#chaos does homework

[schoolchaos]

How am i expected to do work that i dont wanna do for school when i can barely get myself to do work i wanna do for fun/non-school related reasons??

[bluewolfangel01]

I had stupid fun doing this

Thanks @shootingstarrfish !

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

torn between "these are my last few days of undergrad ever, I should savor them" and "I want this semester to be over so fucking bad"

[glowinginstarlight]

everything is just regex forever. i will never escape that stupid thing. why is it always regex forever

[iris-qt]

He’s Never Like This

drunk theo, soft chaos, and a lot of feelings he normally pretends he doesn’t have

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just concern. Basic human decency. Something any reasonable person would do when their best friend shows up at a party with shadows under his eyes from the stress of finals week and a drink in his hand he doesn’t seem to remember picking up.

You tell yourself that even as you cut through the haze of perfume and smoke and too-loud laughter in the common room, scanning for him. Even as your heartbeat quickens, like it always does when he’s near.

You find him on the floor.

Well. Slouched on the floor. One leg stretched out, the other bent just enough to rest his elbow on it. His tie’s been loosened and forgotten, his shirt’s half-untucked, and someone has drawn a tiny star in blue ink on the back of his hand. You can tell from the way he’s swaying slightly that he’s had far more than usual. Theodore Nott doesn’t get drunk. Not like this.

“Hey,” you murmur, crouching beside him.

He looks up slowly, eyes unfocused but still undeniably, devastatingly him.

“You came,” he says, a little too loudly, with a dopey smile that doesn’t belong on his face. “I was thinking about you, and then... you’re here. That’s magic.”

You glance around. No one's paying attention. Somehow, that makes it worse.

“You okay?” you ask, soft, careful. “You drank a lot.”

He nods sagely. “I did. I deserve a medal. Or a nap.”

“You hate parties.”

“I do hate parties,” he agrees, swaying slightly. “But I like you.”

You blink. “Theo—”

“And you weren’t gonna come,” he adds, pouty now. “You said, ‘Too much homework,’ and I thought, ‘That’s fine. I’ll just drown myself in alcohol and existential dread.’ Very poetic.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”

You help him up. He’s heavier than he looks, and he clings to you like you’re both drowning and you’re the only piece of driftwood in the sea.

He leans close as you start leading him toward the boys’ dorm.

“You smell like vanilla,” he whispers.

You try to keep your expression neutral. “You smell like firewhiskey and poor decisions.”

“That’s my new cologne,” he says solemnly. “Limited edition.”

You get him to sit on his bed, and he flops backwards dramatically, limbs everywhere, eyes fluttering shut.

“I should kiss you,” he says to the ceiling.

You freeze.

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he mutters. “Too dizzy. Might miss.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shoes with practiced motions. “You’re gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow.”

He hums. “Not if you never tell me what I said.”

You smile. “Oh, I’m writing everything down.”

He groans, turning his face into the pillow. “You’re evil. Beautiful and evil. That’s a dangerous combo.”

You adjust the blanket over him, brush a bit of his hair off his forehead.

“Sleep, Theo.”

But as you turn to go, his fingers catch your wrist. His eyes are half-lidded, voice quiet now, barely a whisper.

“Stay?” he asks. “Just ‘til I fall asleep.”

You pause. Swallow.

Then nod.

You sit back down. He closes his eyes, hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist.

And just as sleep starts to pull him under, he murmurs,

“I don’t like anyone else like this. Only you.”

[himasgod]

PLEASEEEE platonic Malleus x reader where he just judges your taste in men

Basically calling u out bc *gasp* you like THEM?!

If I could REALLY ask about who are THEM pls pls PLS make them Ace, Riddle, Leona, Vil and Kalim (I'm a slut okay)

Malleus and Reader

Where he complains about the boys you like

How would Malleus complain when you told him about the boy you like?

With Ace, Riddle, Leona, Vil and Kalim.

APPROVED ONES EDITION

I BUSTED MY ASS WRITING THIS. PLEASE, SOMEONE MAKE A REQUEST WITH OTHER CHARACTERS. I’M DOWN TO DO ALL OF NRC.

"I think Ace is kinda cute, actually.” Malleus, blinking slowly: “…You think who is what?”

He turns his head toward you like he’s just spotted a crack in the very fabric of reality. There’s silence. You swear the air gets colder.

“Ace Trappola. The one who argued with Professor Trein over homework formatting. The one who once attempted to cheat on a pop quiz and still failed. The one who slapped Rosehearts's face. That Ace Trappola?”

You nod.

“You are aware that, last week, he mooned the enchanted armor in the hall and declared it ‘a win for man over machine,’ correct?”

“Okay but—”

“And this is the person you've found appealing.”

He stares ahead, hands folded behind his back, voice unnervingly calm

“He treats life as a game he does not know the rules to, nor does he care to learn them. He teases you daily, refers to you as ‘bro’ and once called you ‘mid.’ And this endeared him to you?”

“...Maybe?? He’s fun! And kinda smart—when he wants to be.”

Malleus places a hand over his heart.

“You must never let Lilia hear of this. He will not survive it.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I think Riddle’s really admirable. I like him, Like, he’s passionate and smart and—”

"Interesting."

Malleus, 0.02 seconds later: "Concerning, but interesting."

He tilts his head like an owl and stares directly into your soul.

“You speak of someone who nearly sentenced you to public decapitation for wearing the wrong socks.”

“That was a month ago! He’s mellowed out—”

“The same Riddle who recites bylaws at breakfast? Who lectures you for yawning during study hall, claiming it disrespects the sanctity of ‘scholarly hour’?”

“Okay, yes, but he’s also really driven. Like, I respect his work ethic—”

“He once corrected Silver’s grammar in the middle of a fire drill. The building was actively burning.”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

“You are attracted to a man whose idea of romance is likely organizing your schedule to the minute and berating you lovingly when you are sixty-two seconds late.”

He sighs, deeply, as if bearing the weight of your poor judgment alone.

“...You deserve flowers. Not spreadsheets.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I dunno, I think Kalim’s kind of sweet…”

“Sweet?” he echoes, tone vaguely offended. “You once nearly perished because he brought exploding fireworks into a dining hall.”

“But he apologized! And then he bought everyone cake!”

“He bought seventy cakes. Half of which were flan. You were comatose from sugar consumption for two days.”

"He meant well!! He just wanted people to be happy!”

Malleus pinches the bridge of his nose like you’ve just announced your intent to marry a hurricane.

“He does not understand the concept of ‘danger,’ nor ‘budget.’ Nor the line between ‘generosity’ and ‘bankruptcy." Even if he's rich.’”

He looks at you very seriously.

“If you confessed your feelings to him, he would likely throw a parade. During a thunderstorm. On carpeted floors. With live tigers.”

"That sounds kinda romantic though.”

“That sounds like a liability.”

He sighs, turning his face to the heavens as though begging some greater power for strength.

“It is not love, it is survival. You are enamored with chaos dressed in gold.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

"I think Leona’s really… alluring.”

“Ah.”

Malleus, slowly turning to face you.

“You enjoy being insulted, then.”

“What—no?! I mean, he’s confident! And smart! And he has that whole… brooding bad boy vibe—”

Malleus raises one elegant brow, his tone somehow both dry and royally disappointed.

“You are referring to the man who skipped an entire midterm because he was ‘emotionally allergic to mornings.’”

“He just needs someone to believe in him, y’know?”

“Believe in him? He kicked you off a sand dune because he ‘felt like it.’ He naps in alchemy. He once said, and I quote: ‘If it looks like effort, I’m not doing it.’”

“He’s just… misunderstood!”

“He is perfectly understood. He is chaos made of ego and nap schedules.”

“You would become his favorite pillow, his errand assistant, and—if you are lucky—his designated ‘person he smirks at when bored.’”

He puts a hand on your shoulder, face solemn.

“You do not need a man with a superiority complex. You need one who knows the day of the week.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“Okay but… Vil is gorgeous. Like. Undeniably.”

“And tyrannical.”

“He’s disciplined! He has standards!”

“He once threatened to replace your entire wardrobe because your color palette was ‘offensively autumn.’ You were wearing beige.”

“He just wants me to shine!”

“He wants you to be a doll. A well-dressed, properly postured, kale-eating doll who never slouches and only drinks water with lemon slices.”

“And you think that’s bad?”

“I think if you gained three pounds he’d try to ban sodium from your life.”

Malleus looks at you like you’ve brought home a sentient blender and called it your soulmate.

“You would never have peace. Only toning creams and judgment. He once insulted Lilia’s eyeliner.”

“Okay but—he’s driven and elegant and talented and—”

“And ruthless, dramatic, and convinced that only he knows what beauty is. If you had a bad skin day, he’d schedule an intervention. With a PowerPoint.”

He exhales, softly. Almost kindly.

“You are lovely as you are. Do not let him convince you that loveliness must be earned.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

[rosemaryhoney27]

“A Perfect Little Monster”

Vlad had never felt so betrayed by reality.

The Batcave was filled with quiet whispers and sideways glances, the occasional crunch of a chip from Jason, and the warm hum of expensive tech. Alfred had politely handed Vlad a cup of tea and, without saying a word, patted his shoulder like someone offering condolences at a funeral.

Because Danny was being an angel.

Like, golden halo, angelic choir, glowing with good intentions level of perfect.

He sat politely on one of the chairs, legs crossed, posture perfect, sipping tea like it hadn’t taken Vlad a full month to get him to use a spoon correctly. He was even wearing clean clothes. A neat black hoodie, pressed jeans, no rips, no slime stains, no ectoplasm glowing through the sleeves. His hair was only slightly messy. He even said “thank you” when Alfred gave him cookies.

“Uncle Vlad,” Danny said sweetly, “you really didn’t have to make this whole visit sound so dramatic. You’ve been amazing.”

Vlad stared. “...What.”

Jason leaned in, squinting at Danny. “You sure you’re related to him? Like, at all?”

Danny laughed—actually laughed—like a normal, well-adjusted teenager. “Vlad’s always so dramatic. He says I ‘gnaw’ on furniture. I was literally looking for my sock.”

“It was in your mouth,” Vlad said in a strangled whisper.

“Because my hands were full,” Danny said reasonably. “I was holding the cat.”

Steph covered her mouth to stop the snort. “Oh my god, he’s adorable.”

Cass nodded slowly. “Too adorable.”

“Like a trap,” Tim added. “A very suspicious trap.”

“He is not like this,” Vlad hissed at Bruce, who was standing there with his arms crossed and the world’s most dad-like raised eyebrow.

“Sure he’s not,” Bruce said. “Just like Dick didn’t do a triple somersault off the Wayne gala chandelier when he was ten.”

Danny blinked. “Wait. You can do that?”

Dick: “We’re gonna be best friends.”

Vlad clutched his tea with trembling hands. “You don’t understand. This child once replaced my shampoo with green slime and told the press I was undergoing ‘ecto-regeneration therapy.’”

