse would look good on you! Belle fille 😍

yourusername: Love you! 😘

carlossainz55: Hermosa! ❤️ by author

charles_leclerc: 🤨

love_16_ferrari: Omg she's back in the paddock!

carlando554: She always slays them outfits 💅

f1_maniac_lan: Carlos you ain't slick brother

albonowono_formula: Shhh let him have his moment 🤫

After the race, Charles had finished in a respectable P5 position, and Carlos had secured third place, a solid result for both drivers. They were both in the process of cooling down and unwinding from the intense race when Charles approached me, his expression contrite.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer than before. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I turned to face him, feeling a mix of emotions. I knew he was here to apologize for his earlier behavior, but a part of me was still irritated by his protectiveness.

"Sure," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. "What is it?"

Charles let out a sigh, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "I just wanted to apologize for how I acted earlier," he said sincerely. "I know I was being a bit overprotective, and I'm sorry if I made you feel smothered."

I softened a bit, appreciating his acknowledgment of his behavior. "It's okay," I said, my tone gentle. "I know you mean well, but sometimes it feels like you're trying to control my every move."

Charles nodded, looking genuinely remorseful. "I know," he admitted. "And that's not my intention at all. I just worry about you, you know? Especially since you're always around people like Carlos..." He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

I raised an eyebrow, realizing where this was going. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, a hint of defensiveness in my voice.

Charles shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's just... he's a bit of a player, you know? I don't want you to get caught up in his womanizing ways."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Carlos is not the womanizing player you make him out to be," I retorted, defending the Spaniard. "He's a good guy, and we're just friends. You have nothing to worry about."

Despite my irritation at Charles's comments about Carlos, I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. I didn’t want to start a fight with my brother, especially here at the circuit.

"Look, I get that you're worried about me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But you don't need to worry about Carlos. We’re just friends, and I can look after myself."

Charles looked unconvinced but nodded anyway, sensing that I was done talking about the topic. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "But just be careful, okay? I don't trust that guy, even if he’s my teammate."

After a moment of tense silence, we both decided it was best to move on and focus on celebrating Charles's performance in the race. He gave me one last lingering look before turning to leave the garage.

"I'll see you later," he said gruffly, clearly not entirely satisfied with the conversation. "Just stay away from Carlos, okay?"

I watched as Charles walked away, still feeling a bit frustrated by his over protectiveness. But as he left, I sighed, feeling a pang of guilt for upsetting him. I knew deep down he was just worried about me, even if his way of expressing it was sometimes overbearing.

A moment later, I felt someone approach me from behind. I turned to see Carlos standing there, his eyes watching Charles walk away before shifting back to me.

"You okay?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "You guys seemed to have quite the intense conversation there."

I shrugged, smiling weakly. "Yeah, it was nothing really. Just some sibling stuff."

Carlos looked like he wanted to say something more, but he held back, sensing that I didn’t really want to talk about it.

Instead, he changed the subject. "You think your brother will ever stop being so overprotective?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

I rolled my eyes in response. "Not a chance," I replied, chuckling despite myself. "He’s always been like that, even when we were little. He’s just extra protective of me because I’m the baby of the family."

"And because you're a girl," Carlos added, raising an eyebrow. "You know how brothers can get with their little sisters."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," I admitted, sighing. "But it gets exhausting sometimes. He acts like I can’t do anything without him. It’s like he doesn’t trust me to make my own decisions."

Carlos nodded, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "I can imagine," he said with a smirk. "But you gotta admit, it’s a bit funny seeing him glare at me every time I get near you."

I couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that it was true. Charles’s overprotective nature did provide some amusement.

"Yeah, it’s kinda funny," I admitted, grinning. "But it also drives me crazy. He acts like I’m a fragile porcelain doll or something."

He laughs slightly at my antics. "I'm always here for you if you need a talk." I smile appreciating him.

From that moment on, Carlos and I started spending more time together, often bonding over shared jokes about my brother's overprotectiveness. Our relationship gradually shifted from just casual conversations to playful banter and lighthearted exchanges.

As time went on, our friendship grew stronger, and I began to see Carlos not just as my brother's teammate, but as a trustworthy friend with whom I felt comfortable sharing my thoughts and feelings. Slowly but surely, I developed feelings for him.

We decided to keep our first few dates discreet and quiet, away from paparazzi and the hustle of the racing environment. With that in mind, we found ourselves in a small, secluded park, far enough from any prying eyes. And that led to it becoming a habit.

The soft glow of the setting sun cast a warm light over us as we sat on a bench, our hands brushing against each other occasionally, sending a shiver down my spine.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the park enveloped us in a soft twilight glow. Carlos and I remained on the bench, our conversation still flowing effortlessly. The park had emptied, leaving us feeling more isolated than ever.

Carlos shifted closer to me on the bench, his knee brushing against mine, sending a shiver through my body. "There’s something I need to tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to face him, suddenly feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety in my chest. I could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked at me, and I knew this was important.

"What is it?" I asked, my heart beating a little faster.

Carlos took a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage. "Y/N," he said, his gaze never wavering from mine. "Ever since we met, I’ve felt a connection with you, something I’ve never experienced before. You’re smart, funny, and incredibly beautiful, and I can’t deny that I’ve developed strong feelings for you."

My heart skipped a beat at his heartfelt words. I had secretly hoped for this moment, but the intensity of his confession still took me by surprise.

"Carlos," I said, my voice soft. "I feel the same way. You’ve become someone very special to me, and I can’t imagine not having you in my life."

Even as I said those words, a pang of guilt shot through me. I couldn’t shake off the memory of Charles’s overprotective nature and the fear of how he would react if he found out about our relationship.

"But," I said, my voice faltering slightly, "What about Charles? He won’t be happy about this, you know that."

Carlos reached out and gently took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. "I know," he said, his gaze unwavering. "But we can’t let your brother control our happiness. We care about each other, and that’s all that matters."

I looked down at our intertwined hands, feeling a mixture of emotions. Carlos’s words made sense, but the worry of my brother’s disapproval weighed heavily on my mind.

"I just don’t want to hurt him," I said, sighing. "He’s always been so protective, it feels like he’d be betrayed if he found out we were seeing each other behind his back."

Carlos squeezed my hand gently, his fingers tracing small circles on the back of mine. "I understand," he said, his voice soft. "But we don’t have to tell him right away. We can keep this between us for now, until we’re both ready to face whatever comes our way."

After a bit of discussion and reassurances from Carlos, I finally gave in and agreed to keep our budding relationship a secret for now. It didn’t feel right hiding it from Charles, but the thought of upsetting him was also too much to bear.

"Alright," I said, leaning into Carlos’s side. "We’ll keep this between us for now. But we can’t keep it a secret forever."

"I know," Carlos agreed, wrapping his arm around me and drawing me closer. "But we have time to figure everything out. For now, let’s just enjoy each other’s company and see where this goes."

