#hes a combination of both siblings

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Carmy is based on THE STORERS

I read a few weeks ago on here that someone thought Sydney was gonna quit The Bear because "her character was based on Courtney Storer " and IRL she quit her dream job in CA because she burnt out there and it was one of the most disappointing experiences of her life.

I was sooooooo sure that was inaccurate because IK for a fact that Sydney's character is based on the first black female chef to ever win a Michelin Star, the one and only: Mariya Moore-Russell.

Context: Mariya won the star in 2019 when Chris Storer was still working on the ORIGINAL "THE BEAR" MOVIE SCRIPT, as I mentioned here.

So that's why Sydney's character was inspired by her and even her hairstyle was inspired by Mariya who sported braids for years.

BUT

Carmy on the other hand is a mix of Chris and Courtney's past and hopes and dreams. Carmen Berzatto is a hybrid character. The result of Chris and Courtney's real-life story of how they overcame trauma by finding solace in art.

Chris tried being a chef once, before changing careers, as he mentions here. He also mentions Carmy's character was based on many chefs he knows IRL including his sister. I have mentioned in many previous posts that Carmy is based ON HIM mostly (the personality), but yeah, the culinary part and the finding solace in making food and understanding food as a way to show love and hospitality to others, a way of connecting with others, THAT is all Courtney.

Courtney was and still is a successful chef. Turns out she, like Carmy, found solace in cooking and in that way "escape" her trauma for years, she found cooking to be a way to get out of her head and be "into her hands". This rings a bell, right?

It wasn't till later in life when she healed and no longer needed to do that, now she's EP of the show.

So Carmy's character is a mix of Chris and Courtney.

The psycho-chef post-EMP is Chris' dark side. It doesn't mean he is like this IRL, of course. It means he can be like this, but he prefers to pour all of that on the paper and sublimate it into his characters. More about that here and here. The one that reacted like this when Mickey cut him off:

The part of Carmy that we love, the Carmy that was almost nowhere to be found this past season, the sweet part, it's all Courtney, the one that was under the table and told Syd: "You love taking care of people" is Courtney's voice:

Source: Variety

The Carmy that said that fixing the restaurant was a way of fixing his own family trauma, is inspired on Courtney. So were Carmy’s panic attacks. (And Syd’s for that matter).

The part of Carmy that struggles to find amusement and enjoyment after trauma and puts all his energy into work is both, Chris and Courtney:

Source: People.com

So basically, Carmy is the past of The Storers and in the future he will, just like the real-life Storers, find his redemption.

Bonus track: I think we all know this one by now, but it's just funny and cute, I guess, so I wanna mention it: Courtney's nickname is Coco, and Coco is also the Danish invisible cat that Carmy and Marcus fed on the bote, in Copenhagen:

awww

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[hajihiko]

a long time ago I was like "I bet there are a lot of characters that are both touch-starved and touch-averse" so. Thinks

Impostor explanation: has been around the whole scale as various identities, has a hard time understanding themselves and their own true preference. Tends to just adjust to whoever they're around.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

today i’m thinking abt megumi and how overlooked tsumiki’s importance to his character is sometimes ……….. itafushi is lovely and they mean a lot to each other but tsumiki is the center of megumi’s world, not yuji :’) tsumiki raised him!!!! she taught him to be kind!!!!! when he was younger he felt so bitter towards her because he can’t forgive people who forgive as easily as she does but he admires her & her way of thinking more than anything …. he comes soooo close to killing remi but tsumiki’s voice literally plays in his head telling him not do it…….. she’s his moral compass … she’s his whole world ………….

[assassin-artist]

ok one more Scarlet cousin.. Bellamy, nicknamed Bee. They're just a little FREAK who talks to animals and foretells the doom of Scarlet Hollow

[milkbreadtoast]

O BTW i watched the first ep of the dungeon meshi and I RLY LIKE ITTTT ive been meaning to start the manga for yrs but never got around to it TT... trigger seems to be doing rly well w the adaptation tho from what ive heard manga readers say and well just from watching it blind myself i alr rly love it and cant wait to see more...!!!

[incomingalbatross]

I did watch "What About Bob?" and my two main thoughts, very briefly, are

This Harry actually has such a radically different background from Books!Harry and I am revolving it in my brain. Definitely makes sense of some of his other differences to me but also. just generally. OUCH

They REALLY loaded the Harry & Bob relationship with the combined significance of like three of Book!Harry's most significant relationships. I am, I gotta say, a sucker for it

[kitkatscabinet]

SNUGGLE BUG

Summary: The boys try to get out of bed, their partner has other plans.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, x reader

A/N: unedited

DICK GRAYSON

Dick's always been a physically affectionate person, far more so than the rest of his family. It's why he'd been so ecstatic when he'd found you, a partner that was just as, if not more affectionate than him.

On more than one occasion his siblings had been given front-row seats to the snuggle show when they broke into his apartment, served them right really.

What Dick hadn't accounted for, was just how difficult it was to peel himself from your arms in the morning. Torture would hurt less he's sure.

"Ten more minutes," you whined childishly, burrowing your face into Dick's bare shoulder, tightening your arms around his torso.

"We've already said that three times." Your partner laughed, wriggling out of your hold but with far less strength than you knew he was capable of.

Both of you were fully aware just how quickly he could extracate himself from your arms should the neccessity rise. Technically speaking he did have to go to work, but surely it couldn't hurt to be a little late?

Though a quick glance at the hello kitty alarm clock on the bedside table confirmed he was already late.

"Dickie, can't you just call in? I wanna cuddle."

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

It wasn't like he really needed the money anyway.

His boss's ire is worth it to feel the way you smile into the skin of his neck, your warm breaths and little laughs as you lay tangled together.

So worth it.

JASON TODD

"You planning on letting me go anytime soon?" Jason grunted, though you know him well enough to hear the smile he's attempting to hide.

"Never," you mumble into the skin between his broad shoulder blades, the mattress slouching beneath the combined weight of you and your boyfriend.

Jason, undeterred by your attempts to drag him down, stands with a grunt. A cracking noise you know to be his knees rings out, and though you feel a little bad, you're unwilling to back down in your quest to get him back into bed.

Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is built like a brick shithouse and is just as stubborn as you. Slowly, he manouevers around your small apartment all the while you hang off his back like a drunken Koala.

"Babyyyy," you whine petulantly into his ear, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to only slightly choke him into submission.

Sighing, Jason starts to wander back into the bedroom. Just when you think you've won, he spins around, falling backwards onto the mattress and crushing you beneath his bulk.

In the minutes you spend winded, recovering, from being squished like an ant, Jason makes his escape. When you finally manage to come back to yourself you notice something incredibly distressing.

"Clothes! Why are you wearing clothes!" you wailed, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor in a pathetic slump.

Despite himself, Jason smiles at the sight, bundling you up in his arms before hopping back into bed with you. "Ok, you big dramatic baby."

Hey may have sounded put out, but the both of you knew he wanted to cuddle just as much. Besides, nothing was as important to him as you.

TIM DRAKE

He’d tried to be quiet. Truly, with years of training in the art of stealth Tim had intended to simply slip out of the bed and leave you to the sleep you needed.

He’d almost made it, both feet on the floor and the mattress no longer bearing most of his weight when all of a sudden a hand darted out, grasping his wrist.

Tim froze, slowly turning to look down at you with wide, guilty eyes. You're glaring up at him, sleep-addled face far more adorable than threatening, not that he'd ever tell you that, for fear of getting his ass beat.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" your voice is hoarse and gravelly from sleep but the threat is evident.

Mouth suddenly dry, Tim awkwardly chuckles, "Oh, babe, you're awake."

"Thanks to you," you grumbled sleepily, guilt and fear in equal measurements settling heavily in his chest.

"M'sorry, tried not to wake you but I gotta get to work on this case."

"No." You grunted, wrapping your arms around Tim's waist with freakish speed, nuzzling your face into his side.

He can't help the way his heart skips several beats at your casual affection. Tim's always been starved for touch, for the soft loving touch that you've always provided as if its as natural as breathing.

He should be used to it but despite the years worth of love and affection you've poured into Tim in the time you've spent together he still hasn't acclimated.

Tim knows, that you know, just how weak to your touch he is. It still doesn't prevent his resolve from crumbling when you refuse to let him budge, tugging him back down into your warm embrace.

"Good boy," you murmur against the skin of his neck, wrapping around his back like an octopus and trapping him against the expanse of your chest.

His skin runs hot at your words, mind numb to anything that's not your touch as he's eventually lulled back to sleep to the soothing sounds of your breathing.

[sukumna]

┌─ ⟢ VISITING HIS PRACTICE WITH THE KIDS

𐔌─ cw. fem!reader. pregnancy. mentions of reader breast feeding. suggestive in oikawa’s.

𐔌─ characters. atsumu. oikawa. bokuto. rinatarou

bokuto omegaverse when?!?

Miya Atsumu

Everyone loves Miya Atsumu’s little family. The media is obsessed with his cute babies that go viral almost every time they step out of the house—almost as much as they’re obsessed with how much you glow during your pregnancies.

He’s almost positive there are about as many pictures of him and his twin combined as there are of your bump. He’s not jealous. Nope. Totally not jealous that when he gets approached by fans, they’re asking what stretch mark cream you use instead of asking for an autograph.

So it’s no surprise when you come to the gym to bring his forgotten lunch, and before he can even take a bite of his sub, half of his team has surrounded you.

“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing,” Bokuto grins, picking up your toddler son and mock-throwing him in the air.

“Careful!” You chastise him before relaxing when you hear your son squeal a chorus of “Again, again!”

Aren’t you supposed to say hi to me first son? Atsumu thinks, pouting slightly before turning to his daughter with a smile—only for that smile to be immediately wiped off his face when he sees her in the arms of Hinata, blowing slobbery kisses.

“What the hell?!” He gasps.

You look up at him from your spot next to him. “What’s wrong, baby?” You frown, rubbing your small bump.

“Nothin’, angel,” He sighs, placing his calloused hand over yours. At least he’s got the attention of his wife and their little grape.

“How’s the b—”

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! My wife keeps bothering me to ask what stroller you use!”

Later, when you leave, you find a text from Atsumu; I'll be coming home for lunch next time ! >:( .

Bokuto Koutarou

Back in high school, Koutarou was nicknamed “The Owl,” but now, well into his professional volleyball years, superfans have taken to calling him The Wolf.

Not because of a dry, stressed-out personality—no, because it seems like he has three hundred kids.