“Self-care is important,” Danny said serenely. “I was looking out for your brand.”

“He tackled a diplomat,” Vlad hissed, turning to Alfred like a man begging for someone to see reason. “An actual royal dignitary. Bit him on the calf.”

“The guy was slime trafficking and had a ghost locked in a bottle,” Danny said with that same innocent tone. “You should’ve seen Bruce’s Interpol file. I was lightweight compared to some of the stuff he’s pulled.”

Bruce’s eyebrow ticked upward in reluctant respect. “He did his homework.”

Jason leaned toward Vlad. “You sure you’re not the problem here, Uncle Vladdie?”

Vlad sputtered. “I—what?!”

Danny gave a dazzling smile. “He’s just overprotective. Isn’t he sweet?”

Vlad turned to Bruce. “Do you see what I’m dealing with?”

Bruce just nodded. “A perfectly polite teenager. Very respectful. You’re lucky.”

Danny turned that angelic beam on him. “Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I’ve been working on it.”

And no one saw the green glow under his sleeve when Tim tried to peek at his phone. Or the way the shadows around the corners of the cave flickered when Damian casually mentioned sword sparring.

Cass was watching, quiet and calm, and murmured, “He hides the wild. Like Jason.”

Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”

Dick put an arm around Danny’s shoulder. “Welcome to the chaos, baby cousin.”

Danny blinked. “Wait. You mean I’m actually—”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, man. Vlad’s your guardian. He’s Bruce’s cousin. That makes you family now.”

Danny looked mildly horrified. “...Do I have to fill out paperwork?”

Damian crossed his arms. “The League does blood rituals. Consider yourself lucky.”

Vlad, in the background, had given up on convincing anyone of anything. He just sipped his tea, mumbling, “I told Clockwork this would happen. Should’ve gone with the fruit basket instead.”

Danny was already being dragged into a group selfie by Steph and Dick. He looked a little dazed, but not unhappy.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jason said, handing him a cookie. “First comes the chaos. Then the trauma bonding. Then you start collecting knives.”

Danny took the cookie.

“…Do the knives have names?”

“Oh, you’re gonna fit right in,” said Damian, eyes gleaming.

Bruce sighed. Loudly. “No naming knives in the Cave.”

Danny smiled like he hadn’t just been handed the keys to the Feral Kingdom. “Sure thing, Mr. Wayne.”

Cass whispered to Vlad, “He’ll show them the teeth later. When they trust him.”

And Vlad, with the tiredness of a man who raised chaos and now had to watch it become socially strategic, simply whispered, “He already has.”

[ozzgin]

You plan to throw them a surprise party, they think you're leaving the school. Misunderstandings should be avoided when you're dealing with a pack of obsessively attached students, yet here you are. content: gender neutral reader, yandere horde, parody, kidnapping, Patreon commission

[Yandere School Masterlist]

You’ve been acting strange lately. As the end of the year approaches, so has your behaviour become increasingly suspicious: acting emotional at random times, frequently reminiscing your arrival at Yandere School, asking your classmates to take another photo in order to commemorate the moment. Something is about to happen.

“A surprise party?”

Your mother eyes you curiously, putting the cutlery down. You nod, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin, and your father hums without gazing up from his 1001 Ways to Stalk book.

“I just wanted to thank everyone for helping me all this time,” you explain with a faint blush, idly nudging your breakfast around the plate. “To be honest with you, I don’t think I would’ve passed any of my classes without them.”

Your statement is by no means an exaggeration. As it turns out, sheer determination alone does not necessarily compensate for lack of talent or proper skill. You wanted to follow your parents’ footsteps, yet you quickly discovered that having a dream wasn’t merely enough to compete against the true elites of the yandere world. It was out of the kindness of your classmates and staff that you nonetheless succeeded. Your teachers stayed behind with you, your classmates wasted their weekends helping you through every step of the homework. To think such a fierce, cut-throat community would go against its very nature and extend unconditional support, to you of all people...Ah, you’re getting flustered again.

“That’s a fantastic idea, honey,” your mother encourages with a warm smile. “I’m sure they will love it.”

Meanwhile, somewhere away from your peaceful morning meal, the students are gathered with roughened faces and clenched fists, weighted down by an unspoken tension.

“I think it’s already obvious to everyone here,” a young man declares sombrely, taking a moment to observe the masses, “that (Y/N) is most likely considering dropping out.”

“How could this happen,” someone else shouts, voice breaking theatrically. “We did everything to keep their grades up. I’m certain it worked; I broke into the school’s grading system to confirm for myself!”

“Maybe we were too involved,” someone sheepishly suggests.

“Nonsense.”

“Well, they did catch us in the changing rooms that one time,” someone admits. 

“Ah, what about the time we stole their childhood albums to make copies for our shrines? (Y/N)’s mom almost killed us!”

“Don’t forget when our coach got caught sniffing (Y/N)’s confiscated jacket.”

“Can you blame him? That scent’s heavenly.”

Everyone nods in approval, then scrambles back into a focused frown after being scolded by the apparent leader of the pack. We must stay focused, he warns with authority.

This is no laughing matter. If you were to transfer to a different school, they would lose their one and only Darling! There’s no telling how the students and staff will react; there could be riots, wars, utter chaos. One could even go as far as to say that your fate no longer depends on your own whims. Your presence is of political importance, potentially causing irremediable damage to all involved parties if you’d ever make a rash decision.

“Do you have a date in mind,” your mother asks, taking away the empty plates.

You shake your head confidently, standing up from the table.

“We must settle this quickly, gentlemen,” the leader warns. “Mark down the date in your calendars.”

“Could it be that we got the time wrong,” your father probes, tapping his foot impatiently.

“No, I’m certain it’s today,” the woman retorts, checking her watch.

The classroom is overflowing with dazzling party elements, from balloons, to colourful garlands, to tables cluttered with snacks and appetizers; yet it’s missing the most important element – the people. You!

You shake your head to no avail. The blindfold is tightly secured over your eyes, and the intricate knots roped around your body leave no room for any kind of movement. You can tell you’re presently tucked in the trunk of a car, though you’ve no idea where said car is headed or why you’re folded in here to begin with.

Did you forget about some school appointment? No, the next kidnapping simulation should be after the holidays. You’re also rather confident you haven’t accidentally promised to be the study partner of some classmate on this day in particular. You should know; you have a thick scheduling notebook just for this purpose, given most of the school seems to be eager to tie you up and pretend to steal you away. Whatever happened to that third year who actually tried to leave the country with you? Despite your reassurance that you never once feared for your life, they still suspended him.

Ah, but now is not the time to daydream about the good old days. You have a party to attend. Your parents should already be at school, and you’d guess that most of your friends are on their way there. What will they think once they realize their host is missing? What a deplorable way to show them your gratitude!

Before you can consider how to escape this predicament, the door opens with nonchalance, and you’re carefully carried out and placed onto the ground. The blindfold is swiftly removed, causing you to squint your eyes against the sudden avalanche of light.

“What are you guys doing here,” you mumble in shock, gawking at more than half the school standing across from you.

“Don’t do this to us, (Y/N),” one girl cries out, collapsing to her knees and punching the ground for additional effect.

“What did I say about emotional blackmail,” the leader grunts. He snaps his fingers, and a pair of students lift the offender up, dragging her to the back of the group as she shouts in protest.

“Do excuse our methods, (Y/N),” he proceeds to explain with the calculated tone of someone deep in negotiations, “but you have to understand we’re all struggling to accept your decision. If we have ever wronged you or made you feel uncomfortable, let us know and we shall ensure immediate punishment for it!”

“Wait, what decision?”

“To leave Yandere School,” someone bawls, the others lowering their gaze. “We won’t accept it! Never!”

There’s a moment of silence as you process the words, lips pursed in confusion.

“Don’t lie to us, you’ve been acting strange for the past few weeks.”

“I mean, yeah, I was...planning a surprise party to, uh, thank you for all your help. Although I can see why you’d think it was a goodbye announcement instead,” you say, letting out an awkward chuckle.

Oh. That’s what it was. Well, it makes sense. It’s definitely something you’d do, upon further consideration. The crowd erupts in a murmur, and the leader of the pack rubs his temples, visibly humiliated to be caught in this farce of a misunderstanding. With ears flushed red, he quietly asks you for the location, then scrambles to retrieve the car.

“I’m so glad they showed up,” your mother sighs in relief, gesturing to a nearby teacher. “I was worried I might have to use the stun gun, had anything happened to my little (Y/N).”

A couple of your classmates swallow dryly, tugging at their collars. It’s the second time they’ve narrowly escaped death at the hand of your parents.

One student is angrily stuffing his mouth with some of the appetizers, trying to hold back the tears. If he knew it was all just a misunderstanding, he would’ve tried his luck with you instead of chauffeuring you around. Good Lord, to think you were all tied up, just for him, and he fumbled it.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (10) - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: You can tell I’ve got a bit of free time with two updates today 😂

“Okay, but you’re lying to yourself if you think she couldn’t hex both of you into next week,” Theo said, popping a sugar quill into his mouth and gesturing at you with dramatic flair.

“Hex me with what, those little Ravenclaw book spells?” Enzo smirked.

“I don’t need spells,” you replied calmly, flipping a page in your book. “I have hands.”

Mattheo barked a laugh, head dropping against your shoulder. “Merlin, I love you.”

Theo clutched his chest. “She’s terrifying. You’ve corrupted her, Riddle.”

“She was like this when I found her,” Mattheo muttered proudly, tracing circles on your leg absentmindedly.

The four of you were splayed in a loose group across the sun-warmed courtyard, bags tossed to the side, books and wrappers and half-finished homework scattered around. Theo and Enzo started a deep in a debate about Quidditch politics, while you sat between Mattheo’s legs, his arms lazily draped around you.

It was soft. Easy. The kind of afternoon that felt rare.

Until—

“Honestly, though, what does she even see in him?”

The voice sliced through the calm like a blade.

You looked up instinctively.

Across the courtyard, a group of your fellow Ravenclaws were walking by — books in hand, smirks plastered across their polished, condescending faces. One of them — Christopher Nightingale, tall, smug, the kind of boy who treated his Prefect badge like a crown — glanced in your direction.

Right at you.

And sneered.

“Such a shame,” he said to his friend, just loud enough for all of you to hear. “Smart girl. Good reputation. Tragic taste in men.”

The air turned cold.

Theo stopped mid-sentence.

Enzo slowly lowered his sunglasses.

Mattheo… didn’t move.

But you felt it. The way his arms went rigid around you. The way his breath caught just slightly, his fingers twitching like they wanted something — a wand, a throat.

Your own stomach dropped.

You turned your head to look at him, already reaching for his hand, expecting the same reaction you’d seen a dozen times before — explosive fury, snarled threats, a fight no one could stop.

But—

Before he could even shift, two figures stood up.