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yourusername Lovely weather with lovely food

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yourbff: Did my invite get lost in the mail or what?

yourusername: Girl you know damn well 🙄

alexandrasaintmleux: Pretty girl

yourusername: Mwah love you 💋

charles_leclerc: Food without me? How could you!

yourusername: And the world kept spinning... 🌍

lovelyLan4: Y/N ate and no crumbs were left not even the plate matter of fact she devoured.

yourusername: Aww so sweet thank you love ❤️

oscxlan814: Are we just going to pretend that Carlos didn’t like this post?

carlitos655: Nah bestie he always likes her stuff probably to piss off Charles oscxlan814: Honestly sounds like him

inchident_leclercstappen161: Okay but whose arm is that in the second picture?

vernorstappen1416: Thank god you mentioned it I thought I was going insane dannyrichyf: Maybe one of her brothers? I mean Charles isn't her only brother. f1_crzz_gy: I don't think it is, her two other brothers posted too today and both somewhere different. lanscar48155x: Let the girl live c'mon not everything revolves around dating

leclercxsainz5516: Bestie where's the blouse from?

yourusername: It's from H&M! their last fall season collection!

The next couple of months flew by in a whirlwind. Carlos and I spent every moment we could together, cherishing each second we were able to steal away from the eyes of the world.

We navigated the complexities of our secret relationship with discreet dates in secluded parks and stolen moments in the pits during race weekends. It was far from ideal, but the thrill of sneaking around added an extra layer of excitement to our already intense connection.

However, despite our best efforts to keep our relationship under wraps, our secret was bound to be discovered eventually.

In the whirlwind of those two months, Lando inadvertently stumbled upon us once when we were cozying up in Carlos’s garage. Another time, Alexandra caught me with a lovesick smile on my face, gazing at my phone, and her curious nature made it impossible for me to keep our secret from her.

Lando couldn’t help but grin at the sight of us cuddled up together, but he was surprisingly supportive and promised to keep our secret under wraps.

Meanwhile, Alexandra sensed something was up when she saw me glued to my phone, and after some prodding, I couldn’t help but admit the truth. Like Lando, she offered her silent support and assured me she wouldn’t say a word to anyone and especially not to my brother.

But not everything lasted long... .

In the midst of a date with Carlos, we were blissfully unaware that a sneaky paparazzi had captured us in a moment of intimacy. The pictures quickly spread like wildfire on social media, and by the time we returned home, my phone was bombarded with text messages from Alexandra, Charles, and my two other brothers.

Alexandra’s message instructed me to check Instagram, and curiosity piqued, I opened the app, bracing myself for what I was about to see.

As I opened Instagram, my heart sank. There we were, captured in a moment of laughter and affection, clearly revealing our secret relationship for the world to see. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of shock, anxiety, and dread as I stared at the photos. I texted Carlos about it, knowing he still hasn't left from dropping me off and was probably still in his car.

f1gossippofficial

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f1gossippoffical NEW! Ferrari driver Carlos Sainz was spotted with a girl that appeared to be Y/N Leclerc, his teammate Charles Leclerc's younger sister. What do you think about this new couple?

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formulaoneracing_81: Damn what a way to start my day

carlossainz_lover: I will pretend like I didn't read this👩‍🦯

maybe_racer_for_rb: Nah man how can you date your teammates sister

mariah_piastri81_4ever: she doesn't deserve him 🤢

just_formulaone: Girl sit your ass down he doesn’t even know you 😒

layli16_nor416: Why are y'all always so involved in others love life? Let people date damn

leclerc_stappen1: For real leave that poor girl alone

no_none_sense14: Probably with him for his money 🙄

my4everredbull_drink: Oh yeah because her brother isn't also a rich formula one driver and she hasn't got her own successful boutique. Y'all just saying anything at this point ffs. 🤦‍♀️

Within minutes, Carlos made his way into my home, his expression mirroring the same shock and disbelief I felt. He saw the panic in my eyes and the phone trembling in my hand. Without a word, he pulled me into a tight embrace, his strong arms encircling me protectively.

He held me close, his chin resting gently on top of my head. "It’s going to be okay," he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. "We’ll figure this out, together."

I buried my face against his chest, taking comfort in his presence. The weight of the realization that our secret was out now weighed heavy on both of our shoulders.

I took a shaky breath, my voice muffled against his shirt. "What are we going to do now? Everyone’s going to know, and I can only imagine what Charles is going to say."

Carlos tightened his grip around me, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on my back. "I know it’s scary," he said, his voice steady. "But we’re in this together, remember? We’ll face whatever comes our way, as long as we’re together."

Since the photos had been released, Charles had been calling me nonstop, no doubt having seen the pictures for himself. I could see his name flashing on my phone, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. The thought of facing his disappointment and anger made me feel sick to my stomach.

As my phone rang again and his name appeared yet again, my heart raced with anxiety. Each time it vibrated on the table, it felt like a ticking time bomb, a reminder of the conversation I knew I had to face eventually.

But for now, I continued to ignore his calls, hoping to find some form of comfort in the silence. The weight of my guilt and fear felt suffocating, but I didn’t know how to face Charles and explain myself.

In the midst of all the chaos and confusion going on inside me, a text message from Alexandra flashed on my phone. I opened it and my eyes immediately widened.

As I read the text, I suddenly heard a crash, and the door to my room burst open, revealing an enraged Charles standing in the doorway.

His anger seethed through every pore, and his eyes burned with a mixture of shock and disappointment. It was clear he had seen the pictures, and his face was twisted into a scowl as he stormed towards me.

"How could you do this?" He thundered, his voice echoing through the room. "With Carlos, of all people?"

I recoiled at the harshness in his tone, feeling the weight of his disapproval bearing down on me. "Charles," I began, my voice shaky. "Please, let me explain—"

He cut me off, his anger not allowing him to listen. "Explain what? That you've been sneaking around with Carlos for months behind my back? And you never even thought to tell me?"

I struggled to find the words, the panic building inside me. "I didn’t mean for it to happen," I tried to explain. "It just...did. Carlos and I- we- we care about each other. It’s not some meaningless fling."

As Charles's anger escalated, Carlos stepped in between us, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Charles, calm down," he said firmly, his hand on my brother's chest. "Y/N and I have been seeing each other for a while now. We really care about each other."

"Are you serious?" Charles said, his voice low and dangerous. "You knew I didn't want you near her. She's off-limits, Carlos, and you knew that."

Carlos stood his ground, his arm still protectively around me. "I know what you said, but I couldn't help how I felt about her. Neither of us planned on falling for each other, but it happened."

Charles took a deep breath, his gaze switching between me and Carlos. "So how long has this been going on then?"

I fidgeted nervously, knowing that admitting the truth would only add more fuel to the fire. "Two months," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "We’ve been dating for two months."

Charles clenched his jaw, the revelation making his anger flare. "Two months," he repeated, his voice laced with frustration. "And you didn’t think to tell me? You kept this from me for months?"

Carlos interjected again, his voice firm but not confrontational. "We wanted to tell you, Charles, but we were worried about how you’d react. We knew you wouldn’t be happy about it."