Every year, he’s posting another skin-to-skin picture with a newborn and a sappy caption. His team jokes that he needs to get off of you (he’s pretty sure some of them are serious), but he doesn’t care. Especially not when his pups start cheering for him, even after he hits the ball out of bounds.

Screams of encouragement—and a few screaming just to see how loud they can get—echo throughout the gym. You would’ve thought the stands were packed. Nope. Just his fan-proclaimed pack.

“KILL! KILL! DESTROY THEM NOW!”

One of his sons starts choking himself out. His daughters jump up and down on the bleachers, and in the middle of the rowdiness, he hears a small baby screeching just because his siblings are.

“Thank you, pups! I didn’t do great, but A+ on the enthusiasm!” Bokuto shouts from the court. A teammate beside him flinches at the sheer volume. So that’s where the kids get it from.

“YES, DAD, YES!” His kids scream back.

In the middle of it all, you sit there, giving Kou the biggest smile—the same one you gave him when he asked you out, the same one you gave him when he married you, the same one you gave him every time you announced another pregnancy.

And he’s so overcome with love that he can’t help but think about having another baby—just to have somewhere to spill all this love into.

Suna Rintarou

You and your daughter watch with bright eyes as Rin walks out of his gym building and makes his way toward the car.

The moment he slides into the passenger seat—despite being sweaty from hours of practice—you both grab onto him in a hug, your daughter unbuckled and leaning over the console.

“Hi, Daddy!” She runs a hand over his stubble and giggles when Rin pretends to bite her.

“Hi, princess,” he grins before turning to you. “Hi, queen.”

He teases, leaning over to kiss you, and you can’t help but smile into it.

“How was practice, Daddy?”

Suna breaks the kiss to answer, but before he can, he notices another small body in the backseat—headphones on, eyes glued to the game in his hands. Suna reaches over and pulls off one of his son’s headphones.

Like his father, his son merely glances up with a questioning expression.

“No hey Dad, glad you didn’t break your wrist at practice, so we don’t have to go homeless and move in with Uncle ‘Samu and starve to death because he eats all the food?” Suna mimics his son’s unimpressed face.

“You’re so dramatic, Dad.” His son grumbles but leans in when Suna playfully messes up his hair.

“Imagine the horror. No snacks, no food—we’ll all be forced to wake up at five in the morning and work all day at the restaurant.”

A chorus of mortified groans fills the car. The Suna family was not made for early mornings.

He turns back to his daughter. “It was good, baby.”

She smiles, murmuring something that sounds like that’s good before settling back to watch whatever her older brother is playing. Like his son, she wasn’t much of a talker either. You were the talker of the family, always filling in the silence.

You cup his cheek. “You gotta get back soon.”

“I know,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch. “Just one more kiss, then we’ll go.”

One kiss turns into five, and soon enough, the kids are gagging and shouting for you two to stop.

“Dad! Stop kissing Mom and go make that money you were talking about! So freakin’ nasty.”

Oikawa Tooru

His team was having an unofficial official practice at the beach today, and it was days like this that Tooru loved playing for a team in the hot climate of South America.

Plus, the sun-kissed tan was a bonus. He always looked amazing in every photo taken of him.

Some of his teammates were lounging, so they were the first to see it. Oikawa was so focused on what he was doing that he paid the whistling no mind—until one of his teammates shook his shoulder.

He looked up with a glare, but it quickly disappeared when he saw what they were pointing at—a woman in a bikini, walking toward them with a small child.

More specifically, his woman and his child.

“Stop fuckin’ whistling at my girl!” Oikawa shouted, flipping his team off before jogging over.

“Princess, what are you doing here?” He barked, using his body to shield your chest from their eyes.

The baby on your hip babbled an unintelligible greeting before grabbing onto his father. Oikawa lifted him to his bare chest, pressing his nose to his soft little head—one hand still holding you close.

“Toru, get off! It’s too hot, and you’re all sweaty,” you whined, pushing at his chest. “And stop being all jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”

You huff before standing on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

“Well, I wouldn’t be jealous if I didn’t know at least five of my teammates have a hard-on right now because my tits are practically out!”

“The only reason my breasts are like this is because you got me pregnant! I’m breastfeeding your son!”

You laugh at his ridiculousness and reach for your son. Oikawa tightens his grip and pouts.

“I’m coming with.”

“What? You’re at practice!”

“It’s not a real practice. And besides, I need to be there to defend you from all the men who think they can be stepdaddy.”

He takes the beach bag from you. You roll your eyes—but you can’t help but smile

[pucksandpower]

To Build a Home

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader x Charles Leclerc

Summary: after you and your husbands are left heartbroken by news that seemingly put an end to your dreams of a family, the three of you are drawn to two young orphaned siblings who need you as much as you need them

Warnings: struggles with infertility

Based on this request

The fertility specialist’s office smells sterile, like antiseptic and plastic. You’ve been staring at the same drab poster of the reproductive system for what feels like hours. A part of you wonders if it's designed to be boring, as if anything too colorful would be inappropriate in a place like this.

Max sits beside you, one hand on your knee, thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles through the fabric of your jeans. Charles is on your other side, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers interlaced so tightly they’re almost white.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, a practiced neutral expression on his face. You try to read him, but there’s nothing to read. He’s done this a thousand times.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says, sitting across from you. He glances at the three of you, clearly used to couples but perhaps not quite this combination. He doesn’t falter, though. “I have the results of your tests.”

You hold your breath. Max’s hand tightens on your knee. Charles doesn’t move.

The doctor takes a moment, flipping a page on the clipboard. “We’ve reviewed all of the tests extensively. There is no male factor infertility present. Both of you” — he nods toward Max and Charles — “have excellent sperm count and motility. No concerns there.”

Your heart beats so loudly you wonder if the others can hear it.

He looks at you. It feels like an eternity passes before he speaks again. “For you, we found a condition called primary ovarian insufficiency. It means that your ovaries are no longer functioning normally before the age of 40. In your case, this means lower egg production, and unfortunately, a significantly decreased chance of natural conception.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach. Max’s hand turns ice-cold against your skin. Charles shifts beside you, inhaling a sharp breath that cuts through the sterile silence of the room.

“So … what does that mean?” You ask, and your voice sounds so small you barely recognize it.

“It means,” the doctor says gently, “that it’s very unlikely you’ll be able to conceive naturally. There are treatments that might help, but with this diagnosis, the odds are lower than average.”

“Lower than average,” Charles repeats, voice tight, almost robotic. He’s staring at the floor. You know that look — it’s the look he gets when he’s trying not to fall apart.

Max clears his throat. “What are the options?” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, and it’s impossible to tell if it’s anger or fear or both. Maybe both.

“IVF is one option,” the doctor says, unperturbed. “But with primary ovarian insufficiency, egg quality and quantity are concerns. You might consider using donor eggs or exploring surrogacy or adoption.”

Donor eggs. Surrogacy. Adoption. Each word feels like another blow, another layer of guilt and inadequacy. Your throat tightens, and tears prick your eyes. You try to swallow them back, but one escapes, sliding down your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says, and it’s genuine, but it doesn’t help. “I’ll give you some time.”

He stands and exits the room, leaving the three of you in a suffocating silence. You don’t move. You can’t. Your hands are trembling in your lap.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper. It’s barely a sound, but they hear it. Of course they hear it.

Max turns to you immediately. “No. No, don’t say that.”

“It is.” You turn to look at him, tears blurring your vision. “You and Charles … you’re fine. You’re perfect. It’s me. I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Charles says, voice cracking. He’s leaning toward you now, eyes desperate. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“But it’s true.” You pull away, needing the distance. “I’m the reason we can’t have kids. The big family you both wanted … it’s because of me.”

“Hey.” Max’s hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your face to meet his. His blue eyes are so intense, so full of pain and love it almost shatters you. “We will have a big family. It might not be the way we planned, but we’ll get there.”

You shake your head. “But it won’t be the same. It won’t be-”

“It doesn’t matter how we get there,” Charles interrupts, his voice firmer now. “You think it makes a difference to me if our children come from your body or someone else’s? They’ll still be ours. They’ll still be loved. You’ll still be their mother.”

You look down, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s not fair to you two. You deserve someone who can-”

“Stop.” Max’s voice is low, dangerous in a way that makes you pause. “Don’t ever say that again. We love you. We chose you. We would choose you again in every lifetime.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You can’t stop them. Charles takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip is tight, unbreakable. “We didn’t marry you just to have kids,” he says quietly. “We married you because we love you. This doesn’t change that.”

“But it changes everything,” you insist, frustration and heartbreak mingling into a mess you can’t untangle.

“No, it doesn’t,” Max says, leaning forward until his forehead touches yours. “It just means we have to find a different way. And we will. We’ll figure it out.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. “I’m scared.”

“We are too,” Charles admits, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “But we’ll face it. Together. Like Max said.”

Silence settles in again, but this time it’s different. Less suffocating. More like a fragile, tentative peace. Max wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, and Charles leans in to press a soft kiss against your temple.

You exhale shakily. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Max says, and there’s a small, almost broken smile on his lips. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Charles nods, and his eyes are filled with so much hope it’s almost unbearable. “No matter what, we’ll have our family. One way or another.”

You nod, not because you believe it yet, but because they do. And maybe that’s enough, at least for now.

***

The orphanage is a charming old building tucked into one of Monaco’s quieter streets, its stone façade softened by ivy and strings of twinkling Christmas lights. The sound of children’s laughter spills out onto the sidewalk, where a handful of staff is arranging a small Christmas display. It smells like pine needles and freshly baked cookies, and you think it’s the kind of place that tries its hardest to be warm, even when life isn’t.

You tug your scarf tighter against the chill, glancing at Max and Charles. Max is holding a large bag of wrapped presents, the bright paper peeking out through the opening. Charles, as always, has a warm smile ready for anyone who passes by.

“I think this is going to be fun,” Charles says, glancing at you. “I mean, how often do kids get to meet Santa and two F1 drivers in the same day?”

“Santa’s still the headliner here,” you tease.

Max smirks. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Charles in a Santa hat. It’s a close call.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding his amusement. He looks down at the bag of presents you’re carrying. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The three of you step inside, greeted almost immediately by the matron, a kind-faced woman named Madame Ricard. She clasps her hands together in delight when she sees the three of you, her warm energy a perfect match for the festive setting.

“Oh, this is such a treat for the children,” she says, her French accent thick but easy to understand. “They’ve been talking about it all week. Come, come, let me show you the way.”