Hard. Sharp. Immediate.

Theo and Enzo.

“What did you just say?” Theo called out, too lightly. Too calmly.

The Ravenclaws paused, clearly surprised.

Enzo dusted imaginary dirt off his sleeves, walking forward a few steps. “Repeat it, Nightingale. I dare you.”

Christopher blinked. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Well, you were talking about someone who’s sitting with us,” Theo said, rolling up his sleeves now, voice cool and clinical. “Which means you were talking to us. That’s how it works, genius.”

Mattheo didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Don’t look over there,” he said, voice low, soothing. “Look at me.”

You blinked. “They’re going to fight.”

“They’ve got it,” he murmured, cupping your cheek. “Theo’s been waiting for an excuse.”

You flicked your gaze to the side again, despite his hands on your face.

Christopher was rolling his eyes now. “Look, I don’t have time to deal with Slytherin goons—”

CRACK.

Theo’s fist connected with his face so fast no one saw it coming.

Gasps erupted from the nearby students.

Christopher stumbled back, clutching his nose. “You idiot—”

And Enzo stepped in without hesitation.

“Call us whatever you want,” he growled, eyes glittering, “but don’t you ever open your mouth about her again.”

Another boy tried to intervene. Enzo shoved him back with a single, well-practiced hit.

The Ravenclaws backed off quickly after that, dragging Christopher with them — blood trickling from his nose, furious and humiliated, while half the courtyard whispered behind their hands.

Theo was breathing hard, knuckles red. Enzo cracked his neck.

“I hate Ravenclaws like that,” Enzo muttered.

“Pretentious little shits,” Theo added.

Mattheo hadn’t even stood.

His eyes were still on you, completely unbothered by the chaos ten feet away.

He ran his thumb under your eye gently. “Don’t look at them. They don’t deserve your attention.”

You were still a little stunned. “They punched him.”

“They love you,” Mattheo said simply. “Not like I do. But they care. And you’re ours.”

You flushed, leaning into his touch.

He kissed your temple. “It’s fine. It’s over. Breathe.”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth.

“You really weren’t going to fight him?”

“Oh angel, I was two seconds from losing my mind,” Mattheo said, half-laughing. “But then I thought, they never get to be the first to swing. And they’ve been wanting to. For weeks.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Mattheo kissed you — soft, slow, grounding — like it didn’t matter that there was blood on the stones nearby.

“Your taste in men’s not tragic,” he whispered against your lips. “It’s divine.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead to his.

From behind you, Theo called, “Are we getting detention for that?”

“Absolutely,” Enzo said. “And I’m not even sorry.”

Mattheo called over without looking, “I’ll take the blame.”

“No,” Theo said smugly, wiping blood off his hand. “This one’s mine.”

Mattheo grinned into your hair. “Told you.”

You leaned back into his arms, feeling the tension ebb out of your shoulders as he pulled you tighter against him, resting his chin on your head.

“They’ve got you too now,” he murmured. “Not just me.”

And you smiled — because for the first time, it felt like being loved by Mattheo Riddle didn’t just mean having one protector.

It meant having three.

And woe betide anyone who ever made the mistake of crossing any of them.

[qiu-yan]

lan wangji, upon learning that students in his class are cheating on their assignments with ChatGPT, engineers a way of phrasing his homework questions such that they cannot be answered by ChatGPT. this does not prevent people from rephrasing the questions and then asking ChatGPT anyways, but it at least catches the students who just copy/paste everything into ChatGPT.

wei wuxian, upon learning that students in his class are cheating on their assignments with ChatGPT, builds a fake ChatGPT-imitation site that logs the IP address of anyone who accesses it, and then bribes some of the reliable students in his class to spread the link among the rest of the student population. while he does not report anyone to the school's disciplinary body for cheating, he does succeed in scaring several students rather badly.

nie huaisang, upon learning that students in his class are cheating on their assignments with ChatGPT, offers 15% extra credit to any student who turns in another student for using ChatGPT. then he sits back and watches the chaos unfold.

[schoolchaos]

I have three days to write an essay about whether the Constitution is democratic or not after not paying attention in my history class since the beginning of the year

[thewritingfairy]

Kind of had a funny thought of gotham villains become reader's (nobody's child) third family. Since she works in Penguin's restaurant, she probably gets to know them a little when they aren't committing crimes.

Please forgive my limited knowledge on Gotham baddies 🙏

Harley and Ivy become the big sisters y/n never had. Participate is school gossip, and (Harley mostly) helps y/n with her homework whenever y/n does it during her break. They also drive her home. "Gotham's dangerous ya know?"

Dr. Freeze is the one who acts if she ever has an episode (I hope I'm using the right vocabulary on this) with her illness.

Selina also does wellness checks on her. Being Bruce's... ex? Would she be an ex in this au? Either way, she'd know about y/n and look in on her now and again, also give her little gifts. Were they stolen? Probably.

Mentioned: જ⁀➴Nobody's child

I will be honest, I also have rather limited knowledge on most of the rogues. But Harley and Ivy give me more of an aunt vibe for some reason.

Like; fresh out of jail aunts that are ready to create chaos.

Dr. Freeze I do not know a lot off, like I vaguely remember him from games and comics. But from what I remember he would be the one staying far away as a lot temperature drops or highs can make you iller or make your pain worse.

Selina? Oh, Selina. She wouldn't just give you little gifts, she would fuck with Bruce even more. Flirt with him just to break his heart.

But Slade in Nobody's child? Now the reader in Nobody's child has strong morals but because they work for Penguin Slade will interact with you. Especially because he's kinda obsessed with Dick, which creeps you the fuck out.

To Slade you are better than Dick, while you would never join him and it wouldn't be physically possible he would absolutely offer you a home if he knew you would accept it. He doesn't care about legalities, fuck, he'll pretend to kidnap you! The bats don't have shit on him!

[cheftsunoda]

Alexandra x Charles x reader where readers a really smart genius engineer that basically fixed ferraris problems so the fans love her but Alex is like hates so it’s Charles and reader comforting Alex

you belong — cl16 & alexandra saint mleux

smau + blurbs

when yn joined ferrari in 2025 as charles leclerc’s race engineer, no one expected the team’s fortunes to turn so sharply. but yn had never been one to follow expectations. brilliant, unshakable under pressure, and fiercely dedicated, she wasn’t just charles’ partner off the track anymore—she was the mastermind behind his winning streak. their relationship had always been the kind people whispered about in disbelief—dating since 2022, unshakably in love, and then—just as the world adjusted to that—opening their hearts in 2023 to alexandra. a soft, steady presence in their chaos. an unlikely throuple that somehow made perfect sense. at first, the world loved them. loved the victories, the public kisses, the unity. but as the wins piled up and yn’s brilliance took center stage, the tide began to turn—toward alexandra. whispers of gold digging. accusations of riding coattails. a sudden, brutal wave of online hate. and while yn and charles were too caught up in podiums and progress to notice at first… the cracks were forming. but yn isn’t just intelligent in engineering, she is emotionally intelligent as well. and she can read alexandra like no other.

fc : lissie mackintosh

(a/n) : obvs all the hate comments in this are completely fictional and i love alexandra with my whole heart and im so happy that her and charles are together!

—

scuderiaferrari & yn_ln

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 7,709,001 others.

scuderiaferrari : A new era begins. We are proud to welcome YN LN to the team as Charles Leclerc’s race engineer for the 2025 season. With a reputation for brilliance under pressure and a mind made for motorsport, she’s ready to rewrite what it means to wear red. Strategy. Precision. Power. Benvenuta, ingegnere. 🔴🏁

—

view 501,0188 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the best in the business. can’t wait to make history together, mon bébé❤️‍🔥

liked by yn_ln and scuderiaferrari

↳ username00 : oh these two working together is gonna be the death of me. so fucking cute.

lewishamilton : Incredible move. So excited to have you on the team and can’t wait to see you shine! 🫶🏽

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

alex_albon : Do I send my strategy questions to her or does that count as spying? 😅 Congratulations YN!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : sadly it does count as spying, alex. but thank you!!!

arthur_leclerc : yes she’s always been this smart. yes she used to help me with my math homework. but YAYYYYYY YN!!!!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

georgerussell63 : I fear F1 might not be ready for this level of brainpower. Congrats YN! You earned it!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

alexandrasaintmleux : my pretty girl, my angel, my genius. proud does not even begin to cover it. love you with all my heart ♥️

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

username0 : charles finally gets a strategy team that knows what they’re doing AND gets to talk to his gf during the race. he’s winning on all fronts.

username1 : this is the same girl who rebuilt an engine in heels during a charity gala. ferrari is in excellent hands

liked by charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

lando : yn please go easy on us.

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

↳ yn_ln : absolutely not norris, we are not friends during the season😈

liked by lando

username5 : i’m excited but also nervous… dating your driver?? hope there’s no bias or drama.

↳ username7 : her and charles are both professionals at what they do. plus they’ve been together since 2022 and have been friends even longer than that. they got this.

liked by scuderiaferrari

carlossainz55 : you mean to tell me that ferrari waited to make their smartest decision until after i left??? congratulations, mi hermana! no one deserves it more❤️

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

username10 : so we’re just letting girlfriends engineer now? cool cool

↳ yn_ln : well, ferrari hired the engineer with a first-class degree, years of motorsport data strategy experience, and three patented telemetry models under her name. the fact that i also happen to be charles’ girlfriend? just a bonus, babe;) stay tuned.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton, pierregasly, lando, franciscagomes and carlossainz55

↳ lando : oh she ate you up.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username000 : oh i love her.

username11 : love wins i guess… but can she actually do her job or is this just a PR stunt?

↳ alexandrasaintmleux : she works harder than anyone i have ever met. but don’t worry, your opinion was noted… and ignored. 🥰

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

username15 : funny how she only got the job after dating charles. make it make sense.

↳ charles_leclerc : she got the job because she’s brilliant, OVERqualified, and has been outperforming people in this sport long before she became mine. if you think ferrari hires based on relationship status, maybe you should try keeping up with the lap times. 🙃

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton, pierregasly, lando, franciscagomes and carlossainz55

↳ username30 : oh he LOVES this girl

username17 : idc how smart she is this is messy. ferrari is a team, not a love triangle.