Charles sneered at him, anger still bubbling just below the surface. "‘Not happy about it’?" he echoed. "You think that’s the only issue here? Carlos, I trusted you as my teammate, and she’s my sister. This is a double betrayal."

As Charles continued to rant, his anger growing with each word, I felt a surge of anger bubbling within me. The way he spoke about Carlos, as if he had zero right to have feelings for me, and the way he saw it as a betrayal, fueled my own anger. I stepped forward, determination in my eyes.

"Stop it, Charles," I snapped, my own voice rising. "You don’t get to dictate who I date or who I fall in love with. You don’t own me."

Charles raised an eyebrow, his anger still burning hot. "Really?" he retorted. "You’re going to talk to me like that? You’re my sister, and I have every right to have a say in who you’re seeing."

I clenched my fists, my own anger now exploding out of control. "No, you don’t," I shot back. "I’ve been trying to keep this secret out of respect for you, but you don’t get to control my love life. I’m not a kid anymore, Charles."

Charles and I continued to argue back and forth, our words becoming more heated and hurtful with each passing moment. My own anger and frustration mixed with a deep sense of sadness and hurt.

Eventually, the argument escalated to a boiling point, and Charles finally left the room, slamming the door behind him. I stood frozen for a moment, my chest heaving with emotion.

Carlos wrapped his arms around me, gently pulling me into his comforting embrace. Tears blurred my vision as I felt the weight of everything that had just happened wash over me.

"It's okay hermosa," he murmured, his voice gentle and calm. "I know that was difficult, but we'll get through this. I'm here for you, no matter what happens."

I felt helpless, Carlos words usually have a comforting effect on me but this time it didn't help. I was so hurt, it felt like I lost my best friend, my brother and all that was left was a broken bond between us.

As a week passed, the tension between Charles and me remained palpable. Every attempt I made to talk to him was met with a cold shoulder and an aloof attitude. The whole situation left me feeling defeated and hopeless.

Our mother, having learned about the situation, had been upset with Charles for his stubborn behavior, but he continued to stand his ground, claiming that I was in the wrong for not telling him about my relationship with Carlos.

My other brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur, had been initially shocked by the news about me and Carlos, but after talking and giving him the "brother talk" and witnessing his genuine care for me, they softened their stance and eventually accepted him into our family. Even Charles's girlfriend, Alexandra, had given Charles a harsh lecture, telling him how immature and childish he was being.

Now, our mother had invited me and Carlos to dinner with the rest of the family, including Charles. The thought of sitting in the same room with him made my stomach churn with anxiety.

As we arrived at my parental home, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Charles sat at the dining table, a defiant look on his face, completely avoiding any eye contact with me or Carlos.

During dinner, an uncomfortable silence had settled over the table. Everyone tried their best to make small talk and engage in casual conversation, but the tension between Charles and me was undeniable.

As the meal came to an end, my mother, as well as my other siblings and Carlos took notice of the strained atmosphere. A collective look of concern passed between them, and they silently came up with a plan to give me and Charles a chance to talk things out.

Our mother looked at Charles and me pointedly. "Looks like we have some dishes and clean-up to do, don't we Charles? You and Y/N can take care of that."

Arthur and Lorenzo exchanged sidelong glances, understanding our mother's plan to leave me and Charles alone. Carlos also knew that me and Charles had some things to solve so he joined the rest.

Charles's face contorted into a scowl as our mother's suggestion sank in. He protested loudly, clearly not wanting to be alone in a room with me.

"Maman, why do I need to do dishes with her?" he complained. "Can't someone else do it instead?"

Maman fixed him with one simple look, Charles huffed and rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with our mother. He reluctantly got up from his chair and followed me to the kitchen, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it was.

As we stood side by side, silently loading dishes into the dishwasher, I finally found the courage to break the deafening silence that filled the room. I took a deep breath, my chest tightening with the weight of all the unsaid words.

"Charles," I began, my voice soft but firm. "Can we talk?"

Charles paused for a moment, his shoulders tensing at my words. He didn't reply right away, continuing to load the dishes, but I could see the internal struggle written on his face.

I steadied myself, knowing that this conversation was long overdue. "I want to talk about us," I started, my eyes still focused on the dishes. "About what's happened between us since I started dating Carlos."

Charles slammed a plate into the dishwasher, a sharp clatter echoing through the kitchen. "What's there to talk about?" he retorted. "You lied to me, betrayed me by sneaking around with Carlos, and then expected me to just accept it?"

I closed my eyes, my grip on the dish in my hand growing tighter. "I didn't lie to you, Charles," I responded, my voice trembling slightly. "And I didn't sneak around. Carlos and I care about each other, and we have for months. We just didn't tell you because we knew you would react like this."

Charles slammed the dishwasher shut, the noise echoing in the kitchen. "And you were right," he said, his voice laced with anger. "I did react like this because it's wrong, Y/N. You're my sister, and he's my friend and teammate. There are boundaries, and you crossed them."

I turned to face him, my own anger and hurt boiling inside me. "Boundaries? Or control?" I shot back, my voice rising. "Since when do you get to decide who I date and who I fall in love with?"

Charles stepped closer to me, his eyes flashing with anger. "I'm not trying to control you," he snapped. "I'm just trying to look out for you. Carlos is not the right choice, Y/N."

My words came tumbling out, anger fueling my speech. "Carlos is the one who's always been there for me when I needed him. He's the one who understands me better than anyone else, including you. He's the one who's cared for me, supported me, and showed me the depth of his love. So don't try to tell me that he's not right for me."

Charles listened in silence as I continued, my voice gaining strength. I listed all the little ways Carlos had shown his love and care for me, from the small gifts he'd given to the sacrifices he'd made. I described the moments of comfort and understanding he provided, and the genuine connection we shared.

With each passing moment, Charles's expression softened, his anger slowly being replaced by a hint of regret and realization. He listened intently as I spoke, absorbing every word and letting it sink in.

Charles's voice softened, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. "I just want the best for you," he said, his voice quieter now. "Ever since papa passed, I've felt like it's my responsibility to protect you. To look out for you and make sure you're safe and happy."

I felt a pang of sympathy and understanding for my brother, recognizing the sincerity behind his words.

"I understand that you want to protect me, Charles," I replied gently. "But protecting me doesn't mean controlling who I love. It means supporting me and trusting that I know what's best for myself."

Charles let out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "I guess I just can't stand the thought of anyone hurting you," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and vulnerability.

"And I appreciate your concern, but Carlos isn't going to hurt me," I reassured him. "In fact, he's shown me nothing but love and loyalty. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to him."

Charles leaned against the counter, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "It's just hard for me to wrap my head around this," he confessed, his voice quieter now. "You're my sister, and I've always watched out for you. And now, suddenly there's this guy who has your heart, and I feel like I've lost you in some way."

I gently placed a hand on his arm, my tone soft and understanding. "You haven't lost me, Charles," I assured him. "I'm still the same person I've always been. Being with Carlos doesn't change that. If anything, it has made me grow and feel even more complete."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Charles let out a deep sigh. He turned to face me, his expression a mix of acceptance and resignation.