You follow her into a large common room, where a group of children is gathered around a tree that looks like it was decorated by a dozen tiny hands. Tinsel hangs in uneven loops, and ornaments are clustered in some places and sparse in others. It’s perfect.

The kids freeze for a moment when they see you, their eyes going wide. Then, as if a switch has been flipped, they erupt into cheers and giggles.

“Charles! Max!” One of the older boys shouts, his voice cracking with excitement.

“Santa!” Another yells, pointing at the man in the red suit who follows close behind you.

Max laughs, setting down the bag of gifts. “I think they’re more excited about you, mate,” he says to Santa, who waves jovially.

You step forward, kneeling to hand out the first few presents. The kids swarm you, but it’s all happy chaos. Max and Charles are instantly surrounded, signing autographs on toy cars and posters that some of the children miraculously seem to have on hand.

As you hand out another gift, your eyes wander to a quieter corner of the room. There, separate from the laughter and commotion, are two small figures.

The older one is a boy, maybe five years old, with a mop of dark hair and a protective posture. He’s standing in front of a little girl who can’t be more than three, his arms spread slightly as if to shield her from the world. Her tiny face is buried in his shirt, her small hands clutching the fabric.

Your heart squeezes.

You tap Charles on the shoulder, nodding toward them. “Who are they?”

Charles follows your gaze, frowning. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them move at all.”

Madame Ricard notices where you’re looking and sighs softly. “Ah, those two.” She kneels beside you, her expression full of a sadness that doesn’t belong in a place this joyful.

“They’re new,” she explains. “A brother and sister. Their parents died in a car accident a few weeks ago. They were on vacation here in Monaco when it happened.”

You feel your stomach drop. “They don’t have any other family?”

She shakes her head. “No one we’ve been able to find. And to make things more difficult, they don’t speak French, Italian, or English. It’s been hard for them to adjust.”

“They’re completely alone,” Charles murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Max steps forward, his jaw tight. “What language do they speak?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Madame Ricard admits. “They haven’t spoken much at all. A few words here and there, but we haven’t been able to identify it.”

Max’s brow furrows, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He glances at you and Charles before stepping closer to the children.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling a few feet away from the boy. His Dutch accent is more pronounced when he speaks to children, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m Max. This is Charles and …” He glances back at you. “This is our wife. We just wanted to say hi.”

The boy doesn’t respond. His eyes are wary, darting between Max and the little girl at his side.

Max tries again, switching to Dutch this time. “Kan je me verstaan?”

Still nothing.

He exhales, then tries German. “Verstehst du mich?”

The change is almost instantaneous. The boy’s eyes widen, his grip on the little girl loosening just slightly.

“You speak German?” Max asks, his tone careful but hopeful.

The boy nods, just once, but it’s enough to make Max smile.

“What’s your name?” Max continues in German.

The boy hesitates, glancing down at the girl before answering in a small voice. “Lukas.”

Max’s smile grows. “Hi, Lukas. Is this your sister?”

Lukas nods again, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Her name is Leni.”

“Hi, Leni,” Max says, his voice impossibly kind. Leni peeks out from behind Lukas, her wide, tear-filled eyes meeting Max’s.

“She’s scared,” Lukas says quietly.

Max’s expression softens. “That’s okay. It’s a scary thing, isn’t it? Being somewhere new.”

Lukas nods, his lip trembling.

Max glances back at you and Charles, switching briefly to English. “They’re German. Lukas and Leni.”

Charles kneels beside him, even though he doesn’t understand the words being spoken. “Can you tell them it’s okay? That they’re safe?”

Max translates, and Lukas looks at Charles, his expression uncertain but a little less guarded.

“Does she like presents?” You ask, holding up a small, brightly wrapped box.

Max repeats the question in German, and Lukas hesitates before nodding.

You crouch down, holding the box out to Leni. “This is for you.”

Lukas whispers something to her in German, and Leni reaches out with a trembling hand to take the gift.

“Go on,” Max encourages. “You can open it.”

Leni looks up at Lukas, who nods, and then she carefully tears into the paper. When she pulls out a soft, plush bear, her eyes light up for the first time. She clutches it to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Lukas looks up at Max, his voice barely above a whisper. “Danke.”

Max smiles. “You’re welcome.”

You exchange a glance with Charles, your chest tight with emotion. You didn’t come here to find anyone, to change anyone’s life. But looking at Lukas and Leni, it’s hard not to feel like something’s already shifting.

“They’re so small,” you whisper.

Charles nods, his voice thick. “Too small to be alone.”

Madame Ricard watches the interaction, her expression unreadable. “They’ve been through so much,” she says softly. “But I can already see a difference. You’ve made them feel seen.”

You glance back at Lukas, who’s now sitting cross-legged on the floor with Leni, showing her how to properly hug the bear. Max is still beside them, speaking softly in German, his tone soothing and patient.

Charles leans closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “What are you thinking?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight with emotion. “I’m thinking they shouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he watches them, his expression as soft and full of unspoken things as you feel. “Neither should we.”

You’re not sure what he means, but you think you might know.

***

The bedroom is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. The three of you are wrapped in the warm cocoon of your shared bed, but it feels different tonight. There’s no teasing banter, no sleepy laughter, no idle conversation about the race calendar or holiday plans. Just silence.

You’re lying between Max and Charles, your head resting against Max’s chest, while Charles holds your hand loosely under the blanket. Normally, you’d be lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of Max’s breathing or Charles’ absentminded humming. But tonight, your thoughts are elsewhere.

You can’t stop thinking about Lukas and Leni.

Their little faces flash in your mind over and over again — Lukas’ wary but determined expression, the way his body shielded his sister as if he alone could protect her from the world. Leni’s wide, tear-filled eyes and how tightly she clutched that bear once she finally opened up enough to take it.

You blink against the sting of tears.

“Alright,” Max’s voice cuts through the silence. He doesn’t sound annoyed, just concerned. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, though it’s half-hearted.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Charles says, his accent softening the words. He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. “Lost in thought. We can tell.”

Max’s hand moves to your back, drawing slow, soothing circles. “Talk to us.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to say what’s been swirling in your mind since you left the orphanage. It feels big — too big to articulate. But when you look at Charles’ gentle eyes and feel the steady comfort of Max’s touch, the dam breaks.

“It’s Lukas and Leni,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.

Max stops rubbing your back, his hand stilling as he waits for you to continue.

“I can’t stop thinking about them,” you admit. “The way Lukas was protecting her … the way they’re so alone. They don’t even have anyone who can speak to them in their own language.”

Charles sits up more fully, his brow furrowing. “It’s heartbreaking,” he says quietly, and you can tell he feels it too.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize the mess of emotions inside you. “I don’t know how to explain it, but … it felt like we were meant to find them. Like they were meant to find us.”

Max’s hand moves to your hair, his fingers threading gently through the strands. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “I keep thinking about how scared they must be. How lost. And I … I can’t stand the idea of them spending Christmas alone, in a place where no one understands them. It doesn’t feel right.”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, and you quickly wipe at your eyes. “I know it sounds crazy. We just met them. But I can’t shake this feeling that … I don’t know. That the five of us were meant to be together.”

Neither of them speaks for a moment, and you immediately regret saying it. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, sitting up and turning your face away. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. It’s just-”

“Hey.” Max’s voice is firm but gentle, and his hand catches yours before you can pull away completely. “Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to feel this way.”

Charles shifts closer, his hand brushing your arm. “I feel it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turn to look at him, your tears blurring his face. “You do?”

He nods. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them either. Lukas especially. The way he looked at us … like he wanted to trust us but didn’t know if he could. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Max exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “And Leni,” he says, his voice tight. “She’s just a baby. They’re both so small, and they’ve already been through so much.”

You sniffle, wiping your eyes again. “What are we supposed to do? We can’t just … leave them there.”

Max and Charles share a look over your head, one of those silent conversations they’ve perfected over the years. You’ve seen it before — on race days, in press conferences, during moments of unspoken understanding between them.

Finally, Max speaks. “We’re not leaving them there.”

Your heart skips. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes your hand again, his grip firm and reassuring. “I mean that we’ll go back. First thing tomorrow morning. We’ll talk to Madame Ricard, figure out what we need to do.”

“To adopt them?” You ask, your voice small but filled with hope.

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Max says without hesitation.

You feel your breath catch, the weight of their words settling over you. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Charles says. “It’s like you said — it feels right. It feels like they’re meant to be with us.”

Max nods, his expression serious. “We’ve already been talking about starting a family. This … this might be how it’s supposed to happen.”

Your tears start again, but this time they’re different. Lighter. Full of something you haven’t felt in a long time — hope.

“I love you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

Charles pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you completely. “We love you too,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair.

Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to do this.”

For the first time all night, the silence in the room feels peaceful. The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, until sleep finally comes.

And when it does, it’s with the quiet certainty that tomorrow will bring something new — something life-changing.

***

The drive to the orphanage feels longer than it did yesterday, even though the streets of Monaco are quiet in the early morning. Max’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter than usual, his knuckles pale against the leather. Charles sits in the passenger seat, his phone resting in his lap, while you’re tucked into the backseat, staring out the window. None of you speak, but the air is heavy with anticipation.

As soon as Max parks, Charles is out of the car, opening your door for you before you even have the chance to unbuckle. Max grabs the bag of gifts you’d brought back in case you see the other children again, though it feels secondary now.

Inside, the orphanage is quieter than yesterday. Only a few children are up, milling around the common room, their laughter softer in the early light. Madame Ricard greets you near the entrance, her warm smile faltering when she sees the determined expressions on your faces.

“You’re back early,” she says, glancing between the three of you.

“We need to talk to you,” Charles says, his tone polite but urgent.

Madame Ricard’s brows knit together, but she nods. “Of course. Come with me.”

She leads you to her small office, its walls lined with books and photographs of smiling children. There’s a wreath hanging in the window, and the desk is cluttered with papers and a half-empty cup of coffee. She gestures for you to sit, but none of you do.

“We want to adopt Lukas and Leni,” Max says without preamble, his Dutch accent more pronounced in his urgency.

Madame Ricard blinks, her surprise evident. “That’s … that’s wonderful, but adoption is not something that can happen overnight. There’s a process — an extensive one. Home studies, background checks, legal clearances. It can take months, sometimes even years.”

You feel your stomach drop, but Charles steps forward, his expression firm. “We understand there are steps, and we’re prepared to take them. But surely there’s something that can be done to expedite the process. They shouldn’t have to wait in limbo if there’s a family ready to take them.”