↳ arthur_leclerc : ah yes, how dare ferrari be functional, fast, and happy at the same time. if “messy” means winning races with the best engineer in the paddock, maybe we need more of it 🤭

liked by yn_ln, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username33 : not only is she the smartest person in the room, she’s the calmest. y’all just hate seeing a woman win.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username35 : just a reminder that yn rebuilt a gearbox by hand during her master’s thesis. she’s not a girlfriend first. she’s an engineer first. but she happens to be in love too. deal with it 😌

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ arthur_leclerc : mhm mhm. periodt

↳ username33 : arthur is her hype man I CANT.

username37 : “nepotism” accusations are wild when she literally published a telemetry algorithm that teams still use. stay mad.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yn_ln : ilysm. thank you for following my work🥹

liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username37 : omg ofc you are brilliant, us girlies in motorsport have to stick together:)

liked by yn_ln

username40 : charles on the track. yn on the radio. alex in the paddock. name a more iconic setup. i’ll wait.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

—

Charles had been told his race engineer for the 2025 season would be “someone new, someone bold.” Fred had been vague, smug even, telling him—“Trust us, you’ll like her.” Charles had assumed it was just another seasoned strategist brought in from Mercedes or Red Bull. Good. They needed fresh thinking. After last year’s chaos? He’d take anyone who could tell the difference between Plan A and Plan D.

Still, he hadn’t expected the secrecy. When he arrived at the conference room Ferrari had booked for the “introductory meeting,” it was empty. Well, not completely. Arthur was there. With Alexandra. Sitting way too casually on opposite sides of the room, like they hadn’t clearly coordinated whatever this was.

“What are you two doing here?” Charles asked, suspicious already.

Arthur swung a leg up onto the chair next to him. “Moral support. Big day, bro.”

Alexandra smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We wanted front row seats.”

“To what?” Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is this about the simulator prank? Because I swear I didn’t know it would spin like that.”

“You’ll see.” Alexandra’s voice was sweet, teasing. She gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Sit. Be professional. Your new race engineer is on her way.”

Charles sat, shifting restlessly, drumming his fingers on the table. “If this is some weird internal promo stunt—”

The door opened. And in walked you. Clipboard in hand. Ferrari-red badge around your neck. Black slacks, sharp posture, and that telltale smirk that only ever meant trouble for him.

You didn’t speak right away. You just raised a brow, eyes flicking across the room—at Alex, Arthur, and finally Charles—before you said, cool as ever— “Leclerc. You’re late.”

Charles just stared. Blink. Blink again. Then— “What?”

You set your things down and clicked the monitor on with a practiced tap. “I’m YN. Your new race engineer. Shall we get started?”

He was speechless. You, you, one of his partners—his everything—were now also the voice in his ear on race day?

Arthur snorted. “Get Netflix in here.”

Charles turned to him, wild-eyed. “You knew?”

Alexandra was biting her lip to stop from smiling. “We’ve been planning this for months. Fred made us swear not to tell you.”

“I—” Charles looked back at you, utterly betrayed and somehow more in love than ever. “You kept this from me?”

“I wanted to earn it,” you said softly, gaze steady. “Not as one of your girlfriends. As the best damn engineer Ferrari could hire.”

The silence hung heavy for a beat. Then Charles stood so fast his chair screeched back. “Are you joking? I’m in love with the most brilliant woman in motorsport and you’re telling me I get to win races with you in my ear? Mon dieu—this is cheating. This is unfair.”

You blinked. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s perfect,” he breathed, grinning like an idiot. “Tu es parfaite.”

Arthur groaned. “Okay, and I’m leaving. This is disgusting.”

Alexandra, still smiling, leaned over and whispered, “Wait for it—he’s going to do the dramatic declaration in three, two—”

“I AM GOING TO WIN A WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP WITH MY GIRLFRIENDS,” Charles shouted, arms up. “FRED VASSEUR, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN!”

Somewhere down the hall, someone dropped a wrench. Laughter echoed from the Ferrari offices. You shook your head, but your eyes were warm, glassy even. You whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “You don’t have to win for me to be proud of you.”

Charles stepped close, hand brushing yours on the table. “But I want to win with you.”

Alexandra stood, clapping once. “Okay, now kiss and then get back to work. We’ve got a season to dominate.”

And Charles did. Right there in the Ferrari conference room, with Arthur fake-gagging and Alexandra beaming behind him, Charles kissed you like it was his first win of the season.

—

The sun had just started to dip, painting the hills in gold and rose as long tables were set under string lights in the garden of a villa that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a Tuscan dream. Ferrari had spared no detail—wood-fired pizza, fresh pasta, bottles of red wine already half empty, tiramisu trays stacked and ready. There were little hand-printed name cards, red cloth napkins, and centerpieces made entirely of roses and miniature Ferrari flags.

And at the head of the table? Charles. With you on one side. Alexandra on the other. His hands interlaced with both.

“You know,” Arthur said, half a meatball in his mouth, “this might be the first time I’ve seen Fred Vasseur drink wine and smile at the same time.”

Fred, two seats down, raised his glass. “That’s because—for once—I am confident we might actually finish a season with a functional strategy and a world championship.”

Laughter rippled around the table.

Charles leaned in to you, voice low. “You’re already working miracles.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” you said, a little flushed.

Across from you, Pascale was quietly slicing through a piece of veal while smiling proudly at all three of you.

“You’ve always been family,” she said softly to you and Alexandra, “but it feels different now. Like it’s… I don’t know. Official.” She gave a gentle nod. “I’m glad he has you both.”

Alexandra reached over and squeezed your hand under the table and leaned her head on Charles shoulder, her hair tickling his arm. “Should we make it more official and crash the next team press conference together?” she whispered.

Charles perked up. “Can we all walk into Bahrain together in matching red?”

“Matching fits,” Alexandra corrected. “Not team polos. We’re still chic.”

Fred coughed deliberately. “As long as she doesn’t wear heels in the garage again,” he pointed at you and then to Alexandra, “or she doesn’t try to steal telemetry printouts because they ‘looked aesthetic.’”

“I was scrapbooking!” Alexandra gasped, scandalized. “For sentimental reasons!”

Everyone burst into laughter. Lewis, who’d arrived slightly late and was now eating some focaccia, pointed his fork dramatically. “You three are the first throuple in motorsport history I actually believe in.”

The toast clinked again. Wine refilled. Glasses raised.

“Okay, okay,” Arthur said, standing and holding up his phone. “Speech. Someone say something emotional or I’m leaking the video of Charles crying during their first strategy meeting.”

“I WASN’T CRYING,” Charles shouted immediately.

You stood, cheeks warm from the wine and the moment. “I just want to say…” You looked at Charles, then Alexandra. “I know how strange it must look to people. But this—” you gestured between the three of you, “—this isn’t a gimmick. It’s not a PR stunt or a phase. It’s love. And I am so, so proud to build this future with you both.”

Alexandra stood next, sliding her arm around your waist. “I don’t know much about race strategy, but I know this feels like the best plan we’ve ever had.”

Charles stood last, grinning like he’d won a championship already. “I don’t care what the grid says. I get to have the best race engineer in the paddock and the two people I love most in the world by my side. If that’s not enough to win a championship, I don’t know what is.”

A cheer erupted. Glasses clinked again. Even Fred smiled, shaking his head. Later, under the glow of the string lights, Charles rested his head against yours on the patio couch, one hand playing gently with Alexandra’s fingers on your knee.

“You think this year will be different?” he asked softly.

“I know it will,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’re doing this together now.”

Alexandra hummed. “And we look very good while doing it.”

Charles laughed, leaned back, and looked at the stars. “I don’t think it gets better than this.”

You smiled. “Oh, just wait until race one.”

—

voguemagazine

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 17,001,003 others.

voguemagazine : This month, we’re shifting gears and accelerating into the fast lane with our exclusive feature on YN — the brilliant engineer who turned Ferrari’s season around overnight. In a male-dominated world, YN’s relentless innovation, sharp intellect, and fierce determination are inspiring a new generation of women in motorsport — proving that talent knows no gender, and leadership comes in many forms. Discover how YN’s blend of technical genius and unshakeable grit brought Ferrari back from the brink, redefining what it means to be a leader in Formula 1 today. Plus, a rare glimpse into her life beyond the track- the challenges, the triumphs, and the love story that fuels her relentless drive.

—

view 1,034,025 other comments.

lando : an absolute legened. exactly what motorsport needs. we are so proud, yn. keep smashing it!

liked by yn_ln

charles_leclerc : proud doesn’t even begin to cover it. watching you break barriers every day is incredible. i love you

liked by yn_ln

carlossainz55 : yn’s brilliance is unreal. proud to race alongside such talent.

liked by yn_ln

scuderiaferrari : so proud of what yn has accomplished in such little time with us. we love you, yn!!

liked by yn_ln

arthur_leclerc : the sister i never had. you are absolutely incredible. keep pushing ynn- you are the future.

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux : my gf is on the cover of vogue!!!! omg omg!! i love you so much, mon ange. you are the biggest talent the grid has.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username15 : yn’s talent is undeniable but alex? she’s just a distraction. hope yn doesn’t lose focus.

↳ username17 : since when did being a girlfriend get you famous?? stop distracting yn and charles.

leclerc_pascale : Watching your journey fills my heart with joy. You’re an inspiration to us all. Très fier de toi!

liked by yn_ln

lewishamilton : Always pushing the limits — on and off track. Respect, YN.

liked by yn_ln

maxverstappen1 :💪🏻💪🏻

liked by yn_ln

—

time skip to monaco gp…

f1gossipgirls

7,520,007 likes.

f1gossipgirls : It’s a Leclerc affair in the streets of Monte Carlo today — and the grid’s favorite power trio did not disappoint. Engineer-extraordinaire YN LN arrived alongside boyfriend Charles Leclerc this morning, the two spotted walking hand-in-hand through the paddock looking calm, collected, and very much in sync. YN was all business in Ferrari red—Monaco may be Charles’ home race, but it’s clear who’s running the show. Not far behind? Alexandra Saint Mleux, arriving with the Leclerc family — including Charles’ Sister in Law, Charlotte, Mama Pascale and Arthur, who fans caught hugging YN just before pre-race prep. The embrace was short but sweet, with Arthur mouthing something suspiciously like “you’ve got this, boss” before the two shared a laugh. Whispers in the paddock say Ferrari’s found its rhythm — and it might just be thanks to the calm, chaotic, and totally unexpected balance Charles and YN bring to the track.

—

view 175,099 other comments.

username000 : if they don’t win today i’m rioting. emotionally.

mercfan123 : idc how cute they are, it’s weird that she’s dating the driver and running his race strategy. feels messy.

↳ username000 : y'all are just mad that out of everyone A WOMAN managed to pull ferrari out of the gutter.

username00 : monaco is home for charles, but this season is home for YN. the girl built a dynasty in six races flat.

username0 : since she joined, ferrari’s barely made a wrong call. this isn’t a PR stunt, this is a masterclass.

username1 : you mean the woman who’s turned ferrari into a real threat again?? MOTHER

username5 : watch ferrari fumble again and everyone will forget this little fairytale energy real fast

username7 : no because even as a red bull fan i have to admit… the vibes? immaculate. this is what we’re fighting against??

username10 : ok but what does alexandra actually do besides show up and look pretty?

username11 : yn’s out here saving ferrari and alex is… posing for pictures in charles’ jacket? lmao

username15 : yn’s got degrees and trophies. alexandra’s got what, a moodboard?

username17 : i can’t be the only one who thinks alex is just riding this wave for clout, right?

username20 : alex doesn’t even look like she wants to be there most of the time. awkward is an understatement.