"You know, I don't have to like it, but I guess I can't stop you from loving whoever you want," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He reached out and pulled me into a tight hug. "Just promise me you'll be careful, okay? And if he hurts you, I swear I'll kick his ass."

I smiled, my heart feeling lighter as I hugged him back. "I promise, I'll be careful," I assured him. "And don't worry, I don't think Carlos has any plans to hurt me, also since Lorenzo and Arthur had that talk with him already."

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Carlos appeared in the doorway, a curious look on his face.

Charles broke the hug, his expression turning serious. He turned to face Carlos with a scowl, and for a moment, I thought he was going to go back to his protective older brother mode. But instead, he surprised both me and Carlos.

"Alright, Carlos," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "We need to have a little talk."

Carlos exchanged a glance with me, his expression a mix of confusion and slight concern. "Uh, sure," he replied, cautiously walking towards us.

Charles crossed his arms, looking Carlos up and down. "I just want to make one thing clear," he began, his voice stern. "If you hurt my sister in any way, I will make your life miserable. Do you understand me?"

Carlos chuckled nervously, his hands raised in a surrendering gesture. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you loud and clear," he said, his smile strained. "I have no intention of hurting her. I care about her deeply."

Charles let out a stifled laugh, breaking the serious facade for a moment. "Relax, man," he said, patting Carlos on the back. "Just wanted to make sure you got the message."

Carlos relaxed, letting out a nervous chuckle. "I got it, loud and clear."

Charles, feeling satisfied with his conversation with Carlos, excused himself from the kitchen, leaving us alone.

As the door closed behind him, the room fell into a comfortable silence. I turned to face Carlos, a soft smile playing on my lips.

"Well, that was quite a scene," I teased, moving closer to him. "I can't believe my brother just gave you the brother talk."

Carlos chuckled, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. "Yeah, I was half expecting him to threaten me with his hockey stick or something," he joked, a playful grin on his face.

I laughed, resting my head against his chest. "Thankfully, he didn't go that far," I mused, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "But I think he's finally starting to realize that we're serious about each other."

"I think he got the message," Carlos agreed, tightening his grip on me. "He's just protective because he cares about you."

Carlos and I stood there in the kitchen, wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. Without a word, he gently lifted my chin, his gaze locking onto mine.

His hand gently traced the contour of my face, his touch sending shivers down my spine. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned closer, his breath caressing my skin.

Slowly, his lips found mine in a tender kiss, his lips moving against mine with a sweet, familiar rhythm. His arms enveloped me fully, pulling me flush against his body, as if trying to merge us into one.

Just as we were fully engrossed in the tender moment, the door swung open with a bang, and Charles burst into the room, a mock scowl on his face.

"Hey! No PDA, you two! At least not when I'm present." he exclaimed, attempting to sound strict with his disgusted face.

I rolled my eyes at him. Soon maman entered the room just in time to witness Charles' dramatic entrance. She gave him a disapproving look and promptly grabbed him by the ear, scolding him in a playful manner.

"Charles, what did I tell you about interrupting?" she scolded, tugging on his ear. "Give them some space!"

Charles winced, his face contorting in a mixture of pain and embarrassment. "Ow! Maman, come on!" he protested, trying to wriggle out of her grip. "I was just messing around!"

As Charles was dragged out of the room, still protesting and rubbing his sore ear, Carlos and I shared a laugh at his expense.

Once we composed ourselves, Carlos turned back to me, an affectionate smile playing on his lips. "So, where were we?" he asked, his hands finding my waist again.

I melted into his touch, our laughter subsiding as the mood grew warmer once more. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our bodies now pressed close together.

"Right here," I murmured, my voice soft and intimate. "Exactly where we should be."

With our bodies pressed together and our hearts beating in unison, our eyes met. A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and the words spilled from my mouth in a gentle whisper.

"I love you," I said, my voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

Carlos' eyes lit up as he heard my confession, a warm smile stretching across his face. He caressed my cheek gently, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

"I love you too mi amor," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness and conviction. "More than you know."

After all what happened we continued our whirlwind romance without a care in the world. Sure, Charles would occasionally play the part of a protective brother and make sarcastic comments about us being "disgustingly cute," but deep down, we knew he just wanted us to be happy.

And no matter how many times he barged in on us when we had some alone time, or how frequently he made fun of us for being cheesy, I wouldn't trade our love for anything in the world.

yourusername posted on instagram!

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yourusername Date with mi amor

View all comments

carlossainz55: Mon amour

yourusername: Te amo

charles_leclerc: Get this off my feed

yourusername: Scroll you imbécile alexandrasaintmleux: Behave Charles charles_leclerc: 😔

arthur_leclerc: Disgustingly cute 🤢

yourusername: All I see is jealousy

alexandrasaintmleux: So so cute 🤍

yourusername: Big kiss for you 🫶

f1_chns_81: Quick everybody act surprised!

ham81lewicar: We should've known by the amount of times Carlos was under her post

chrl_lewis_merc: I really want to know what Charles reaction was after finding out

ff_love_rb: For real. I would pay to be a fly on their wall to know what happened

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carlossainz55 Now she's more at my side of the garage. I won 🙌

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yourusername: Je t’aime amour ❤️ by author

charles_leclerc: You're lucky I'm in a different country right now.

landonorris: Now I can finally brag that I was the first one that knew

charles_leclerc: HE KNEW???!!! yourusername: No comment.

waghouse_f1: They're so cute omg

carlosxosc_lover: I'm just here for the Charles and Carlos beef

bb_f1_lover: Same hana_formula1_news: Same verstappen4ever1: Same lestappen_united: Same landonorris: Same charles_leclerc: @landonorris ???

The end

[lexirosewrites]

Due to trauma Steve presented very late. And when he did present,it was in april of '85, as a duel dynamic. Alpha and Omega. It's extremely rare,and messes with his hormone levels in such a way he is constantly going into pre heat/rut, and feels sick nearly all the time. Not only is it debilitating, he's so nervous about anyone finding out, its very taboo rare thing to happen., and he's terrified his parents will find out he's not just an alpha and will kick him out. Only people who (know until he tells Robin on the mall bathroom floor) are his doctors and himself, He no longer sleeps with anyone until he can sort things out. During the summer of 85 his doctor has come up with a plan of action, they believe a bitching will solve his issues,cornering him into being an omega should help fix things a bit. They think the process may need to be stretched out so it'll stick. He'd still have his alpha cock and his hormones should balance out and he'd feel exponentially better, though he'd still have to take medication for the rest of his life to prevent himself from becoming duel again, and possibly help him from being infertile, because that's also up in the air much to Steve's dismay. Trouble is he doesn't know any alpha he could trust to help him, it's such a HUGE daunting favor and he wishes he already had a mate to help him. He would ask Nancy but the history and the fact that she's with Jonathan is definitely not a good idea…and Robin can't help with the sexual aspect of it of course, though being around her makes him feel a bit better,and calms him a bit, but she's not the alpha he needs.