Madame Ricard sighs, her hands folding neatly on the desk. “I don’t doubt your intentions. You all seem like wonderful people, and I’m sure you would make excellent parents. But the system is in place to protect the children. It’s not something I can simply bypass.”

Charles glances at you, then at Max, before pulling out his phone. He scrolls for a moment, then presses a number and raises it to his ear.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, but he holds up a finger, his focus on the call.

“Bonjour,” Charles says smoothly, switching to French. “I hope I’m not interrupting, Your Serene Highness.”

Your eyes widen, and Max mutters something in Dutch under his breath that you’re certain isn’t polite.

“Yes, it’s Charles,” Charles continues, his voice calm but determined. “I need a favor. It’s urgent.”

Madame Ricard’s mouth falls open slightly, her gaze darting between Charles and the phone. You can barely process what’s happening as Charles explains the situation to the Prince of Monaco, his words measured but impassioned.

When he hangs up, he turns back to Madame Ricard with a small, triumphant smile. “Prince Albert has assured me he’ll do everything in his power to help expedite the process. You’ll be hearing from his office shortly.”

Madame Ricard stares at him for a moment, then laughs softly, shaking her head. “I forgot who I was speaking to for a moment. Well, if the Prince is involved, that does change things. But you’ll still need to go through some initial steps before we can begin the process officially.”

“That’s fine,” Max says, his voice steady. “We’ll do whatever we need to. But can we see them?”

Madame Ricard hesitates, then nods. “Yes, of course. Follow me.”

You walk through the halls in silence, your heart pounding in your chest. When you reach the common room, Lukas and Leni are exactly where you’d seen them yesterday — off to the side, separate from the other children. Lukas is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his arms around Leni, who is curled up against him with the plush bear you gave her.

“They’ve barely moved since this morning,” Madame Ricard says softly.

You exchange a glance with Max and Charles before stepping forward together. Max crouches first, his tall frame folding easily as he kneels a few feet from Lukas.

“Hallo, Lukas,” Max says gently in German. “Do you remember me?”

Lukas’ eyes lift, wary but familiar. He nods, his grip on Leni tightening slightly.

“This is my wife,” Max continues, gesturing to you. “And you remember our husband?”

Lukas nods again, his expression unreadable.

Max glances back at you, and you lower yourself to the floor beside him. Charles follows suit on the other side, forming a small circle around the children without crowding them.

“Lukas,” Max says softly, his tone careful but warm. “I want to ask you something. It’s very important.”

Lukas tilts his head slightly, his curiosity piqued despite his guarded demeanor.

Max takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto the boy’s. “Would you and Leni like to come home with us?”

For a moment, Lukas doesn’t respond. His brow furrows, and he looks down at Leni, who is clutching her bear tightly, her small face pressed into his side.

“Home?” Lukas echoes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods. “Yes. With us. We want to take care of you and Leni. We want to be your family.”

Lukas’ eyes widen, his grip on Leni loosening just slightly as he processes the words. He looks at you, then at Charles, his gaze searching.

“You want us?” He asks, his voice trembling.

You feel your throat tighten, but you manage to nod. “Yes, we do. More than anything.”

Charles leans forward slightly, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. We’ll take care of you. Both of you.”

Lukas’ lower lip trembles, and he looks down at Leni, who finally peeks out from where she’s been hiding. Her wide, tear-filled eyes meet Max’s, and she whispers something in German that you can’t understand.

“What did she say?” You ask quietly, glancing at Max.

Max’s voice is thick with emotion when he answers. “She asked ‘are you going to be our Mama and Vatis?’”

You feel the tears welling in your eyes, and you don’t bother trying to stop them. “Yes, sweetheart,” you say, your voice trembling. “We are. If you’ll have us.”

Lukas looks at Leni, then back at the three of you. His small shoulders square, and for the first time, his expression softens into something that looks like hope.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll go with you.”

You reach out cautiously, your hand trembling slightly as you place it gently on Lukas’. He doesn’t pull away.

Charles exhales a shaky breath, his hand coming to rest on Leni’s bear. “We’re going to take care of you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you.”

Max nods, his jaw tight as he fights to keep his own emotions in check. “You’re not alone anymore. You have us now.”

And for the first time, Lukas smiles — a small, tentative thing, but a smile nonetheless. It feels like the most important thing in the world.

***

One Month Later

The apartment is chaos. Wonderful, heartwarming chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

You can’t remember the last time it was this loud, and that’s saying something considering you’ve lived with two world-class athletes, three cats, and two mischievous dachshunds for years. But the addition of Lukas and Leni has turned the volume — and the energy — up several notches.

“Lukas, no running in the hallway!” You call, stepping over Jimmy, who is sprawled across the kitchen floor, his tail flicking lazily.

“He’s not running!” Max’s voice echoes from the living room. “He’s just … moving very quickly!”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as Leni tugs at the hem of your sweater. She’s clutching a small pile of bath toys in one hand and pointing toward the bathroom with the other.

“Bath time?” You ask gently, crouching to her level.

She nods eagerly, her curls bouncing with the motion.

“Okay, let’s find Lukas and-”

A loud crash interrupts you, followed by Charles shouting something in rapid French that sounds suspiciously like a curse. You turn the corner to find Lukas standing in the middle of the living room, an overturned laundry basket at his feet and Leo gleefully chasing a pair of socks across the floor.

“Lukas,” you sigh, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“It was an accident!” Lukas insists, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture.

Charles appears from behind the couch, his hair slightly disheveled and his expression exasperated but affectionate. “An accident that somehow involved the dog stealing my socks?”

Leo lets out a triumphant bark, the sock still dangling from his mouth, before darting under the coffee table.

Max leans against the doorway, arms crossed and a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think it’s a team effort,” he says.

You shake your head, trying to stifle a laugh. “Alright, enough chaos. It’s bath time.”

“Bath time?” Lukas groans, his face scrunching up in distaste.

“Yes, bath time,” Charles says firmly, scooping up the laundry basket and tossing the scattered clothes back inside. “You’re covered in dirt from playing outside.”

“And Leni’s ready,” you add, holding up her bath toys as she beams up at you.

“I’m not dirty,” Lukas mutters, crossing his arms.

Max raises an eyebrow. “There’s literally mud on your knees, little man. Let’s go.”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually, everyone makes it to the bathroom. Lukas and Leni sit on the edge of the tub, Leni excitedly dropping her toys into the water while Lukas looks like he’s planning his escape.

“Okay, clothes off,” you say, trying to keep things moving.

Leni complies immediately, but Lukas hesitates, his arms crossing over his chest again.

“It’s just a bath,” Max says, kneeling down to Lukas’ level. “Nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” Lukas mumbles, though his voice is quieter now.

Charles crouches next to Max, his tone gentle. “Do you want us to stay with you? Or we can leave the door open if that makes you feel better.”

Lukas glances at Leni, who is happily splashing her toys in the water, then back at Max and Charles. Finally, he nods. “Stay.”

You exchange a relieved look with Max as the two of you help the kids into the tub. The next ten minutes are a whirlwind of water, bubbles, and shrieks of laughter.

“Careful, Leni!” Charles exclaims as she flings a handful of bubbles at him, catching him squarely on the nose.

“Lukas, not the cat!” You yelp as Lukas splashes too enthusiastically and sends a wave of water cascading over the edge of the tub, directly onto Jimmy, who had wandered in to investigate.

Jimmy bolts, his tail puffed up like a bottlebrush, just as Leo decides to join the fray, leaping up to chase the bubbles floating in the air.

In the chaos, Max slips on the wet floor, catching himself on the edge of the sink. “This is a disaster,” he says, laughing as water drips from his hair.

“No, this is parenthood,” you reply, grinning as you wring out the hem of your sweater.

By the time the kids are clean and wrapped in fluffy towels, the bathroom looks like a hurricane hit it. Charles is soaked from head to toe, Max’s socks squelch with every step, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be finding remnants of stray bubbles for days.

But when Leni giggles and tugs on your sleeve, pointing at the three of you with a wide, toothy grin, it feels worth it.

***

That night, the apartment is finally quiet. Lukas and Leni are tucked into their new beds, Leo and Nino curled up at the foot of Lukas’ mattress, while the cats have retreated to their usual perches.

You’re sprawled on the couch between Max and Charles, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“I can’t believe how much energy they have,” you say, your head resting on Max’s shoulder.

“It’s like they’re powered by chaos,” Charles agrees, his arm draped over the back of the couch.

Max chuckles softly, his hand absently playing with the ends of your hair. “Chaos is putting it lightly.”

Despite your exhaustion, a sense of contentment washes over you. Your home feels fuller now — messier, louder, but fuller.

Just as you’re starting to drift off, a soft noise catches your attention. It’s the sound of small footsteps, hesitant and quiet, but unmistakable.

You sit up slightly, and a moment later, Lukas and Leni appear in the doorway, clutching their blankets and looking small and uncertain.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently, swinging your legs off the couch.

“Nightmare,” Lukas says quietly, his free hand gripping Leni’s tightly.

Your heart clenches, and you’re already on your feet, moving toward them. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lukas shakes his head, his eyes darting toward Max and Charles.

“Do you want to stay with us for a little while?” Max asks, his voice soft.

Both kids nod, and before you know it, they’re climbing onto the couch. Lukas settles between Max and Charles, while Leni crawls into your lap, clutching her blanket like a lifeline.

Charles pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over all of you, his hand resting gently on Lukas’ back. Max leans down to press a kiss to Leni’s hair, his eyes meeting yours over her head.

For a long time, no one speaks. The kids slowly relax, their breathing evening out as they drift back to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of your little family.

“I think they’re starting to trust us,” Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I think they are.”

Max tightens his arm around Lukas, his gaze soft. “We’re going to be okay,” he says quietly. “All of us.”

And in that moment, with the kids nestled against you and the warmth of Max and Charles surrounding you, you know he’s right.

***

One Year Later

The sun filters through the trees lining the courtyard of La Maternelle, casting dappled light on the cheerful faces of parents waiting to pick up their children. You stand between Max and Charles, your hands wrapped around a paper bag from the kids’ favorite bakery. Inside, two perfectly iced pastries sit, waiting to be devoured.

“Do you think they liked it?” You ask, glancing at the colorful mural decorating the preschool’s front wall.