—

The air in Monaco was heavy with sun and tension. Boats lined the harbor, red flags waved from balconies, and the scent of salt water mixed with champagne and engine oil. The city felt like it was holding its breath. Ferrari was leading the Constructors’. Charles was second in the Drivers’ Championship—narrowly. But today was his track. His home. And for once in his career… everything was aligned. Almost. Charles stood at the edge of the garage, staring out toward the narrow streets, arms folded tightly across his chest. The usual sparkle in his eye was dulled slightly, his mouth tight. His leg bounced as the crew buzzed around him.

“You alright?” Arthur’s voice came from behind, lighter than usual.

Charles shook his head once. “No. But I think I’m supposed to be.”

Arthur stood beside him, nudging his shoulder. “You’ve got the best car on the grid. You’ve got Maman, Us, half of Monte Carlo in red. And—” he paused dramatically— “you’ve got the smartest woman in motorsport feeding you strategy.”

Charles finally cracked a smile. “She is terrifyingly brilliant.”

“And in love with you, which is even scarier.”

That’s when he heard your voice behind them, calm but commanding. “Tire warmers off in 15. I need final telemetry on Sector 2. And—Arthur, stop making him more nervous.”

Arthur saluted. “Yes, boss.”

Charles turned just in time for you to reach him. You were still in your headset, tablet in hand, the clipboard from hell tucked under your arm. But your expression softened as you looked at him—really looked at him.

“You’re doing the thing,” you whispered.

“What thing?” he asked, even though he already knew.

“The overthinking thing. The ‘what if I ruin everything in front of my entire country’ thing.”

He let out a breath. “Monaco’s cursed for me. Always has been.”

You stepped closer. “And what if it’s not this time? What if you finally have the right car, the right team, the right… everything?”

“Even the right race engineer?”

You smiled. “Especially her.”

That’s when Alexandra arrived, weaving her way between pit crew and chaos like she belonged there. She wore his name on her necklace, your initials on a ring, and Charles’ jacket draped around her shoulders even in the heat.

“Hi,” she said gently, coming up beside you both. “I thought you might need this.”

She handed him a folded piece of paper. Charles raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“A reminder.”

He opened it to find a little sketch Alexandra had drawn—stick figures, obviously. One was him with a helmet. One was you, with a headset the size of your body. One was Alexandra, holding a flag that said “WIN!”

Underneath it, in her soft handwriting—"You already have everything. Now just drive like it."

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at both of you—his people. His heart. One all fire and logic. One all warmth and instinct. And him, somehow caught in the middle of both and better for it. He pulled you into his side with one arm, Alexandra into the other, and held them there like a shield.

“Whatever happens,” he said, voice thick, “thank you. For getting me here. Both of you.”

“We’ll be here at the finish line,” you promised, forehead pressed to his chest. “In the garage. In your ear. In your heart. Always.”

“Plus I brought good snacks,” Alexandra whispered, trying to lighten the mood. “And I have my crystals.”

“I don’t believe in crystals,” Charles mumbled.

“You believe in love, though,” she smiled.

And then—Pascale approached, giving Charles the kind of look only a mother can give. Proud. Steady. A little teary. She kissed his cheek. “Go. Do what you were born to do.”

He nodded. Breathed. One last squeeze of your hand, one last kiss to Alexandra’s temple, and then he turned toward the car. Helmet on. Gloves tight. The weight of a nation on his shoulders—but this time, it didn’t feel so heavy. Because this time, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

—

The streets of Monte Carlo were louder than usual. Not from the engines — no, those always roared. It was the crowd. Louder. Frenzied. Unrelenting. Because Charles Leclerc was leading his home race. And for once… the script wasn’t falling apart.

“Gap to Norris behind: 2.1 seconds,” your voice came through his radio, calm, composed, a tether. “Tyre temps are stable. Keep braking gentle into Rascasse. You’ve got this, Charles.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He never did when he was this deep in the zone. But the way his shoulders loosened slightly in the cockpit — the way his head dipped like a subtle nod — told you everything you needed to know.

The streets he grew up on blurred past him now at nearly 180 mph. The turn into the tunnel. The bump near the chicane. The glitter of the yachts in his periphery. He knew them like the lines in your palm.

He’d dreamed of this moment since he was a boy in karting boots, looking through the fence as F1 cars screamed past on the same pavement he walked every day. Monaco was home. Monaco had broken his heart. But today, it was healing him.

“Just breathe, baby,” your voice whispered again in his ear. “Last lap.”

From the pit wall, Fred stood with arms crossed, not daring to exhale. Mechanics were frozen in place, monitors lighting their faces with green sectors and live telemetry. Arthur had stopped pacing, for once. Pascale was clutching her scarf like a lifeline. And Alexandra? She stood at the barrier.

Red jacket zipped halfway. Hair pulled back. Face tilted toward the track with eyes glassy. Every time the red 16 car passed, she stepped closer. As if her heartbeat could will him home.

In the garage, your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “Exit Nouvelle clean. You’ve got the run. Fuel’s good. Battery’s charged.”

You paused, just for a second.

“You’re about to win Monaco, Charles.”

You didn’t say it to pump him up. You said it because it was real. And Charles — hands steady, foot light on the throttle, mind completely and utterly focused — flew through Tabac, hit the apex at the Swimming Pool perfectly, and took La Rascasse like it had always belonged to him. The crowd’s roar broke through the radio static.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix!”

The moment shattered time. You exhaled — then let out a noise that was half laugh, half sob. In your headset Charles shouting something unintelligible in French, followed by — “MERCI, MERCI, MERCI!”

The team erupted around you. Mechanics jumping. Fred finally smiling. Arthur running toward you and picking you up in a spinning hug. You ran toward the pit wall.

And Alexandra — still standing at the barrier, now crying openly — turned just in time to see Charles leap from the cockpit, arms raised, the Monégasque flag in hand. He spotted her first. And then he looked beyond her — saw you standing there next to Arthur, headset tangled in your hair, still in team gear, eyes shining with everything you had held back all race. He ran to the barrier. Security didn’t even try to stop him. He climbed it like he was born for it. First to Alexandra — grabbing her face, kissing her, holding her like she was the only soft place in a world of fire. Then to you. He pulled you in — headset, clipboard, adrenaline and all — into the kind of kiss that said thank you, I love you, I never would’ve made it without you.

You smiled against his mouth, pulling away just enough to say, “You finally did it.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “We did.”

The cameras caught all of it. The kisses. The tears. The way his hand held onto both of you like he was anchoring himself to the moment. The way you and Alexandra leaned into each other on the cool-down lap, your hands tangled, hearts still racing. And somewhere on social media, the photo would soon be everywhere. Charles Leclerc — Monaco winner — standing on the barrier in front of the Ferrari garage, arms around the two people who built the road back to this dream with him. A race. A win. A homecoming.

—

yn_ln

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 11,007,009 others.

yn_ln : my man and i just won monaco together...wyd??

tagged : charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and scuderiaferrari

—

view 545,001 other comments.

lando : wyd?? crying in my hotel room because this post made me feel single and slow

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

username100 : ngl this race won me over. yn has turned ferrari AROUND.

franciscagomes : when she wins a grand prix and serves looks doing it 🧎‍♀️

liked by yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

pierregasly : power throuple.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

scuderiaferrari : "thank you charles and yn" we all say in unison.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : you were flawless. in the garage. in red. in everything. we’re so lucky to love you 🥹

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 : happy for you both. annoyed that i teared up watching him win. confused about it.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

arthur_leclerc : you left out the part where you nearly passed out from nerves and still pulled off the perfect strategy call lmao. LOVE YOU YN.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username001 : alex being there doing nothing still takes me out.

↳ username15 : i would not talk bad about alex rn. yn ripped into a reporter earlier.

↳ username001 : WHERE???

↳ username15 : check @/f1gossipgirls.

—

f1gossipgirls

5,009,110 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, Charles Leclerc won Monaco… but not without drama. After a dream victory at his home race, Charles Leclerc was seen celebrating in the most Leclerc-throuple way possible — kissing race engineer girlfriend YN and girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux moments apart in a red-hot Ferrari love fest. Fans also caught a sweet moment between Alexandra and YN — YN lifted Alex off of the ground and the two shared a sweet kiss. But things turned tense post-race when a reporter made some harsh and completely uncalled-for comments about Alexandra in the paddock. Witnesses say YN didn’t hesitate — she got visibly defensive, stepped in, and had a few choice words for the reporter in question. The vibe? Protective. Unshakable. Not here for the disrespect.

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The cheers still echo across the harbor, a high, golden sound that hasn’t stopped since Charles crossed the line. Champagne sticks to your skin, your headset hangs loose around your neck, and you haven’t let go of Alexandra’s hand once. She’s warm beside you. Glowing. Her cheeks pink from sun and adrenaline, her lips still curved from watching him win. The two of you are walking slowly toward the podium tunnel, through a blur of high-fives, cameras, and team crew celebrating in every language.

And then— “Must be nice to hang off the arm of a championship team and not have to actually do anything.”

It cuts through the noise like a knife. You freeze. You don’t even feel Alexandra’s fingers tighten around yours because the blood in your ears goes sharp and hot. You turn on instinct. The voice came from behind the media line. A man with a mic and a press pass. Too smug. Too comfortable saying something like that in public. It wasn’t a question. It was meant to sting. And it lands exactly where he wanted — you see it in Alexandra’s face. Her smile falters. Just for a second. But that’s enough. You don’t think. You move.

“Hey!” you snap, your voice slicing clean. “What the fuck did you just say?”

The reporter doesn’t backpedal. “I was just asking if—”

“No. You weren’t asking anything,” you cut in, stepping forward. “You were insulting someone who shows up every weekend, supports this team with her whole heart, and gets nothing but hate in return. You don’t get to speak to her like that.”

The paddock goes quiet. The crew stops celebrating. Cameras slowly turn your way. Alexandra stands where you left her, eyes wide, like she’s holding her breath. You keep going.

“And for the record,” you say, your tone low now, dangerous, “if all you’ve done today is tear down a woman who’s done nothing to you, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“YN.”

Arthur’s voice. Right behind you. Calm but firm. He gently touches your elbow, eyes flicking toward the growing crowd. “Come on. Let’s go. Not worth it.”

You don’t move for a second. You just stare that reporter down. He looks nervous now. Good. Then you exhale and step back. You don’t say anything else. You just turn, walk straight back to Alexandra, and take her hand like you never let go. Her eyes are glassy now, but there’s something else there too — awe, maybe. Or something softer. You don’t look back as you disappear together into the tunnel, Arthur flanking behind you like a guard. But if anyone didn’t know before — they know now. No one talks down to Alexandra Saint Mleux on your watch. Not ever.