After the events of season three Steve gets worse and Keith, who didn't want to hire Steve to begin with, keeps threatening to fire him, because he keeps needing to take off work just to to rest. So he starts bringing in doctors notes to get him off his back and then rumors finally start flying. His parents even hear about Steve hiding some big illness and are horrified when he tells him the true reason, and want him to become a full alpha instead, which isn't possible for him. An attempt could kill him while becoming a full omega, while still dangerous, is the more sensible decision. They make it clear to him that they will not support him in that. All the drama makes him feel even worse and it goes on for months, he's even confronted with the whole FRIENDS DON'T LIE spiel and tells them "I'll eventually be okay, don't worry." He cant really tell them what needs to be done but that's all he can say.

85 ends and Steve still does not have an alpha that can help him, until he meets and befriends Eddie,during the nightmare that is the events of season four. They become friends and are there for one another during the healing process after the bat attacks and even as they get better from those injuries, Steve just keeps getting sicker,and his body feels alight when Eddie is around. He wants to ask Eddie, but he also doesn't want this new special friendship to implode because it's such a HUGE ask, that's one hell of a favor to ask from a friend (and crush!!!). During a particularly bad round of illness Eddie swings by to check on Steve and Steve finally tells him whats gotten him so sick, And Eddie immediately, without hesitation, volunteers himself. Tells him "I'll do it Steve. You take care of everyone so well, let me take care of you. Let help you."

eddie wants to take care of him 🥺😭💕

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[acourtofthought]

I don't know. I just think it's a little odd that people still use the "Rhys's parents" as a real reason to support why the Elucien bond won't be a good fit.

The sole similarity being how both bonds immediately snapped would be like us saying Sarah will probably kill off Az's character as she seems to be gearing up for with Beron simply because they've both tortured people for information. Or that she'll put Az on the Tamlin path because he didn't encourage Elain to train her powers, saying she shouldn't be exposed to the darkness of the Trove the same way Tamlin wanted Feyre to avoid helping him on patrol.

Rhys's dad was cold and vicious.

Lucien is not.

Rhys's dad stole his mother away the exact moment their bond snapped.

Lucien has given Elain freedom.

Rhys's dad refused to help the Illyrian women.

Lucien's arc constantly mentions the female friends he has, we have evidence that he was threatened with violence for his attempts to help Feyre.

We're given zero similarities in personality for Rhys's father and his mother.

Sarah spoke in interviews about Elain and Lucien's similarities, made them obvious in the books.

Sarah said Lucien has always been one of her favorite characters yet some really think she's setting him up to end up like Rhys's dad?

It seems some are too fixated on their personal feelings about the Elucien bond because of their ship preferences and forget that Sarah called Lucien "her love". Why would an author ever write someone she's said that about to end up the bad guy who would be a bad husband / mate?

[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[mixelation]

oh wait do you remember locket??? the AU where minato yoinks karin from kusa??? i randomly started rotating it again

karin is one year ahead of naruto at the academy

i feel like kusa would be upset about losing their magic healing doll so someone attempts to kidnap her like three months in. this gets shut down IMMEDIATELY and really boosts karin's individual trust in her adoptive family

i also wrote part of a scene of minato freaking out days after the Incident (not like bad freaking out, like he randomly checks in on her and is like "hey you're okay, right?") and he tells karin it's normal to be upset about bad things days and days about after they happen. so karin mulls this over and is like "what about YEARS after they happen?"

minato knew kusa was bad but karin tells him how bad, and he's like what the fuck??? and apologizes her to for not getting her out earlier. bc it is logical to not want to restart a war; however that was BEFORE he had a cute adopted daughter. now those people can just die :)

i'm not sure how this goes but i think kushina would want to recover the uzushio objects/seals that kusa took away form kasumi/karin, and then also what if she got to murder some people. idk how this part would go

i decided karin's genin team is unnamed jounin, sai, and kabuto.

my usual take for minato lives AUs is that Danzo ends up fucking around for years under his Kageship while minato has to figure out 1) he needs to be shut down, and then 2) how to do it without pissing off danzo's supporters. so in locket, minato has only recently shut down ROOT. sai is still sort of messed up as a result but he gets a few years of socializing in the academy before being put on a genin team. i don't think he and karin get along automatically, but she has a lot of secret sympathy for him as a fellow outsider

kabuto is a few years older and has been a genin for a while, but minato went for a nonstandard pick because he can see a situation where karin has to pick between healing someone and reigniting her own trauma, or letting her teammate suffer. and like.... she WILL have to learn to navigate that, and he's not going to baby her forever because he wants her to grow up to be an independent strong kunoichi, but also she is his special little girl and he can make it easier by putting a skilled medic on her team.

however minato's presence doesn't mitigate orochimaru. karin's "c-rank gone wrong" mission is kabuto being like "hey kid with uzumaki longevity and stamina and magic blood, wanna be orochimaru's new body???"

good news: karin unlocks her chains and resists her own kidnapping! bad news: jounin-sensei is dead, sai is injured, and kabuto runs off

i think brining her friend back from the brink of death would be like... the first time karin ever feels empowered by her magic blood. so like there's NEW trauma but also she's steadily learning to deal with her old trauma

i guess i never decided if team minato is also alive in this AU. if yes, i think her replacement jounin would be like..... obito or rin

[maryfailstowrite]

!! DRDT CH2 EP14 SPOILERS !!

Okay so, I think there are two possible routes the storyline could take regarding Teruko, and as much as I wish one of them was true, I have a bad feeling it’s going to be the other.

1. Eden is actually the culprit and Teruko shatters. We know Teruko actually cared (even if just a bit) about Eden even before the trial, so if she’s actually the culprit, it wouldn’t just be a “oh fuck I was wrong, I shouldn’t have repaid the favor” moment, it’s going to be a “oh fuck, one of the few people I decided to take a bet on backstabbed me AGAIN” moment. Not only her, but Eden killing Arei would mean Eden never intended to be friends with her, so that’s another trust betrayal for Teruko to overthink. Plus, if Eden is the culprit, it means all her tears and her sweet persona were fake, at the very least in the trial, if not for the whole killing game. The realization of that would devastate Teruko, and she’d regress to distrusting everyone even harder. We’d have to go through this whole process of learning how to trust people again, in an environment that is going to become more hostile, because Eden being the culprit would be a slap in the face to everyone, I feel. She’s the beacon of optimism in the group, and the one actively trying to keep people together and entertained, and knowing how much everyone else hates each other, it would be rough to get along with anyone like that. Disaster, basically. A heartbreaking disaster.

Oh, and also, David would be getting what he wants, which is to debilitate Teruko. A lose-lose situation no matter how you see it.

2. Someone else is the culprit and Teruko comes out of this stronger. She realizes that trusting people can actually lead her the right way, and so Teruko finishes her process of learning how to trust people again. She not only acknowledges that she can’t isolate herself from everyone without consequences, she learns that trusting people can lead to good things too, and that not everyone around her is out to get her. Also, Eden is still alive, so not only can her bond with Teruko grow stronger, but she’s still there to keep the group from pouncing at each other at any given time. Of course, there’d still be conflicts and shit (more murders need to happen, after all), but for a while, we could get a more trusting Teruko and a group (or at least a few people) that support her through dealing with everything that’s on her way.