Charles, leaning against the railing, grins. “Of course. Lukas was practically vibrating with excitement this morning. And Leni …” His voice softens. “She’ll love anything if Lukas does.”

Max chuckles, crossing his arms as he watches the doors. “Let’s see if they’re still smiling when they come out.”

You nudge him playfully. “Stop worrying. They’ll be fine.”

As if on cue, the large doors open, releasing a flood of tiny, chattering students. Teachers lead them in pairs down the stairs to their waiting parents, and the air fills with the sound of children’s voices, an overlapping mix of French, English, and the occasional giggle.

“There they are!” Charles says, pointing.

Lukas and Leni appear, hand in hand, walking down the steps alongside their teacher. Lukas is gesturing animatedly to a boy beside him, and Leni’s face lights up when she spots the three of you waiting.

“Vati! Papa! Mama!” Lukas shouts, waving so hard his backpack bounces with every step.

Your heart swells as they break into a run, dodging around other parents and children. Leni nearly trips, but Lukas catches her arm and steadies her before continuing their dash.

“Look at them,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You crouch down, arms open, and Leni barrels into you, wrapping her little arms around your neck. Lukas follows a second later, colliding into Max and Charles with equal enthusiasm.

“How was it?” You ask, holding Leni close as her curls tickle your cheek.

“It was so good!” Lukas exclaims, switching to German mid-sentence. “We painted, and I made a dog, and the teacher said it was good, and-”

“Wait, slow down,” Max says, laughing. “One at a time.”

Leni tugs on your sleeve, her voice quieter but no less excited. “I made a friend,” she says in French, her big eyes shining.

“You did?” You ask, your chest tightening with pride.

She nods. “Her name is Amélie. She has a pink dress.”

“Amélie is very lucky to have you as a friend,” Charles says, reaching out to smooth her curls.

Lukas jumps in, switching to English this time. “And there’s a boy who likes dinosaurs like me! His name is Leo-”

“Like our Leo?” Max asks, his grin widening.

Lukas laughs, shaking his head. “No, not like the dog!”

The four of you are caught in a swirl of excited recounting — art projects, new words they learned, and the rules of a game they played — when a sharp voice cuts through the happy chaos.

“Well, isn’t this quite the picture?”

You look up to find a woman standing nearby, her arms crossed and a thin smile on her lips. She’s impeccably dressed, her posture stiff as she surveys your little group.

Max tenses immediately, his arm moving instinctively to rest on Lukas’ shoulder. Charles straightens, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“They’re yours, then?” The woman asks, her tone laced with something you can’t quite place.

You rise slowly, still holding Leni’s hand. “Yes, they’re our children.”

The woman’s gaze flicks between Max and Charles, her thin smile sharpening. “Which one of you is their father?”

You feel Max stiffen beside you, but it’s Charles who answers first, his voice calm but firm. “We both are.”

The woman lets out a laugh — short, clipped, and dripping with condescension. “Right. But which one actually is? You know, biologically.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you keep your voice steady. “Neither of them is.”

The woman raises a perfectly plucked brow. “Ah, so you’re one of those.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step forward, still holding Leni’s hand. “One of those?” You echo, your voice low and icy.

The woman shrugs, her smile now openly smug. “A whore who managed to get her claws into two wealthy men.”

Max moves before you can even register it, his eyes blazing. “What did you just say?”

“Max,” Charles says sharply, placing a hand on his chest to stop him from advancing. But his own voice is tight, and his hand trembles slightly.

The woman doesn’t back down, her gaze flicking between the three of you like she’s daring you to challenge her.

You step forward, letting go of Leni’s hand to stand your ground. Your voice is cold, clear, and unwavering. “None of us are their biological parents because Lukas and Leni are adopted. But we are their family in every way that matters.”

The woman snorts, waving a dismissive hand. “Adopted. So you’re not actually their parents.”

The dam breaks.

Max’s voice rises first, his Dutch accent sharp as he glares at her. “We love those kids more than you can possibly understand. How dare you suggest otherwise?”

Charles follows, his words laced with steel. “It doesn’t matter if they share our blood. They are ours, and we are theirs. That’s what makes a family.”

You step closer, your voice trembling with controlled fury. “You don’t get to stand here and insult us or our children because you can’t understand what love and family look like.”

The woman opens her mouth to reply, but Lukas beats her to it.

“Let’s go, Mama,” he says loudly, tugging at your hand and looking pointedly at the woman. “She’s not nice.”

You blink down at him, your heart swelling with pride and affection. “You’re absolutely right,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Charles bends down to pick up Leni, who has been watching the exchange quietly, her big eyes fixed on you. “Let’s go get a treat,” he says softly, his voice warm again.

As the five of you turn to leave, Lukas pauses. He looks back over his shoulder at the woman, his little face scrunched in determination. Then he sticks out his tongue, the gesture so quick and childish it takes you a moment to register it.

Max bursts out laughing, the sound startlingly loud after the tension of the moment. “That’s my boy,” he says, ruffling Lukas’ hair.

You can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up as you walk away, hand in hand with your family.

“Good job, Lukas,” Charles says with a grin. “But next time, let’s not give her the satisfaction of a reaction, okay?”

Lukas looks up at him, confused. “What’s satisfaction?”

“It means she wanted us to be mad,” you explain, bending down to meet his gaze. “But we don’t have to let her make us feel bad. We know the truth, right?”

Lukas nods slowly, his brow furrowing in thought. “The truth is that we’re a family.”

“That’s exactly right,” Max says, his voice filled with pride.

As you hand Leni her pastry and take Lukas’ hand again, you can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude. For all the challenges, for all the moments like this, you wouldn’t trade your little family for anything in the world.

***

The paddock is alive with its usual pre-race buzz — team members rushing to and from garages, media personnel chatting with drivers, and fans craning for a glimpse of their favorites. You’re seated on a bench near the Red Bull motorhome with Lukas and Leni perched on either side of you, their little legs swinging in excitement. Max and Charles had just been whisked away for team meetings, leaving you in charge of keeping the kids entertained until they returned.

“Can we see the cars now?” Lukas asks, his eyes lighting up as a Red Bull engineer walks by with a shiny front wing. “I want to see the wheels up close.”

“Not yet,” you say, smiling as you ruffle his hair. “Soon, I promise. But first, we’re staying here. Your Vati and Papa will be back before you know it.”

“I want to see the helmets,” Leni adds, holding tightly to the small Ferrari flag Charles had given her earlier. “Are they shiny?”

“They’re very shiny,” you assure her, leaning in conspiratorially. “Maybe we’ll even help your fathers put them on later.”

Before Leni can ask another question, a young woman holding a camera and a phone approaches you hesitantly. “Hi, um, excuse me? You’re … you’re Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc’s wife, right?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I am.”

Her face lights up. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a TikToker, and I do these short interviews with fans and families at races. Would you be okay with answering a few questions? It won’t take long.”

You glance down at Lukas and Leni. “If it’s quick …”

The TikToker nods eagerly. “Super quick! Thank you so much!”

Max’s mother, Sophie, materializes beside you before you can even turn back to the kids. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them,” she says warmly. “You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

Sophie waves a hand. “Of course. We’ll stay right here.”

Reassured, you follow the TikToker a few steps away, keeping the kids in your line of sight as the camera starts rolling. She asks about life as part of a racing family, what it’s like juggling everything, and even sneaks in a cheeky question about whether you think Max or Charles is faster.

You laugh, answering her questions as best as you can, but your attention keeps flicking back to Lukas and Leni. They’re sitting with Sophie, but a flash of orange catches your eye, and you see someone kneeling in front of them, grinning. Your stomach drops when you realize it’s Lando Norris, holding out what appears to be a chocolate bar.

By the time you wrap up the interview and return to the kids, Lando is gone, and Max and Charles are back from their team duties. The kids are bouncing with excitement, but something seems … off.

“Where did you get that?” Charles asks, pointing to the bright orange cap perched on Lukas’ head.

Max’s jaw drops. “Is that McLaren merch?”

Lukas beams. “Do you like it?” He gestures to his T-shirt, which features McLaren’s logo in bold black and papaya across the front. Leni twirls to show off her matching cap and scarf.

Max puts a hand to his chest, staggering back dramatically. “I can’t believe this. Our own children. Betraying us.”

Charles crosses his arms, giving Lukas an exaggerated glare. “What did we do wrong? Was it something we said? Something we did?”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head as you crouch to Leni’s level. “How did this happen? We were raising Red Bull and Ferrari fans!”

Leni giggles, her smile wide and bright, but you notice something unusual — a faint smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Frowning, you reach out to wipe it away with your thumb. “What’s this?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “Chocolate? Where did you get chocolate?”

Leni freezes, her eyes going wide like she’s just been caught. Lukas, sensing danger, jumps in quickly. “We didn’t get chocolate. Nope. No chocolate.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because it looks a lot like chocolate.”

Charles kneels down beside Lukas. “Tell the truth, mon petit. Did someone give you candy?”

Lukas shakes his head firmly. “Nope. No candy.”

But Leni, blissfully unaware of her brother’s attempt to cover their tracks, nods enthusiastically. “Lando gave us sooooo much candy!”

You gasp, trying not to laugh. “Lando?”

“Lando!” Leni repeats, still grinning. “He said we have to cheer for McLaren now. He gave us these hats and shirts, too!”

Max stares at her, slack-jawed. “He bribed you? With chocolate?”

Charles leans back, laughing despite himself. “I knew Lando was sneaky, but this …”

Max, however, is not laughing. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, pacing a few steps away before turning back to face the kids. “You betrayed us for candy?”

“It was good candy!” Leni defends, crossing her arms in defiance.

Lukas looks sheepish, pulling at the brim of his cap. “It was a lot of candy …”

Max throws his hands up. “First McLaren merch, now this. What’s next? Mercedes?”

Charles smirks. “Careful, Max. If Toto hears about this, he might send over cupcakes.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t think the kids even know what a bribe is. They were just excited.”

“Exactly!” Leni says, nodding vigorously. “And Lando is nice!”

Max sighs, crouching down to meet Leni’s gaze. “Listen, princess. You can like Lando, but you’re not allowed to switch teams. Okay? Red Bull and Ferrari are the only acceptable teams in this house.”

“And no more taking candy from drivers,” Charles adds, his tone firm but playful. “Especially if it’s Lando.”

Leni pouts. “Not even a little candy?”

“Not even a little,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “Besides, the caterer made your favorite treats. Remember?”

Their eyes light up, and the McLaren drama is momentarily forgotten as you hand over the brownies. Lukas takes a big bite of his, mumbling a happy “Mmm” through a mouthful of fudge.