—

The celebrations had faded. The city was still buzzing outside — yachts pulsing with music, voices carrying over balconies, streetlights painting gold across the port. But in here, it was quiet. Just the soft hum of the AC, the leftover scent of champagne in Charles’ hair, and the weight of everything that had happened settling like dust on your shoulders. He stood in the kitchen in a Ferrari hoodie, barefoot, drying glasses. The night had worn him out — but not as much as it had worn you.

You sat on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, one of Alexandra’s cardigans draped around your shoulders. She was already in bed, fast asleep, her cheeks still red from crying — not from joy. Not from the win. But from that moment. The one you couldn’t stop replaying in your head.

Charles finished drying the glass but didn’t put it away. Instead, he turned, leaning against the counter. Watching you.

“You’ve barely said anything since we got home,” he said softly.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re angry.”

You looked up. And the tears in your eyes betrayed you.

“I’m not just angry,” you murmured. “I’m ashamed.”

He crossed the room without hesitation, kneeling down in front of you, placing his hands gently on your knees. “Why would you be ashamed?”

You swallowed, trying to find the words. “Because I knew this would happen. I knew the moment I took this job and we made it official — all of it — the cameras, the gossip, the fans choosing sides…”

You blinked quickly. “Alex never asked for this. She never wanted to be part of the noise. She just wanted to love us. And now she’s getting ripped apart for being in the garage, or not being on the pit wall, or not looking the way they want her to. And I stood there today and watched it hit her.”

Charles’s eyes softened, thumb brushing over your kneecap. “You didn’t just watch it. You defended her.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.” Your voice cracked. “She shouldn’t have to walk into a paddock wondering if someone’s going to ask her if she belongs there.”

Charles lowered his head for a moment, then looked back up at you. “She told me something tonight. While you were in the shower.”

You stilled. “What?”

“She said… ‘I’m proud of her. I’ve never been loved like that before.’”

That broke you. Your head dropped to your hands. Charles was in your arms in a second, pulling you to him, hands gentle against your back, voice steady in your ear.

“You didn’t do this, mon amour. The world did. The internet did. Their hate — that’s not yours to carry.”

“But I brought us into the spotlight.”

“You brought Ferrari back to life. You gave me a chance to win my home race. And you’ve given Alexandra more love and protection than half the people who’ve known her for years.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “She doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. We’re proud of you.”

You wiped your face with your sleeve, breathing shakily. “She’s been different lately. Quiet. A little smaller.”

Charles nodded. “I noticed. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“I should’ve… asked her more. Talked to her. I got so wrapped up in the strategy and the pressure and—”

“And now you’re here,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “And she’s asleep in our bed. Safe. Loved. Because you fought for her when it mattered.”

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself in his presence. In his warmth. In the truth of what he was saying.

“I just want her to feel like she’s ours in every room. Not just when the cameras aren’t watching.”

“She is,” he said, gently. “But tomorrow, let’s remind her anyway.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Let’s remind her.”

—

The kitchen is filled with the scent of browned butter and vanilla, soft music playing low on the speaker as sunlight spills through the windows, bathing Charles in gold. He hums along as he moves around with practiced ease — slicing strawberries, flipping fluffy pancakes, even attempting a cappuccino with a tiny heart drawn in the foam. You’re curled up on the couch nearby, eyes puffy and tired, but glowing with the kind of quiet pride that only comes from pulling off something impossible — or close to it. After hours of DMing collectors and calling obscure boutiques across time zones, you finally found it- Alexandra’s dream bag. A rare forest green Birkin, pristine, vintage, perfectly her. It’s now hidden in the hallway closet, nestled in tissue paper, your phone still buzzing with confirmation emails from luxury couriers at 4AM.

“She’s going to cry, you know,” Charles says, peeking over his shoulder with a grin as he flips the pancake on the stove.

“She better,” you croak, rubbing your face with both hands and stretching. “I aged five years sourcing that thing. Do you know how hard it is to find a 30 in Vert Rousseau with gold hardware?”

Charles walks over and kisses the top of your head gently. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, expression soft. “She’s been having a hard time. I just want her to have something that reminds her how loved she is.”

You both fall quiet for a second, and he nods — understanding all the things you don’t have to say. That the world outside is cruel. That she’s been doubting herself, curling inwards. That this is your way of saying don’t listen to them, you are worth everything and more. The bedroom door creaks open then, and a sleepy Alexandra appears — hair tousled, sleeves slipping off one shoulder, eyes barely open as she squints toward the kitchen.

“Is that...pancakes?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“And strawberries. And coffee. And,” Charles announces dramatically, “today’s very special surprise.”

Alexandra blinks, still half-asleep as she pads closer, reaching out to you blindly before settling in your lap with a sleepy sigh. You wrap your arms around her and press a kiss to her temple.

“You guys are being weird,” she mumbles.

“Good weird,” Charles says, slipping the pancake stack onto a plate.

“Birthday weird?” she asks, confused. “Anniversary weird?”

You shake your head and nod toward the hallway. “Just…open the closet.”

Alexandra blinks at you, then shuffles to her feet and moves toward the hall, dragging the blanket with her. You and Charles both watch from the kitchen. A pause. A gasp. Then. “No. No, no. No way.”

You grin. There’s a soft thump as she sinks to her knees in the hall, hands pressed over her mouth as she stares down at the box. She opens it like it might vanish, slowly peeling back the layers — and when she sees it, her whole face folds. Eyes glassy, mouth trembling.

“I—how did you—this color—” She clutches the bag like it’s something holy. “You found this?”

You cross the room and kneel next to her, wrapping her up in your arms.

“Of course we did,” you murmur. “You deserve beautiful things.”

She lets out a watery laugh against your shoulder as Charles crouches beside you, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I love you both so much it actually hurts,” she says, tears now spilling freely.

“And we love you,” you whisper back. “More than anything.”

Charles nods, smiling softly. “Even more than Ferrari. But don’t tell Fred.”

And in the quiet, between pancakes and presents and tangled limbs on the kitchen floor, Alexandra begins to believe it again — that she is loved, and safe, and exactly where she’s meant to be.

—

Alexandra practically melts into the heated massage table, limbs slack, hair wrapped in a soft towel, as your fingers gently stroke through hers. The private spa suite smells like eucalyptus and orange blossom, the low trickle of water from the nearby fountain adding to the tranquility. You’re both swaddled in robes, facials setting, feet soaking in warm rose petal water.

“You didn’t have to go this far,” she says quietly, a little hoarse, but her voice is already laced with that floaty, relaxed softness you’d been desperate to hear.

“You say that like I wasn’t ten seconds away from stealing a private jet and flying you to Ibiza,” you tease, brushing your thumb over her knuckles. “This was the reasonable option.”

Alexandra turns her head on the cushioned rest and looks at you — really looks. Her eyes, still rimmed with the kind of exhaustion she never likes to admit, shimmer with something raw and grateful.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix everything for me,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. I’m just… I’ve been struggling.”

You shift, leaning across the narrow bench to press your forehead to hers, letting the silence settle.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” you whisper. “Not with us.”

She exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut as your noses touch.

“I love you,” she says.

“I know,” you smile. “And I love you so much it made me haggle with a Hermes collector on WhatsApp at three in the morning. So you’re stuck with me.”

Alexandra lets out the softest laugh — the kind that rumbles in her chest — and kisses you with the slow, sleepy kind of affection that lingers.

—

Alexandra hums contentedly as she sinks deeper into the passenger seat of Charles’ car, cheeks pink from steam, her legs folded up in her seat. Her hand is nestled in his, and every now and then, you glance over at her — heart tugging at how peaceful she looks. Charles drums his fingers against the steering wheel, sunglasses low on his nose, glancing at you both with a satisfied smirk. “So… how do my girls feel?”

“Like I am in heaven,” Alexandra murmurs dreamily. “I think I’ve transcended stress.”

You smile and lean in to press a kiss to her temple. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Charles slows as he pulls into an underground parking garage, and Alexandra blinks awake.

“Wait—where are we?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter. “This isn’t home.”

“Nope,” Charles grins, parking with dramatic flair. “It’s part two of your day.”

She blinks. “Part two?”

Charles turns around in his seat and looks at her with a glint in his eye. “We are going shopping. You and YN are going to get everything you want. No limits, no questions, no checking price tags. If it makes you feel pretty or powerful or happy — we’re getting it.”

Alexandra blinks between the two of you, stunned. “You’re joking.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. You got a massage, now it’s time for retail therapy.”

Charles hops out of the car with the kind of giddy energy you’d expect from someone planning a heist. “Come on, let’s blow some money irresponsibly in the name of love.”

—

The soft rustle of silk and the faint scent of fresh perfume fill the room, where you and Alexandra are surrounded by the bounty of your shopping spree — racks of clothes, piles of shoes, and half-unwrapped accessories strewn across the plush chaise lounge. Alexandra sits on the edge of the velvet ottoman, slipping on a pair of strappy heels she just bought, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“You really think Charles will like this?” she asks, holding up a shimmering emerald dress—the one you’d both fallen for in the boutique.

“I think he’s going to have a heart attack,” you grin, helping smooth the fabric along her back.

She turns, catching her reflection in the mirror, and gives you a tentative smile. “I feel… like a new person.”

“That’s what happens when you get spoiled by two people who adore you,” you say, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

You pull out your own outfit from a hanger — a sleek black dress with delicate lace sleeves. As you slip it on, Alexandra giggles, teasing, “Look at you, all mysterious and chic.”

You catch her eyes and wink. “You’re the star tonight.”

Alexandra reaches over and links her fingers with yours. “Promise me this night won’t end.”

“It’s only just beginning,” you whisper.

Alexandra stands in front of the mirror, the green dress hugging her in all the right places. You thread a delicate necklace around her neck — the ivy bracelet Charles gifted earlier catches the light on her wrist.

She turns to you, eyes shining. “I’m really lucky.”

“No,” you say softly, cupping her face. “We’re the lucky ones.”

You help her slip on her heels, then take a deep breath together before heading out.

—

The yacht rocks gently beneath your feet, the faint scent of saltwater mingling with the delicate aroma of jasmine candles flickering on the table. The sky is a deep indigo, sprinkled with stars so bright they seem close enough to touch. The world feels impossibly still except for the soft murmur of the waves and the quiet laughter shared between the three of you.

Charles stands close, the warm strength of his body a constant comfort as he holds both your hands in his. Alexandra leans into your side, her breath soft against your skin, and you feel the steady rhythm of her heart through the thin fabric of her dress. The two of them — your girls — glowing in the low light, their eyes shimmering with a mixture of joy, vulnerability, and something tender that makes your chest ache.

You brush Alexandra’s cheek gently with the back of your hand, your fingers lingering as she closes her eyes, leaning into your touch like you’re the only safe place she needs. Charles steps around to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between the three of you.