And David wouldn’t get what he wants, which would just be really satisfying (can you tell I don’t like David from this post? Can you?)

Problem here is, as we all know, Teruko’s luck is shit. The world might as well be out to get her. I’m not sure if I would like to go through another chapter of Teruko not interacting with anyone (since she’s our POV, we wouldn’t get much insight on how Eden’s loss breaks the overall group), but the story could be leading to that. The parallels between Min and Eden are paralleling too strong on this one fam. She’s the one that has some connection with Arei and the case, and Ace really doesn’t have much to do with anything. He was bleeding out, and even if we assume he took the tape like that, was he really in a good enough condition to do all that took to kill Arei not so long after he got his throat slit? He’s powered by pure spite and we know it, sure, but I think it’s a bit too far of a stretch.

And the chapter’s theme “not all that glitters” would fit Eden being the culprit, whereas I don’t really think that’d be the case with Ace. Of course, one could argue that the theme was already there with J, Arei and David, so it’s not like you’d need the culprit to fit it too, but it would make the chapter more cohesive, I think. Setting up such a strong chapter theme, using various character’s arcs for it, and then have the culprit not be related to that theme in any way shape or form would be a bit weird, or at least that’s how I see it.

The culprit could be someone else, of course, and that said person could fit the theme… but it’s already episode fourteen. Are we really going back to “everyone could be a suspect” at this point of the trial? It feels like it’s too advanced to put in another plot twist that leaves us at square one again. These two might actually be the only two suspects, and I’m not having any fun with it 😭.

We might get a “Eden was not as sweet and nice as we thought” moment and I’m not here for it. If that’s actually what happens, tears are going to be shred. With all due respect to Ace fans, let him be the culprit PLEAAAAASE (he probably won’t be. I’m just in denial. Let me grieve).

[foundress0fnothing]

and kisses are a better fate than wisdom

Summary: Feyre drags her sisters to Medieval Times to ogle the hot king. Nesta drags Emerie and Gwyn to Medieval Times for support and hater solidarity. And maybe to ogle some hot knights.

Rated E, Chapter 1/6, ~2.9k words

For @nessianweek ♥️

This fic is brought to you by an ER visit and antibiotics! I had intended to have the Nessian section of this complete, but then life kicked my ass, and so all I have to offer you today is a beginning. The Nessian smut chapter will be my next update to the fic, and then I’ll write chapters for all the other pairs (eventually and as the horny mood strikes).

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

“What the fuck, Feyre?” 

Nesta started in horror at the seemingly endless train of middle schoolers who were being led past the ticket window. Three jostled Nesta’s bag as they scuttled past, and she glared after them. Not that it did any good—they just dissolved into shrieking giggles as they careened around the space, narrowly missing the suit of armor standing in the corner of the large atrium. “Please tell me you didn’t have me call out of work for this.”

“Of course she didn’t, Nesta,” Elain said, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Our dear sister would only text us “Need you at the mall, personal emergency, please come ASAP” if it was for something really, really serious.” She looked pointedly at Feyre. “Right, Feyre?”

Feyre at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “He’s just…so hot, guys,” she mumbled, blushing.

“Oh my god.” Rolling her eyes, Nesta turned away from her sister’s embarrassed face to take in the spectacle that was apparently going to consume the next two hours of her life if the sign above the ticket window could be believed:

Brace yourself for approximately two hours of heart-pounding excitement! You’ll see lance-shattering jousting, clashing swordsmanship, and thrilling hand-to-hand combat! Join us for an unforgettable experience!

When Feyre told Nesta and Elain to meet her by the fake castle façade, Nesta had assumed it was only because it was easily recognizable and about as far away from Feyre’s waitressing job at the Cheesecake Factory as it could be while still technically being part of the mall. 

She did not expect that Feyre actually wanted her to spend time—not to mention 60 fucking dollars—in this tacky monstrosity. 

And “tacky” was a generous description of the space around her. Between the suit of armor in the corner, the display cases lining the room stuffed with replicas of weapons and garishly colored flags, and the entire wall devoted to headshots of all the idiots who were involved in the whole farce, Nesta found very little here that made her want to linger any longer than she absolutely had to.

But—it had been so long since her littlest sister had shown interest in anyone since she broke up with that god-awful trust fund manager Tamlin, and that interest, combined with Feyre’s palpable youngest sibling energy, softened Nesta enough to stay. Begrudgingly.

“It could be fun!” Feyre tried, but she was looking at the picture of whoever the “so hot” cast member was who prompted this nonsense in the first place as she said it, so Nesta didn’t trust her judgment anymore. She refused to look at the cast pictures. What use did she have for role-playing nerds or gym bros who used the guise of a medieval joust to hit at each other like brutes? No thanks.

She sighed and pulled out her phone to text her best friends and coworkers Emerie and Gwyn to take their lunch break and come over.  “I’m not about to suffer through this alone.” Their law office was only a few blocks away, and Nesta only felt the tiniest bit guilty about condemning them to a few hours of campy spectacle. What were friends for if not to hate watch something with you as a favor to your little sister?

That made Feyre turn away from the cast picture wall as she gestured indignantly between herself and Elain. “We’re here!” 

“You don’t count anymore, Feyre.”

“Well, what about Elain?”

Nesta scoffed lightly. “She’ll probably end up liking it somehow, and then I’ll have no one to complain with.” Elain stuck her tongue out although she didn’t deny it, and Nesta hummed in satisfaction at being right. She hadn’t missed the way Elain had also been looking at the wall of cast members, lingering for a few moments on the head shot of one of the knights who bore a distinctive red ponytail.

Nesta looked back at her phone and saw messages of confused confirmation from Emerie and Gwyn agreeing to meet her there, and so she went back to the ticket window to buy seats for them. Maybe she’d expense them—company bonding and all that bullshit.

By the time she returned to the corner where her sisters were standing, Gwyn and Emerie had joined them, and Nesta shook her head, forestalling the question that she could see forming on her friends’ lips. “Don’t ask.”

Emerie snorted. “You think I’m not going to have questions after you text us in the middle of the work day demanding that we take off and come to Medieval Times? Be serious Nesta.”

“Maybe she’s finally lost it,” Gwyn shrugged. “The Hybern case cracked her.”

“That case drives me to drink, not to willfully agree to a two hour long lobotomy.”

Feyre glared. “Stop being such a spoilsport. We’re here to ogle hot guys. You should be on board.”

“Hmmm, $60 to watch grown men play dress up and cover anything interesting with armor. Sign me up.”

An announcement overhead began, urging audience members to find their seats before the beginning of the show.

Feyre grinned and flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Well, good thing you already bought a ticket then, Nesta.” And with that, she hooked her arm around Elain’s, turned, and flounced into the darkened hall that led to the arena.

“Walked right into that one, babe.”

“Shut up, Em.”