Max shakes his head, still looking slightly betrayed. “I’m going to have words with Lando. Bribing our children …”

Charles grins, wrapping an arm around Max’s shoulders. “Think of it this way. At least they didn’t run straight to Mercedes.”

“Yet,” Max mutters, glaring at Lukas’ orange cap.

You laugh, watching as Lukas offers Leni a bite of his dessert. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family — all five of you together, happy and healthy — makes your heart feel full.

***

Ten Years Later

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon at home, the kind of day that feels rare amidst the usual whirlwind of racing, school, and travel. The living room is bathed in soft sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You’re curled up on the couch with a book, while Max and Charles are in the kitchen, bickering good-naturedly over who makes the better omelet.

Lukas and Leni are sprawled across the floor nearby, surrounded by textbooks and laptops, pretending to study but clearly more interested in each other’s company. Leni’s hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, her feet propped up on a throw pillow, while Lukas is lying on his stomach, tapping a pen against his notebook.

“Do you think,” Leni begins, breaking the silence, “that people become like their parents? Even when they’re not, you know, biologically related?”

You glance up from your book, curious. “What makes you ask that?”

Leni shrugs, but there’s a playful glint in her eye. “Because Lukas has your stubborn face.”

Lukas looks up, feigning offense. “What stubborn face?”

“That one!” Leni says, pointing at him and grinning. “The one you’re making right now.”

“That’s not stubborn,” Lukas protests, though his furrowed brow and set jaw suggest otherwise. “It’s just … concentration.”

“Sure,” Leni teases, dragging out the word. “You do it all the time. Especially when Vati tells you to clean your room.”

You laugh, closing your book. “I hate to admit it, but she’s right, Lukas. You do have my stubborn face.”

Lukas groans, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Great. Now I’ll never hear the end of it.”

From the kitchen, Max’s voice rings out. “What’s this about Lukas inheriting something from you?”

Leni twists around, calling back, “His stubbornness! It’s practically genetic.”

Max appears in the doorway, holding a spatula, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, definitely. But he’s got my competitive streak, too.”

Lukas sits up, crossing his arms. “How do I have your competitive streak?”

Charles joins Max, wiping his hands on a towel. “Because you turned folding laundry into a race with Leni last week. And you were genuinely upset when you lost.”

“That’s because she cheated!” Lukas argues, pointing at Leni, who bursts out laughing.

“I didn’t cheat! I’m just faster than you.”

“You shoved my pile off the couch!”

“It fell!”

Max leans against the doorframe, smirking. “See? Competitive.”

Lukas mutters something under his breath, but the corners of his mouth lift in a reluctant smile.

Leni turns her attention back to you. “And I think I got Papa’s ... what’s the word? Dramatic tendencies.”

Charles places a hand over his chest, feigning shock. “Moi? Dramatic?”

You snort. “Charles, you once said the grocery store running out of your favorite cheese was a personal attack.”

“It was a personal attack,” he says, deadpan, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

Leni grins, leaning forward eagerly. “See? I’m dramatic like him. Remember when I fell during P.E. last week and told my teacher I’d never walk again?”

“I do remember,” you say, shaking your head. “And I also remember getting a very concerned phone call from the school about it.”

Leni shrugs, unrepentant. “It worked. They let me skip the rest of class.”

Lukas rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t get detention.”

“I’m lucky I inherited Papa’s charm,” Leni counters, flashing a smug smile.

“You mean his overconfidence,” Lukas quips, and Charles gasps in mock outrage.

Max chuckles, stepping fully into the room and sitting on the armrest of your couch. “You both definitely picked up things from us. But it’s not just the big stuff, you know. It’s the little things, too.”

“Like what?” Leni asks, tilting her head.

Max gestures toward Lukas. “The way you bite your nails when you’re nervous? That’s all me. I used to do it so much when I was younger, my mom had to put gross-tasting polish on my fingers to make me stop.”

Lukas looks at his hands, startled. “I do not bite my nails.”

“You do,” Leni says, nodding solemnly. “All the time. Especially before exams.”

“Great,” Lukas mutters. “Now I’m going to be self-conscious about it.”

Charles points at Leni. “And the way you tap your foot when you’re waiting for something? That’s definitely me. I used to do it all the time before races when I started karting.”

“I do not tap my foot-” Leni starts, but she stops mid-sentence, catching herself as her foot bounces against the floor. Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, I do.”

Lukas smirks. “See? You’re not as perfect as you think.”

Leni sticks her tongue out at him, but there’s no malice in it. “At least I didn’t inherit Vati’s terrible taste in music.”

“Hey!” Max protests. “What’s wrong with my music?”

“Everything,” Leni says, grinning. “You play the same three songs on repeat every time we’re in the car.”

“They’re classics!”

“They’re old.”

“They’re timeless,” Max insists, turning to you for backup. “Tell her.”

You shrug, hiding a smile. “I don’t want to get involved.”

Charles grins, sitting on the floor next to Leni. “It’s okay, Max. At least she didn’t say you passed on your terrible cooking skills.”

Max glares at him. “You’re one to talk. Remember the time you burned spaghetti?”

“It was one time!”

“Burned spaghetti?” Lukas echoes, looking genuinely impressed. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s a talent,” Max says, smirking.

Leni laughs, leaning against Charles. “See? We’ve got the best parts of all of you. Except the bad cooking. That we avoided.”

You watch them, your heart swelling. It’s moments like these that remind you how deeply your family has grown together over the years. Despite not sharing blood, there’s no denying the ways Lukas and Leni have absorbed pieces of you, Max, and Charles — through habits, quirks, and inside jokes that only make sense within the four walls of your home.

“Do you ever wish you remembered what you got from your biological parents?” You ask softly, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

Leni and Lukas exchange a glance, their playful banter momentarily replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” Leni admits. “Like, when people ask where my freckles come from, I wonder if my mother had them too.”

Lukas nods. “Or when I see someone really tall and think maybe my father was tall. Stuff like that.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Leni adds quickly, looking at you, Max, and Charles in turn. “Because we’re like you. In all the ways that count.”

“And we wouldn’t change it,” Lukas says, his voice steady.

You feel your throat tighten, and when you glance at Max and Charles, you see the same emotion mirrored in their eyes. Max reaches out to ruffle Lukas’ hair, while Charles pulls Leni into a side hug, kissing the top of her head.

“We wouldn’t change it either,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“Not for anything,” Charles adds.

Leni leans into him, smiling up at Max. “Even if you do have bad taste in music.”

Max groans, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll let that slide. This time.”

Lukas grins, leaning back against the couch. “See? We’ve got the best family.”

Leni nods in agreement, and for a moment, the room is filled with a comfortable, loving silence — the kind that only exists in the presence of people who truly know and understand each other.

[floweycidal]

i keep thinking about how flowey had to construct the very concept of cruelty from the ground up.

not from watching anyone else, not by osmosis, but by cobbling it together himself in the garden where he woke up. alone.

this was a child who fell asleep to his mother's stories, who knew every inflection of his father's laugh. who spent endless golden afternoons with his sibling, both of them doubled over with giggles as they filmed their silly videos, messing up on purpose just to hear each other laugh. again. and again. and again.

so warm. so safe. where the gravest offense imaginable was maybe tracking mud on the carpet.

the worst fear, disappointing people who would love you anyway.

where could he even begin?

save. say these words that once meant comfort, but twist them just so. watch their eyes dim as something inside them breaks. load.

save. make a promise—you remember those, how snug they once made you feel—then shatter it. document exactly how hope crumbles. load.

save. try another combination. another betrayal. watch what splinters differently this time. load.

the world's loneliest science experiment.

look at the cruelty he creates, it's all so personal, specific. so devastatingly asriel.

watch how often he comes back to the idea of being replaced. of being forgotten. how he taunts you with the possibility that none of your relationships matter, that everyone will move on without you. that none of your choices mean anything in the end.

your fault. your responsibility.

if only he you hadn't made anyone love him you. If only he you hadn't loved them back.

of course he'd fixate on all that. how could he not? his mother, who used to speak his name like it was sacred, those tender words she reserved for him—for THEM—are now handed out indiscriminately, like candy to anyone who asks.

all he can do is take note: see how easily love transfers? see how simple it is to fade away?

so, he sneers. taunts you with the thought that it's all dust. you're just another passing face in the crowd. nothing lasts. nothing is worth the weight of caring. but even as he pushes that narrative, as his voice drips with contempt, he is still out there. in the ruins. checking on her.

observing from a distance, like maybe if he watches long enough, his past will solidify into something he can hold again.

flowey develops his cruelty like he's trying to solve an equation. if this word plus this action equals pain, then surely there must be some formula that yields not caring anymore.

if he'd just gotten it right. if he'd just kept everyone at a distance. if he could just be flowey. save. load. the answer has to be here somewhere.

but how do you quantify the sting of hearing her say "my child" to someone else? how do you account for the absence left in the places where joy once thrived? how do you document, in clinical terms, why you keep watching over people you swear don't matter anymore?

you don't devote yourself to perfecting devastation unless you remember, with searing clarity, what it felt like to be whole.

you don't give so much of yourself mastering the art of ridiculing attachment unless you're terrified of how much you still have left to give.

unless every attempt to prove love meaningless just confirms how much meaning it still has for you.

...point IS! flowey did an interesting job creating his own idea of a bully. it's all pathological. so crudely stemmed from his own sorrows and fears. he's created his own textbook definition of meanness...but then every chapter's just him screaming in a mirror.

[callum-hunt-is-bisexual]

god giving me divorced parents was so cruel bc i am an instigator and a gossip to my core and this has caused an incredible amount of issues

[rafecameronssl4t]

omg what about the forced marriage au! but sofia tries to flirt w rafe inspite of him being a married man infront of the reader and he sets his boundaries and makes it clear that he is only loyal to the reader

Eyes don’t lie || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: I don't think i mentioned it in the background for this au but reader and her family are practically royalty in obx. I forgot to mention this in the other fic but readers siblings from oldest to youngest is as followed: William Astoria Edward Charlotte and reader

Warnings: nothing really!!

Word count: 1,609

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Sofia’s eyes wandered around the grand ballroom, her gaze drifted appreciatively over the opulent surroundings. The architecture of the room was breathtaking, its grandeur perfectly fitting for the New Year’s Eve celebration, which was exclusive to the elite socialites of Outer Banks.