The moment stretches, quiet and sacred, and you let yourself breathe it all in — the warmth, the love, the softness that you’ve fought so hard to build. Alexandra opens her eyes and looks up at you, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice trembling just enough that you know it’s everything she’s been holding back. “For this. For us.”

You lean down to press your forehead against hers. “Always.”

Charles’s hand moves from your waist to brush over Alexandra’s cheek, thumb stroking gently. “We’re yours, Alex. Every part of you. No matter what.”

Her eyes fill with tears — not the harsh kind, but the kind that come from feeling truly seen and loved. She leans into Charles’s touch, then back into yours, as if anchoring herself between the two of you. You slip your hand into hers, fingers intertwining as your other hand cups the side of her face, thumb brushing soothing circles. The intimacy between you hums, electric and peaceful all at once.

Charles steps back just enough to pour champagne into the crystal flutes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hands you the glass, and you toast softly, “To us. To love without limits.”

The glasses clink, a delicate sound that echoes over the water. Alexandra takes a sip, then sets her glass down carefully, reaching up to rest her hands on your cheeks. Her touch is feather-light, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I never thought I could feel this safe,” she murmurs. “This loved.”

You smile, your heart swelling until it feels like it might burst. “You always deserved it.”

Charles moves behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you into a slow, swaying dance under the stars. Alexandra steps close, resting her head on your shoulder, and you all move together — three souls beating in quiet harmony. The night deepens, and words fade into soft kisses, whispered promises, and the comfort of being exactly where you’re meant to be. Hours later, the yacht gently glides through the calm water, the three of you wrapped in blankets on the deck, watching the horizon blush with the first hints of dawn.

Charles’s voice is barely more than a breath as he says, “This is our forever.”

You squeeze Alexandra’s hand, your heart full beyond words.

“Yes,” you agree. “Forever and always.”

—

charles_leclerc

liked by yn_ln, alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc and 14,007,003 others.

charles_leclerc : my girls mean absolutely everything to me — more than words can ever fully express. yn and alexandra are the heart of my world, my constant support, and my greatest joy. to anyone who follows yn or i- if you’re being rude, disrespectful, or insufferable toward alexandra, please know that you are not welcome here. we stand united, and kindness is non-negotiable. we celebrate love, strength, and respect in all forms, and alexandra deserves nothing less than that — just like yn and I do. if you can’t show that, then this isn’t the place for you. i love you both, my angels.

tagged : yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

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[airosuiren]

The Abandoned Wayne.

Bat Family x Neglected Reader x Tokyo Revengers

A/N: Omg I had this idea stuck in my head for AGES!!! Batfam neglect trope combined with Tokyo Revengers is literally my new obsession!!! Hope you enjoyyy this twisted tale of neglect, revenge, and finding your true family!!! (this DOES NOT follow cannon)

Part 2

Wayne Manor had two daughters, but only one that mattered.

You and Lila Wayne - twins born to Bruce Wayne through a brief relationship with a woman who disappeared shortly after your birth. Identical in appearance but worlds apart in treatment.

From the moment Bruce took you both in, it was clear who the favorite was.

Lila got the bigger bedroom. Lila got the newest clothes. Lila got Bruce’s proud smiles whenever she mastered a new gymnastics routine or brought home perfect grades. Lila was “the good twin” - the perfect Wayne daughter who fit seamlessly into Gotham’s elite circles.

You? You were the afterthought.

“Dad, I got an A+ on my science project,” you said, holding up your graded paper at age twelve.

Bruce barely looked up from where he was helping Lila with her homework. “That’s nice. Did you see Lila made the honor roll again? Third time this year.”

You lowered your paper slowly, the familiar ache spreading through your chest. “Yeah. Great job, Lila.”

Your sister smirked at you over Bruce’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

It wasn’t just Bruce. Dick treated Lila like a princess, always bringing her souvenirs from his travels. Jason taught her self-defense but claimed you were “too clumsy” to learn. Tim shared his tech knowledge exclusively with Lila. Even Damian, though generally unpleasant to everyone, reserved his rare moments of tolerance for her.

Only Alfred seemed to notice you, slipping you extra cookies when no one was looking or patting your shoulder when you retreated to your room after another family gathering where no one acknowledged your presence.

“Patience, Miss [Y/N],” he would say. “Family can be… complicated.”

But your patience was running out.

By fifteen, you had stopped trying to earn their attention. You found solace in martial arts, training secretly at a local dojo where no one knew you were a Wayne. The feel of your fist connecting with a punching bag became your therapy, each strike fueled by years of being overlooked.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You returned from training to find the manor in chaos. Lila was sobbing in Bruce’s arms, her perfect face marred by a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The entire family surrounded her protectively.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping your gym bag.

Six pairs of eyes turned to you, cold and accusing.

“As if you don’t know,” Lila hissed through tears.

Bruce stood slowly, his face transforming into something you’d only seen directed at Gotham’s criminals. “Lila says you attacked her when she confronted you about stealing her homework.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? I didn’t touch her! I’ve been at the dojo for the past three hours!”

“We found your hairbrush in her room,” Tim said, holding up an evidence bag like this was a crime scene. “And the bruise pattern matches your distinctive ring.”

You looked down at the simple silver band you always wore - a gift from Alfred on your twelfth birthday. The only birthday gift anyone in the manor had given you.

“This is ridiculous,” you protested. “I would never hurt Lila!”

But as you looked around at their faces - Bruce’s fury, Dick’s disappointment, Jason’s disgust, Tim’s clinical detachment, Damian’s contempt, and Lila’s exaggerated fear - you realized with crystal clarity: They had already decided you were guilty.

No trial. No defense. No presumption of innocence.

Even Alfred looked uncertain, standing back from the family circle, his eyes troubled.

“I’ve made a decision,” Bruce announced, his voice Batman-cold. “This behavior cannot continue. You’ve been acting out for years, but this crosses a line.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Enough!” Bruce cut you off. “I’m sending you to our associates in Tokyo. The Moriyama family owes me a favor. They’ll take you in, get you into a good school, and hopefully… straighten you out.”

Your world collapsed around you. “You’re sending me away? To Japan? Because of a lie?”

“It’s not a lie!” Lila wailed, burying her face against Dick’s chest. “She threatened to do worse next time!”

“Pack your things,” Bruce said flatly. “You leave tomorrow.”

That night, alone in your room, you didn’t cry. The hurt had crystallized into something harder, colder. More dangerous.

In the darkness, you made a vow: You would never beg for their love again. You would never again call Wayne Manor home. And someday, they would realize exactly what they had thrown away.

Alfred came to your door as you finished packing.

“Miss [Y/N],” he began, his elderly face lined with regret. “I don’t believe… that is to say, I find it difficult to imagine you would harm your sister.”

It was the closest thing to support you’d received, but it came too late.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Alfred,” you said quietly. “It never has.”

The flight to Tokyo was long and silent. Bruce didn’t accompany you - he sent his corporate assistant instead. Your final glimpse of Gotham through the plane window felt like watching a chapter of your life being forcibly closed.

The Moriyama family was polite but distant. They provided you with a small but comfortable apartment, enrolled you in a prestigious international school, and otherwise left you entirely alone.

Freedom, you discovered, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first two months, you focused on school and perfecting your Japanese. You kept to yourself, the wound of your family’s betrayal still too fresh to risk new connections.

Then came the night you took a wrong turn walking home.

Three men cornered you in an alley - local thugs looking for an easy target. What they found instead was a Wayne with years of repressed rage and six months of intensive martial arts training.

When the dust settled, two were unconscious and the third was running away with a broken nose.

You were catching your breath, knuckles bloody, when you heard slow, appreciative clapping.

A tall, lean Japanese boy with bleached blond hair and an unsettling empty look in his eyes stood at the alley entrance. Despite his slender build, something about him radiated danger.

“Impressive,” he said in Japanese. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

You straightened, wary but unafraid. “Gotham City.”

His smile widened, revealing a charm that didn’t quite reach those empty eyes. “I’m Sano Manjiro. Everyone calls me Mikey.”

“[Y/N],” you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. You weren’t a Wayne anymore, not in any way that mattered.

“You should come with me, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, turning to leave as if your agreement was a foregone conclusion. “I think my friends would like to meet you.”

Something about his absolute confidence, the casual way he had watched you fight without interfering, and yes - the dangerous aura that reminded you of the Bat Family at their most intimidating - made you follow him.

Kanto Manji headquarters turned out to be an abandoned building retrofitted with surprisingly comfortable furnishings. Inside, a group of young men looked up as Mikey entered with you in tow.

“Found something interesting,” Mikey announced, dropping onto a couch. “This is [Y/N]. She just took down three Tenjiku guys without breaking a sweat.”

“American?” asked a tall, serious-looking man with dark hair.

“Gotham,” you corrected.

Something in the way you said it - like the name of the city was a wound - made the room go quiet.

“I’m Sano Takemichi,” the serious one said. “That’s Hakkai, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, and the one eating all the food is Baji.”

Over convenience store bento boxes and cheap beer, you learned about Kanto Manji - a gang formed from the ashes of several others, now one of the most powerful in Tokyo. Their operations walked a fine line between legitimate business and underground empire.

You didn’t share your full story that night, but something in your eyes must have spoken to them. The way you fought. The way you carried yourself. The obvious absence of anyone looking for you or caring where you were.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Baji asked as the night grew late.

“An apartment,” you said. “But no one waiting there.”

Mikey, who had been unnervingly quiet for most of the evening, just watching you with those empty eyes, suddenly spoke: “You should work for us.”

The others looked surprised.

“Mikey,” Takemichi began cautiously, “we don’t even know her—”

“I know enough,” Mikey cut him off. “She fights like someone with nothing to lose. That’s valuable.”

You should have been offended. Instead, you felt a strange relief at being so perfectly understood.

“What would I do?” you asked.

Mikey smiled that disconnected smile again. “You’re from Gotham. Home of criminals and bats. I bet you know how to plan.”

And just like that, you found your place.

The Kanto Manji gang became your new family. Takemichi treated you like a little sister, always checking if you’d eaten or slept enough. Hakkai taught you Japanese street fighting to complement your formal training. Chifuyu, discovering your knack for strategy, spent hours discussing territory maps with you. Mitsuya even designed clothes specifically for you - practical but stylish outfits that became your signature look.

And Mikey… Mikey watched you. At first, it was unsettling - those empty eyes following your movements across rooms, his sudden appearances outside your apartment, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as if marking territory.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Hakkai warned about three months in. “Be careful.”

But the truth was, you didn’t mind. After years of being invisible, Mikey’s focused attention felt like water in a desert. He saw you. Really saw you.

Your tactical mind proved invaluable to the gang. You planned their operations with precision Batman himself might have admired - if he had ever bothered to notice your intelligence.

Within a year, your reputation spread through Tokyo’s underground. The foreign girl with the cold eyes and brilliant mind who stood at Mikey’s right hand. Some called you “The Ghost” because of how you seemed to appear from nowhere, always one step ahead.