Emerie flashed a smile and started following Feyre down the hall. “Do you think there’ll only be hot guys? Because that’s really gonna put a damper on the next two hours for me.”

“From a place like this?” Nesta gestured around to the kitschy, rustic decor. “I doubt we’re going to find any brave, gender-role defying performances here. I think the best you can hope for is a hot tavern wench.”

“Desperate times, I suppose.” Emerie sighed dramatically. “Perfect people must endure so much in this life.”

Gwyn giggled from where she was walking behind them. “And what would you know about that, Em?”

Emerie flipped her off without turning around, and Gwyn added, “But who knows? Maybe this’ll be great! Maybe we’ll find true lo—”

“Stop—don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Nesta stopped walking and turned to face Gwyn. You’re only here to be a hater with me.”

“Nesta—”

“No—this is a Valkyrie law office pact. You have to hate this with me. Don’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a guy in a tin can.” She whirled back around to Emerie. “Or a wench in too-tight stays. We’re better than that.”

Her friends nodded silently, and Nesta chose to ignore the knowing looks they gave each other in favor of turning back around and marching toward the opening to the arena. It was a large, airy room with rising wooden stands that ringed a sandy, clear oval in the middle of the space. There were oversize flags and banners hanging from the ceiling designating four different sections that corresponded to the different knights, and a dias, where the king would oversee whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Feyre and Elain had already grabbed their seats along a wooden, almost picnic-style bench in the first row of what was apparently the Red Knight’s section. Wenches were circulating, taking drink orders, and Nesta made sure to order a glass of wine—a large glass of wine—before she sat down. Needs must. Gwyn and Emerie quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before the lights in the stands dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd.

There was a distant stamping sound, and then all of a sudden, four knights on horseback burst out of a door at the far end of the arena, galloping around the perimeter of the arena. The audience erupted into cheers at the sight of the knights, and Nesta felt her mouth go dry.

Holy. Shit. 

She felt Gywn lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are we still better than that, Nesta? Because…” She trailed off, but Nesta didn’t need her to finish her sentence.

Because Holy. Fucking. Shit.

All but one of the knights weren’t wearing their helmets yet, and each one was intensely, unfairly gorgeous. 

There was the red and yellow knight whose long red hair streamed out behind him as he circled the arena. He was tall and wickedly handsome, even with a rough scar bisecting the left side of his face. Small charms and beads woven into individual strands caught the overhead lights and made him look like he was glowing with some inner light. 

The next knight was his opposite in every way. Clothed in black with accents of a deep blue, he seemed to swallow the light as he rode a lap around the arena. He was imposing and muscled and almost unfairly beautiful for a man. Especially for a man wearing fake armor, Nesta reminded herself, shaking her head and closing her mouth from how it had gaped open slightly at his appearance.

The green knight rode in after him, his helmet still on, and Nesta idly wondered why he alone would still be wearing his helmet. Was he self-conscious? Or just not a cocksure, handsome asshole like the first two knights? Whatever the reason, he was clearly an excellent horseman. His seat was agile and easy, and the two of them together moved like they were caught in some dance with music only they could hear. 

But Nesta didn’t have time to linger on why this knight was still wearing his helmet, or how well he rode a horse, because any thoughts she had were quickly replaced by the sight of the red knight. He was almost like a brother to the blue knight, but almost impossibly larger. It was as if he was made entirely of muscle—Nesta could see as much even with his armor covering almost everything except his neck and head. His skin was a deep brown and his hair, long and black and wavy, had been gathered into a messy half ponytail. He was a warrior, that much was clear, and Nesta had no idea how someone who looked like that could possibly exist in today’s world. He looked like Arthur, or Gawain, or Lancelot—someone from myths created centuries ago. 

“Shit, shit, shit there he is!” Feyre yanked on Nesta’s arm to drag her attention away from the red knight and point out—not subtly, mind you—the reason they were all here in the first place. The king who presided over the arena and the tournament had just stepped onto a platform situated against one of the walls. He was tall and dark-haired, and the kind of attractive that had from money written all over him. Not that someone who was from money would want to work at a place like this. But still—something about the smug smile and the glint in his eyes as he surveyed “his kingdom” made Nesta shudder slightly. No thanks. 

She turned a skeptical eye toward Feyre. “Him? Out of all of them?” She asked, gesturing to the knights who were bringing their horses to a rest in front of the dias. “You’re going with him?”

“What?” Feyre turned to Nesta in shock. “Do you have eyes?”

“Do you?”

Feyre crossed her arms in front of her chest, turning back to look at the king. “He’s clearly the hottest one here.”

“Okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, pursing her lips and deciding to let the argument drop. If he did it for her sister, then so be it. 

She turned back to the center of the arena to see that all of the knights had come to a stop in a line. The crowd was murmuring, pointing at the assembled men and occasionally whooping for their assigned knight. The red knight was looking over at their section, his eyes locked on Nesta. When he realized that she saw him, he winked and gave a small bow with his head. Nesta scowled, ignoring the spark of interest that flared to life somewhere in her chest. She would not let herself be flustered by a Medieval Times actor. She wouldn’t. 

The king raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. “My loyal subjects!” His voice, low and smooth, boomed over the gathered crowds. “I am his Royal Majesty, King Rhysand. Thank you for joining me here today to watch as the heroic knights of the kingdom fight for honor and for glory.” 

Nesta looked at Emerie and Gwyn and raised her eyebrows at his theatrics. Gwyn giggled, and the king’s gaze flashed over to where they were seated, roving over their group until his eyes landed on Feyre. His smile at the sight of her was sickeningly self-satisfied, and Nesta turned to see Feyre flush at his attention. 

“I am honored that so many handsome lords and fair maidens,” he continued, winking at Feyre, “decided to join me to welcome my court today. I don’t yet have a queen to join me in my revels, but perhaps I shall find her amongst your number today.” Nesta watched as Feyre, impossibly, flushed even deeper. She rolled her eyes.

“That is, unless you lose your heart to one of my knights.” Rhysand gestured toward the knights in front of him. “My friends! Introduce yourself to my honored guests!”

One by one, the knights stepped their horses forward, bowed to Rhysand, and called out their names. Sir Lucien. Sir Azriel. It was like they were characters out of some long-forgotten medieval tale, their names at once ancient and eternal. If those were actually their real names. Nesta doubted it. 

The green knight stepped his horse forward, and Nesta wondered if he would finally take off his helmet. He obliged Nesta’s request, and she realized, as a thick braid of lustrous blonde hair dropped on the knight’s shoulder and their face, all softness and full lips, came into view, that this knight was a woman. 

Emerie’s mouth was hanging slightly open at the sight. She leaned across Gwyn to whisper, “Nesta, I love you and I know I said I wouldn’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a wench in stays but,” she said, her eyes never leaving the armored woman, “for a wench in armor? I don’t know you.”

And then it was the red knight’s turn. He bowed slightly to acknowledge the king and said, with a small smirk, “Sir Cassian, your majesty.” 