The high ceilings, adorned with sparkling chandeliers, cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Sofia went about serving drinks to the guests, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd for a specific person. The ballroom was alive with chatter and laughter, but her attention was fixed on the grand staircase at the far end of the room.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted as the crowd’s clapping grew louder and more rhythmic. Sofia’s gaze followed the collective attention to the top of the grand staircase. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw your family make their entrance. First, your parents descended the stairs, radiating an air of effortless elegance.

They were followed by your siblings and their partners, each step meticulously coordinated, adding to the grandeur of the moment. And then, as if choreographed for a royal event, you and Rafe appeared, linked arm in arm. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

The way the crowd’s applause built to a crescendo as you both descended the stairs left Sofia in awe. The admiration etched on every guest’s face was palpable, a testament to the elevated status your family held. Sofia had known your family was influential, but seeing it up close was overwhelming.

The opulence and grace with which you and Rafe carried yourselves, combined with the sheer scale of the event, exceeded anything she had imagined. This elite socialite world was new to her; she had only been filling in for someone who couldn’t attend, and now she was witnessing a spectacle that felt almost surreal.

Sofia’s eyes followed you and Rafe as you navigated the room, your every movement drawing admiring glances from the guests. You both were effortlessly engaged in conversations, laughter dancing between you as you exchanged smiles. Sofia couldn’t help but notice how Rafe’s hand would rest possessively on your waist, his smile widening whenever he glanced down at you, clearly enjoying your company.

A pang of envy twisted in her stomach as she observed the closeness between you two. As the night wore on, you and Rafe made your way to the bar. Rafe took charge, ordering drinks for both of you while you chatted animatedly with your sisters. His hand lingered on the small of your back, a subtle but intimate gesture that spoke volume to Sofia.

Sofia watched this interaction with a mix of fascination and frustration. Determined to make her presence felt, Sofia stepped closer to the two from where she was behind the bar, her smile wide and her gaze fixed on Rafe. "It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?" she said, her voice laced with a flirtatious tone.

Rafe gave a curt nod, his focus remaining squarely on you as he waits for his drinks. His body language was clear—he was fully engaged with you and had little interest in entertaining Sofia’s advances. Despite his lack of response, Sofia persisted, her smile unwavering as she tried to find another way to break through.

It was obvious to Rafe that Sofia had a liking towards him and she was not good at hiding it. Rafe’s gaze remained fixed on you, but his tone was firm and polite. “I'm just here to enjoy the evening with my wife,” he said, his words leaving little room for further flirtation. Sofia’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, trying to mask her disappointment.

“Well I hope you enjoying the rest of the party," she said, her tone still light but with a hint of frustration. Rafe offered a polite but distant smile before turning his attention back to you, his hand still resting protectively on the small of your back. Sofia, though slightly deflated by his lack of interest, couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on him throughout the night, her eyes trailing his every move.

~

As you and Rafe exchanged quiet words, you leaned in closer to him, your lips near his ear as you asked, “Do you know her?” Your tone was casual, but your curiosity was clear. Rafe’s brows furrowed slightly before he followed your gaze to where Sofia quickly averted her eyes, trying to look busy behind the bar. “Some pogue that works at the country club,” he replied flatly, his voice laced with boredom as he turned back to you.

You hummed in response, your eyes glinting with amusement. “She seems quite interested in you,” you mused, a small smirk playing on your lips as you observed Sofia’s poorly hidden attempts to steal glances at Rafe. He rolled his eyes, lifting his glass to his mouth, clearly unimpressed by the attention. “Find this amusing, do you?” he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he took a sip of his drink.

You could see the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Very,” you replied, your smirk widening as you watched him shake his head in mock exasperation. The easy banter between you both was laced with an intimacy that only deepened Sofia’s envy as she watched from afar, her efforts to catch Rafe’s eye futile.

~

“One minute till midnight!” a voice called out from the crowd, drawing Sofia’s attention. “Get ready for your New Year’s kiss!” The cheerful voice belonged to Astoria, whose playful tone sparked laughter among the guests. Sofia’s gaze instantly zeroed in on you and Rafe, standing close together with his hand resting possessively on your lower back, subtly guiding you closer.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way Rafe seemed so effortlessly in control, his every movement a declaration of his claim on you. As the countdown began, Rafe gently turned you so that your back was to Sofia, shielding your shared moment from prying eyes. His gaze roamed over your face with an intensity that made Sofia’s chest tighten. “What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the growing excitement.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he murmured in response, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. His breath fanned across your lips as he pulled you even closer, his touch both tender and possessive. “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” The room chanted in unison, voices rising in anticipation as the new year approached.

As the numbers ticked down, Rafe’s hand slid up to rest on the back of your neck, his fingers lightly grazing your jawline in a way that sent shivers down your spine. At the stroke of midnight, Sofia watched with a mixture of longing and frustration as Rafe leaned in, pressing his lips firmly against yours. The world seemed to pause for her, the moment suspended in time as she took in the sight of the man she desired so deeply kissing someone else.

A camera flash illuminated the room, capturing the intimate moment between you and Rafe as you slightly pulled away, only for Rafe to keep you close against him. His hand remained firm on your back, refusing to let the moment slip away so easily. The room erupted into celebration—confetti rained down, fireworks burst outside, and the sound of cheers and clinking glasses filled the air.

But Sofia couldn’t focus on any of it. Her eyes were locked on Rafe, whose lips remained pressed against yours even as the celebrations continued around you. Then, something shifted. Rafe’s eyes opened, and as he kissed you, his gaze lifted over your head, locking onto Sofia’s. His cool blue eyes met hers, and in that instant, she felt as though the breath had been stolen from her lungs.

But instead of the cold indifference she might have expected, there was a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile of invitation; it was a silent warning. His message was clear—back off. He was telling her without words that he was loyal to you, that there was no room for anyone else. Her heart pounded wildly, the sound of it echoing in her ears as she stood frozen, unable to look away.

Sofia felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart pounding harder as she realized the intent behind his gaze. She stood frozen, unable to look away, as that smirk told her everything she needed to know. Rafe was making it clear that she was wasting her time, that his commitment was to you and you alone.

Rafe held her gaze for a moment longer, his smirk lingering as if to drive the point home, before his eyes dropped back to you. The moment you broke the kiss, a smile spread across your face as you pressed your hands against his chest, turning your attention to the fireworks outside. Only then did Rafe’s expression shift, his smirk fading into a polished, aristocratic smile as he glanced around the room.

He clapped along with the crowd, though his enthusiasm was clearly feigned. After a few seconds, he snatched a flute of champagne from a floating tray, knocking it back in one swift motion. The gesture was casual, almost dismissive, as if the exchange with Sofia had been nothing more than a brief interruption in an otherwise perfect night.

Sofia, left standing in the shadows, could only watch as the man she coveted so dearly turned away, his focus entirely on you. The pit of envy in her stomach deepened, but now mingled with a bitter understanding—Rafe’s loyalty to you was unshakeable, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 02. A job interview gone right

inspired by acid-ixx, rizzanon and nikovraskol

PREV. PART trigger warnings: medical + emotional neglect, criminal activities main m.list     series m.list

The morning of the job interview you just couldn’t decide what you wanted to wear. You’re stressed out and you have no one to ask for help, sure you could ask Alfred but he would tattle on you to Bruce. Maybe one of your friends could help, so you quickly dial your best friend one of the most fashionable people you know. “Good morning, hun!!” your friend greets you with such excitement you cannot help but smile. “What’s going on?”

“Hi Maria, I got a job interview in a few hours,” you tell her in a sing-a-long tone, stretching out her name to make your excitement clear. “it’s for a host position and I just can’t decide what to wear!”

“So you called your most fashionable friend?” she states half-serious, you could practically see her place her hand in front of mouth in joy. “Switch this call to video, I got just the best outfit idea for you.” And you did just that, only for your friend to wince at the outfit options on your bed. “You would not feel confident in that, go grab the suit pantsyou wore for the class debate.”

“You mean the one with wide legs?” You ask as you place your phone down on your desk, rummaging to your closet.

“Duh.” Maria tells you, as she rolls her eyes playfully. “Now combine those pants with that blouse you wore at our last study session and you got an outfit that’s both professional and comfortable.”

You stare at what you just pulled out of your closet, it was an outfit you would feel more comfortable in. Besides confidence is key, especially when it comes to a host position. You don’t just need to look your best, you need to feel your best as well. “Thank you,” you tell Maria, blowing a kiss at her which she playfully catches and dramatically falls back on her bed. “I’ll call you with how it goes alright?”

When those words left your mouth Maria sighs in mock disappointment. “Or you come over and we practice for the talent show.” she suggested, pretending to be disappointment you didn’t suggest that yourself. “that way you won’t have to be in the horror manor for today.”

You smile at her as you say; “That sounds like a plan, but what if we make it a sleepover?”

“Oh you know you are welcome anytime,” Maria grins. “I’ll ask her and text you if she says yes. But you know mama never says no to her favourite friend coming over.”

You laugh and grab your workout bag out of your closet. “I’ll see you after my job interview.”

“Mx. (Name), knock that hiring manager out of their socks!”

With that the call ended and you start getting ready. Making sure you took your medication and that you packed everything you need for a sleepover. You just need to grab your toothbrush and then start walking towards the restaurant, you should also inform Alfred of your plans. But honestly, you were curious if he would notice that you are gone. You’ll leave a note on your desk, but that’s all the courtesy he’s getting from you. It’s better then what your siblings do, so could he really complain?

Just before you leave you go to grab an apple from the dining table, ignoring how your siblings and Bruce were engaged in a deep conversation that fell silent when you walked in. You couldn’t even bother to wave goodbye. They don’t treat you like you are apart of the family, so why should you treat them like they are your family?

You were leaving, but you weren’t going to hide. They don’t acknowledge you either way, so just keep your head high, and ignore the burn you feel taking over your body.

You got a job interview to get to and you were going to show your best side even if you feel like dying.

When you arrived at the restaurant you were 15 minutes early, it isn’t big deal, it gave you extra time to scan over the restaurant. Even if you were in desperate need of a job, you don’t want get involved with any illegal activities. You were desperate, but not desperate enough to throw away your morals. Well most of your morals.

Yeah scratch that, during your job interview you realised you would throw away most of your morals for this job. Not only was the pay insane for just a hostess, they agreed to accommodate to your school schedule, how you feel with your health and they would give you a badge with your preferred pronouns without making a fuss! Sure the last thing is the bare minimum, but in Gotham? Baby, this is a dream. “I’m sorry to say this,” you start as you read through the contract, a contract that seems too favourable towards a low level worker. “but there has to be a catch here.”