Not once did Bruce or any of the Bat Family reach out. Not a call. Not an email. Not even Alfred. It was as if [Y/N] Wayne had ceased to exist the moment her plane left Gotham airspace.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, Kanto Manji threw you a party that lasted until dawn. For the first time since arriving in Tokyo, you allowed yourself to fully relax, to laugh, to feel genuinely happy.

As the others finally passed out from too much sake, Mikey led you to the roof. The Tokyo skyline glittered before you, so different from Gotham’s gothic spires but beautiful in its own way.

“Happy birthday, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, producing a small black box.

Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“Mikey, it’s beautiful,” you whispered as he fastened it around your neck.

“You’re mine now,” he said simply, his fingers lingering on your skin. “My strategist. My ghost.” His empty eyes seemed to fill with something like hunger. “My everything.”

You should have been frightened by the possessiveness. Instead, you felt a thrill. Someone wanted you. Not your sister. You.

When he kissed you, it felt like claiming and being claimed.

“Yes,” you agreed against his lips. “Yours.”

The next two years passed in a blur of power, respect, and a strange kind of happiness. Kanto Manji grew under your strategic guidance and Mikey’s fearsome leadership. You moved into his apartment, your foreign clothes mingling with his in the closet, your strategic plans spread across his dining table, your body wrapped in his arms each night.

His obsession never faded. If anything, it intensified. Mikey wanted to know where you were every moment. He called randomly just to hear your voice. He left marks on your skin where others could see them.

“It’s not healthy,” Takemichi told you once.

You just smiled. “Nothing about my life has ever been healthy.”

Besides, you thrived on Mikey’s attention. On being the center of someone’s world. On mattering.

You hadn’t spoken the name “Wayne” in three years when the past finally caught up to you.

It started with a text from a number you didn’t recognize:

They’re coming for you. Wayne Industries expanding to Tokyo. Family accompanying Bruce for the opening. Be prepared. - A

Alfred. It could only be Alfred.

You stared at the message for a long time before showing it to Mikey.

His reaction was immediate and intense. “They abandoned you. They don’t get to come back now.”

That night, he called an emergency meeting. The entire gang gathered as Mikey explained the situation.

“Wayne,” Baji spat the name like a curse. “The bastard who threw away our [Y/N]?”

“The same,” Mikey confirmed, his arm possessively around your waist. “They’re coming to Tokyo. Business, they say.”

“But really for [Y/N],” Hakkai finished, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want to do?” Takemichi asked you directly. “It’s your call.”

You looked around at the faces watching you - these men who had become your brothers, your protectors, your true family. And Mikey, whose empty eyes filled only when looking at you, whose obsession had become your safety net.

“I want them to see exactly what they lost,” you said finally. “And who I’ve become without them.”

The gang nodded in unison.

“Then that’s what will happen,” Mikey declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ll see our Ghost. And they’ll regret the day they sent her to us.”

A week later, Wayne Enterprises opened its Tokyo branch with a lavish party. You watched from across the street as limousines delivered Gotham’s elite to the red carpet - including five tall, well-dressed men and one woman in a shimmering gown.

The Bat Family had arrived.

And they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A/N: There is a part 2 for thiss Please wait for itttt

[ashthesalamipiece]

Could I possibly request one where pro hero Bakugo is talking to deku and suddenly is like talking about how he want to propose to his girlfriend and dekus like “WHAT GIRLFRIEND” and Bakugo like, the girlfriend I’ve had since middle school?? It’s not that he was hiding it he just never rlly talked abt i. BUT THEN after asking questions deku finds out she quirkless and starts crashing out bc while bakugo was actively bullying him in middle school for being quirkless he had a little quirkless girlfriend. I love u girl do ur thing 🙏

Thank you bbg, enjoy♡

"Since Middle School"

Pro Hero Bakugou x Quirkless!Reader | Humor, Soft Romance, Emotional Chaos, Izuku Spiral™

---

It started like any other post-mission debrief between Pro Heroes.

The office was quiet, save for the hum of the lights and the distant tapping of keyboards. Deku sat on the edge of his desk, still nursing a scratch on his cheek, while Bakugou leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes on the ceiling.

“I think I’m gonna propose,” Bakugou said, casual as anything.

Deku choked on his energy drink. “To who??”

Bakugou blinked at him. “To my girlfriend?”

“You have a girlfriend??”

“...Yeah?” Bakugou frowned. “You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“NO??”

Bakugou tilted his head like this was somehow his fault. “Huh. Thought you did.”

“You never mentioned her before! When did this happen??”

Bakugou shrugged. “Middle school.”

Deku went still. “What?”

“We’ve been dating since middle school,” Bakugou said, offhand. “Told her I liked her after I blew up some kid who called her useless. She said she already knew.”

Deku’s soul briefly left his body.

Bakugou kept talking like this was all very normal. “She used to help me with my homework. Smart as hell. Always carried extra snacks in her bag. Hated when I picked fights, but let me get away with it anyway. She’s—” he cut himself off, ears going slightly red. “Whatever. She’s awesome.”

Deku’s eye twitched. “Kacchan.”

“What?”

“She’s quirkless.”

“...Yeah?”

“YOU’VE BEEN DATING A QUIRKLESS GIRL SINCE MIDDLE SCHOOL—WHILE BULLYING ME FOR BEING QUIRKLESS—??”

Bakugou winced. “Okay, first of all—”

“NO.” Deku stood up like his brain had snapped in half. “You used to shove my notebooks in the dirt for existing and then go hold hands with your little quirkless girlfriend?? What kind of—what double standard—”

“I didn’t shove your notebooks for being quirkless! I shoved them because you were annoying as shit!”

“YOU CALLED ME A USELESS DEKU—WHILE YOU WERE IN LOVE WITH A QUIRKLESS GIRL—”

“Don’t call her that,” Bakugou snapped, sharp. “She’s not useless.”

Deku froze. “I wasn’t—!”

Bakugou sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. Just don’t like that word near her.”

Deku stared, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. “You... you were defending her back then, too?”

Bakugou looked away. “I didn’t get it. Not all the way. But she never made me feel like I was better. Or worse. She just… treated me like I was worth something, without having to prove it.”

Silence fell.

Deku sat back down, slowly, brain still rebooting.

After a long beat, he said, “You’re telling me you’ve been in a long-term, secret, emotionally fulfilling relationship for ten years—with a quirkless civilian—and you never thought to mention it once??”

Bakugou scoffed. “It’s not a secret, you nerd. I just don’t go around broadcasting my business like it’s a damn podcast.”

Deku stared into the void.

Bakugou shrugged. “You wanna meet her?”

“YES???!??!”

---

Bonus: When Deku does meet you

You: smiles brightly, offers him a cookie

Deku: shaking I—I can’t believe you’re real.

You: “Katsuki told me you’d be dramatic.”

Deku: “HE CALLS YOU BY YOUR NAME??”

Bakugou: from the kitchen “YEAH?? SHE HAS ONE???”

[riddlesrizzler]

Not Affectionate, My Ass

summary: The bunny theory is debunked! characters: bunny! reader, slytherin boys warnings: none! just clingy bunny reader with her bf word count: 699

The Slytherin common room was relatively peaceful for once. A rare thing, considering the usual chaos that surrounded the boys like a storm cloud. But today, there was no bickering, no arguments over whose turn it was to copy Theo’s homework, and no Blaise sighing in disappointment at the sheer idiocy of his friends.

Instead, the only sound was the soft scratch of Enzo flipping through a book, Theo absentmindedly shuffling his deck of exploding snap cards, and Mattheo lounging on the couch-his head tilted back against the cushions, hand lazily stroking the tiny, fluffy bunny curled up on his chest.

Bunny, in her animagus form, was completely melted against him, her small body rising and falling with each of his breaths. If she moved at all, it was just to burrow deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, as if trying to merge into him entirely.

“Hey,” Enzo suddenly snorted, breaking the silence. “This book says rabbits aren’t that affectionate.”

Theo, barely looking up from his cards, hummed. “What?”

Enzo tapped the page. “Says here that rabbits don’t like being held too much. They prefer their own space, aren’t clingy, and don’t need constant attention.”

There was a beat of silence before Mattheo let out the loudest, most unamused scoff.

“That’s bullshit.”

Enzo blinked up at him. “Mate, I’m literally reading it from a book-”

Mattheo gestured aggressively to the tiny ball of fur plastered against his chest like a heat-seeking missile.

“Does this look like an animal that ‘prefers their own space’ to you?”

As if to further prove his point, Bunny shifted, stretching her little paws before snuggling even deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, her tiny nose twitching against the fabric.

Draco, amused, finally put his book down. “To be fair, she is kind of obsessed with you.”

Mattheo smirked, scratching behind her ears like it was second nature. “Damn right she is.”

Theo chuckled. “Face it, Enzo. Bunny’s an exception to every rule. That, or she imprinted on Mattheo like a baby duck.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Honestly, we should be more concerned about how often she’s with him. I can’t remember the last time I saw them apart.”

Enzo frowned. “Wait… yeah. When has she ever not been stuck to him?”

Draco smirked, leaning forward. “You should see them in class. Bunny always sits next to him. Always.”

Theo laughed. “That’s nothing. You should see her at meals-she eats off his plate more than her own.”

Enzo’s eyes widened. “Wait, I thought she just did that to annoy him?”

Mattheo snorted. “She steals my food. Every single time. And I let her.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, that’s love, mate.”

“Oh, oh!” Theo grinned. “What about how she clings to his arm when we’re walking? If he stops moving, she just stumbles into him because she refuses to let go.”

Enzo laughed. “And when she’s not holding onto him, she’s following behind him like a shadow.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, though the fond smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Yeah, and when I disappear for more than five minutes, she comes looking for me.”

“She actually did that last week,” Draco added. “You left the common room, and she got up after two minutes, like, ‘Where’s Mattheo?’”

Blaise smirked. “And if she’s not in her human form, she’s in his hoodie as a bunny.”

At this, everyone turned to look at the tiny ball of fluff currently nestled against Mattheo’s chest.

“Case in point,” Theo said, gesturing.

Enzo scoffed. “How does that not annoy you?”

Mattheo just shrugged, still stroking Bunny’s fur. “It’s warm. I think she likes hearing my heartbeat or something.”

Draco let out a chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he scratched behind Bunny’s ears, watching as she gave a sleepy twitch. “I don’t deal with it. I enjoy it.”

Theo and Enzo groaned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mattheo just smirked. “You’re all just jealous.”

Enzo huffed. “I’m not jealous-I just don’t understand how a bunny can be this clingy.”

Theo smirked. “That means the whole ‘rabbits aren’t affectionate’ thing is officially debunked.”

Mattheo just smirked, running a gentle hand down Bunny’s back. “Not affectionate, my ass.”