His voice washed over Nesta, deep and husky and filled with laughter, and she hated that something in her shivered at the sound of it and the sheer power it carried. She wondered, idly if that power extended to other areas of his life.

“And there you have it, my subjects!” The king’s voice rang out again, breaking her out of her rapidly devolving reverie. “Please give a warm welcome to my loyal knights as we begin our tournament!”

The crowd burst into cheers, and the knights smiled and waved at their respective sections, which, in their turn, cheered even more loudly until the entire arena was awash in sound. 

The red knight—Sir Cassian—was looking toward where they were sitting in his section, and, at his wave, Nesta’s sisters and traitorous friends burst into renewed applause and cheers. She took a sip of her wine, pointedly not joining in.

He frowned slightly, and she raised an eyebrow in challenge, taking another drink while maintaining eye contact. He looked away, and she smiled vindictively before turning to berate Emerie and Gwyn for caving so easily.

But before she could say anything, she was interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and a deep, murmured, “My lady.”

Nesta turned, and there he was at the edge of the arena, sitting astride his giant horse and looking directly at her. He was nearly at eye level with her, even from her seat in the raised stand, and she was struck by just how tall he was. His hands, as they held his horse’s reins, looked massive as well, and she wondered, just for a moment, how they would feel spanning across her waist, her breasts, her—

She shook her head and scowled at him. “Me? No, thank you.”

He only smirked at her refusal before continuing on. “While it used to be tradition that maidens would give tokens to their favored knights before a tournament, here in the arena, it is the knights who give tokens to their ladies,” he said, pulling a red silken handkerchief out of a pocket somewhere—did suits of armor have pockets?—and held it out to her.

Nesta crossed her arms, reminded herself that he was just a guy in a tin can, and scowled. “I’m not your lady.”

“And yet, I still have a token for you.” He kept his arm outstretched and met her gaze. “Only you.”

His eyes—distractingly smudged with eyeliner—were a lovely shade of hazel, and they sparked with warmth and mirth as he looked at her. From this close, she could see that he had earrings as well—small red studs in each lobe and tiny golden hoops along his cartilage. He looked charming and wicked and roguish, and Nesta found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away—that she didn’t want to.

And, well, she was only human. Who could blame her for being interested? 

But she wouldn’t cave that easily, so she said, instead,  “Not until you earn it.”

Something flared in his eyes at the challenge, and he said, easily and certainly, “As my lady commands.” He left the red handkerchief on the table in front of Nesta and went to prepare for the tournament.

As he rode away, Feyre turned to her with a shit-eating grin. “Having fun yet, Nesta?”

“Shut up, Feyre.”

[mynonclicheblog]

Which hopes/expectations do you have for Season 5 Steve and Nancy separately as individuals?

I hope to see them both fulfill their character arcs, learn what they still need to learn (especially Nancy- Steve hit most of his pivotal milestones through s2-4), and close the parts of their stories that remain unresolved.

I hope to see them both ending the series alive and well, on track to achieve peaceful lives for themselves after the shitshow they've endured for 5 seasons.

My preference is for them to do that together, of course, because I think it feels the most thematically resonant for their characters- but whether jointly or separate I want them to be happy, man. They deserve it.

I hope Nancy is able to forgive herself for Barb's death. To understand that she isn't a guilty party, to finally heal from the trauma that has haunted her like a shadow. I want her to see that she is not the sum of her past and is a good person worthy of good things. I want her to feel respected, trusted, and valued by the people around her, to have support and a genuine sense of community- to know that she doesn't have to go it alone. I think season 4 did a good job jumpstarting something like this, allowing her to act as sort of a leader to the party and bond with them in a way we haven't seen before.

As I said, Steve has already come a long way. He's undergone more self-reflection and growth than any other character on Stranger Things. There's not much left for him to achieve, so to speak- just continue showing up whenever he is needed. I think Steve is in a position where he can be content no matter how things end up for him, which is great. He's worked diligently on himself, embraced a platonic circle of friends who mean the world to him, bravely protected the innocent and had a hand in saving the world multiple times. He's told the girl he loves that he still loves her simply because it is his truth, no ultimatums or demands. In season 5 I hope to see this fully realized version of Steve continuing to be there for his people and helping them along in their own journeys, however that may be.

Those are my hopes for them in season 5- but I try not to do expectations.

[myearts-uwu]

Not me occasionally whispering “Aroace!Lily..” whenever I even think of her.

Seriously tho. It’s impossible for me to imagine her to be interested in a romantic/sexual relationship with anyone (I guess Diana’s an exception? I mean I know she admires her and I even ship them, but still...). Which is why I actually kinda dislike Felily as a romantic ship lmao? It’s cute! Don’t get me wrong. But like most pairings, I highly prefer them to be left as a friends. Besties, even! Working buddies!

Just not as an actual couple.

I think it’d be interesting to imagine Lily as someone who genuinely does not want to be courted by anyone aside from the fact that she doesn’t want to interact with any of the gentlemen whenever she attends parties. At first she just thinks she doesn’t want to be into a loveless marriage so she just waits for ‘the right one’ to appear but years later when she realises that she never really experience the same way her friends feel whenever they’re crushing on anyone, she just feels... left out in a way? But then she finds out about the concept of being aromantic and asexual so in a way she feels relieved?

... Look at me rambling about this random headcanon I have.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I want to write some stuff for this but am actively nodding off so y'all just get an info dump before I forget it instead. (My baby loftwing being all fluffed and happy on my chest is not helping me focus lol)

Anyway! Miphlink baby!

I think it would be pretty neat if he was hard of hearing. The mix of Hylian/Zora genes mostly goes fine, but that's the one thing that just gets him. Part of it is because Zora and Hylian ears are different - Zora ears are small openings hidden under the side fins on their heads, and we all know about Hylian ears. Zora rely on different hearing sensors when underwater, hollowed out structures in their heads that allow, essentially, for echolocation. Miphlink baby is born with Hylian ears tucked behind thinner side fins, no structures for echolocation, and not the best hearing. So Link and Mipha have to sign with him most of the time, though he does hear a little better underwater since sound travels better underwater.

While Mipha's color scheme for her scales is like crystla red and creamy white, baby's color scheme is a lighter shade of red paired with Link's skin tone. He doesn't have claws, either, but he does have sharp incisors. He's got his dad's blue eyes.

As for size, when he's full grown he'll stand around the height of an adult Hylian man, so he'll be taller than his dad but short by Zora standards (I figure Mipha seems pretty short for her people's standards too - she is a teenager, of course, but like... she's shorter than Link. Girl is tiny). He's got the structural fins like any Zora, but his body proportions are those of a Hylian (longer legs, shorter torso, whereas Zora are shorter legs and longer torso).

He grows at a rate similar to Hylians - Zora age twice as slow as Hylians until they hit adulthood, and then they just... are adults for a million years. But Miphlink baby grows roughly at the rate of a Hylian, maybe a little slower, and the rest of the Domain is just floored at how fast this kid is hitting his growth milestones.

He definitely has that cute "head tail is too big for his body" thing going on that Sidon had <3