The hiring manager smiles at you. “Good, you aren’t fooled easily,” Well that’s ominous. “this establishment is owned by Oswald Cobblepot, we need a few hosts and hostesses that won’t mind turning a blind eye and serving criminals even Batman is afraid of.”

You hum and then lean forward. “Isn’t it kind of foolish to just announce that to someone that hasn’t even signed a contract yet?”

“Well, if you were to tattle, Mx. Wayne,” the hiring manager starts in a low tone. “your family would have some explaining to do.”

“Call me (last name),” you grin. “and don’t threaten me with a good time.” he raises his eyebrow amused, he must be thinking that you were just acting though. “I will turn a blind eye to anything but violence against children, rape and domestic abuse. Would that be enough, sir Aguilar?”

“It would be Mx. (Last name),” he grins, supplying you with a pen to sign the contract. “I assume you wish to sign right away?”

“I do,” you admit as you take the pen. “but I would like a copy of the contract.”

“That can be arranged.”

You stepped out of the building with the copy of the contract you just signed and you quickly sent a text to your friend group.

‘Got a job~!’ you sent as you attach a picture of the front page of the contract.

‘Damn, that was quick, so proud of you bb<3’ Maria texts back immediately and the group chat is full of congratulations and happy stickers. ‘Mama said you could come over and everyone else as well!! As long as (Name) makes their chocolate cake for mama.’

You grin as you start walking towards Maria’s house. ‘As long as I don’t have to go the grocery store alone I’ll bake whatever your mama wants and more’

A little fun before the hard work begins has never harmed anyone, right?

 NEXT PART ⋆˙⟡♡ thank you for reading <3, I was a bit unsure of how to write the job interview chapter so I just wrote what I liked <3, if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist be sure to comment or if you have feedback I would love to hear it!

Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @shadowytravelerlover, @1abi, @leeiasure, @frank-vanderboom, @stove-top96, @amber-content, @lithiumval, @bunniotomia, @chericia

[wobuffetbreakfast]

obm headcanons cuz why not

tags: pure family fluff! sibling shenanigans

when lucifer first brought a car in the devildom , despite their ages , levi and mammon would fight each other on who sits next to the drivers seat when lucifer drives. the rest of em would just get tucked in the backseat . more often than not , belphie usually ends up sprawled across everyone and sleeps there .

if beel (imagine human age 7-8 yrs) ever comes up with a school assignment which was due tomorrow , you bet it was mammon rushing out to buy supplies and burning the midnight oil while beel just sits on the countertop while mammon furiously writes and draws . bonus beel eating oreos and feeding mammon some while he is knee deep in papers and crayons.

levi's day to day wear is one fashion crime away from asmo taking him to majolish and redoing his whole wardrobe

speaking of which , when levi first started anime and cosplaying asmo used to help him out with make up and stuff , this is probably the reason why asmo became so good at makeup .

speaking of fashion sense , asmo is the first on the chart , mammon the second cuz he does modeling gigs at times , and third is lucifer . it is due to these three's combined efforts that the house of lamentation manages to look presentable at most of the times.

asmo tried to convince satan to wear both the sleeves of his jacket but to no avail.

during beel's fangol matches , you can see all seven of them at the bleachers sporting all the jerseys with beels number on it , with tiny flags and face paints . lucifer won't admit it , but he cheers the loudest during every climax of the match.

after the matches , its a family routine for them to head to hells kitchen for an unorthodox dinner having cheeseburgers and milkshakes .

belphie lost his aux cord privileges at the car due to his playlist solely being emo kid music and the devildom equivalent of mcr .

one time , diavolo convinced mammon to sneak him out of the castle for a night out because he wanted to see might life at devildom instead of being stuck back there . they were found later at 6 am at a motel , hungover due to cinnamon rolls , empty pizza cartons and cans of soda . it was barbatos and lucifer who found them and thankfully the issue didn't get much publicity . diavolo and mammon have become more sneakier in getting out , the duo that you didn't expect but now you have seen it , it can't be ignored .

levi has an online friend who likes sebastian from black butler a lot , both of them are practically best friends . but levi doesn't know his online bestie is barbatos who secretly manages a pinterest , tumblr and ao3 account in his free time . pinterest is where he gets his crochet ideas.

one time luke fell asleep at one of diavolo's formal galas , and it was beel who carried him like a baby back to purgatory hall .its said that luke unknowingly snuggled up to beel but he denies it .

when lucifer was an angel , simeon and him were really close . simeon notes the fact that when lucifer was first introduced to his baby brother mammon , he cried a bit at the thought of him growing up .

sometimes when belphie can't sleep , he goes to levi's room as most of the time , levi is busy playing with his console and belphie just ends up sleeping in his bathtub .

satan used to love it when mammon used to read him bedtime stories when he was younger . him and asmo used to share a bed and it was their favorite part of their bedtime routine .

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rocking Chair - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E, unprotected p in v, slightest of breeding kinks?, idk y'all I just went feral here. Word Count: 2156 a/n: Happy TLOU Sunday! I genuinely blacked out while writing half of this in some kind of NyQuil induced haze! Enjoy!

Something is bothering him.

You clocked it the second you walked over the threshold of his brother's home. Actually, you knew something was up long before that, when he kept trying to make excuses as to why you and Ellie should go and he should stay home, despite the fact that it was his brother. Eventually, you convinced him to follow you down the street, Ellie chattering excitedly about the prospect of having a baby in the family while Joel dragged his feet.

His mood only worsened as the evening went on, following the trend of distance he'd been following since the baby arrived, a pattern that made you uneasy. Tonight, it was difficult to tell if it was the result of the mirage of questioning from the handful of close friends Tommy and Maria had invited over to meet their new son or because of whatever was lurking in the depths of his mind, but you kept trying to pinpoint it. You could only assume that it was some combination of both, a hypothesis only strengthened by the look of disappointment in the younger Miller brother's eyes when his sibling politely declined the opportunity to hold his nephew.

You're next to Ellie on the couch, the newest resident of Jackson tucked into your arms, when you meet his eyes from across the room for what feels like the thousandth time since you arrived. He's leaning against the door to the kitchen and you can see the discomfort in his posture and the way his shoulders tense further as yet another person approaches to congratulate him as though he was the new father and not his brother.

"Can I hold him?" Ellie asks suddenly, pulling your attention back to your side of the room. You turn to find her bright eyes looking down at the sleeping child, and it's impossible to stop the spread of warmth through your chest at the teen's eagerness. After a quick glance at Maria for permission, you gently pass the bundle over to Ellie, showing her how to properly cradle his head.

Joel's still watching when you turn back to the kitchen, his gaze securely set on the way Ellie is beaming as she holds the newborn. There's something hovering beneath the surface of his dark gaze, the root of whatever has truly been bothering him, and you feel certain you've almost worked it out when Ellie elbows you.

"He's waking up! What do I do?!"

"Just keep holding him, it'll be okay," you reassure her, although when the crying starts a moment later you can't help but join in the laughter filling the room as Ellie quickly hands the baby back to his mother. She breathes a sigh of relief and flops back on the couch the second he's out of her arms, and you give her a pat on the shoulder before you naturally seek out Joel once more, only to find him gone.

You don't see him again until the gathering winds down. He's eager to get home, and soon he's resuming his vigil of silence on the walk back down the street. He's behind you, always behind you, his shoulders still set in the same rigid formation they've been in all night, and you walk a few feet ahead with Ellie, doing your best to answer her questions about when the baby will start talking or walking and whether you think he'll look more like Tommy or Maria when he gets older.

The delicate balance that has been hanging between the three of you all evening holds steady until you're back through your own door, when three sets of eyes land on the rocking chair that still sits nearby, the silence soon enveloping you all.

"I thought you were going to bring that for Tommy and Maria?" Ellie asks, breaking the tension in a way that has you wincing, even if she's right. The chair still smells of fresh lumber, the smooth edges molded by Joel's hands in the late hours of the night when he couldn't sleep, and it's still sitting in your living room.

"Didn't he want it?" she continues, earning her an elbow to the ribs courtesy of your right arm. Joel grumbles something behind you as Ellie winces, and you're already silently begging her not to push it further. She must catch the look you give her because a moment later she's heading upstairs with a heavy sigh, the door of her room closing with a soft click.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" you inquire firmly once you're alone, arms crossing over your chest as you watch Joel move into the kitchen.

He dismisses you with a shake of his head and a muttered "nothin's wrong," but the way he stands, unmoving as he stares at the sparse contents of the fridge, tells you otherwise.

"No, something is bothering you, so do you wanna start with why you've been distant all week or would you rather discuss the way you tried to stay as far away as possible from your new nephew tonight?"

It's easy to see the way he tenses when you finish your questioning. You've known him long enough to recognize the subtle straightening of his spine whenever you hit a little too close to the mark and the way he avoids eye contact when he turns back in your direction, a signal that you have indeed gotten under his skin. It's in the familiar quiet that descends upon the kitchen as you wait for him to speak.

Only, unlike the clockwork routine you expect to follow, the one that usually has him letting down a few of his walls for you and you alone, you instead find yourself hauled against his body like a man possessed. When his grasp trails to your thighs, it's mostly instinct that has you jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist in a practiced motion.

He's pinning you against the counter within seconds.

"Joel," you mumble, trying to sound stern even as his lips trail along your jawline, down your neck, and across the expanse of your chest, trailing lower until he's found where you're wet and wanting. You try to get him to look at you, hands raking through the hair he's refused to cut as of late, hopeful that his gaze will tell you something about the way you can feel him avoiding whatever it is that's on his mind. A hint as to why he's using you to forget instead of working through the emotions that are obviously controlling his every move.

But when your eyes meet his again, you only see the feral haze of lust, and you can do nothing but give in when he's pressing his nose against the damp spot between your thighs, leaving you thankful for the warm summer air that made you choose one of the few dresses in your closet as your attire for the evening.

He's slipped your panties from your legs in record time, leaving you squirming atop the edge of the small island in the center of the room. It's obvious that he won't be gentle, not tonight, not when he's hard between your thighs a moment later, filling you in a swift motion that has you wondering when he managed to even unbutton his jeans. You bite into the soft flesh of his shoulder, holding in the scream that could alert the teenager upstairs about what's currently happening in the kitchen, but the sound crawls up your chest with each pound of his hips against yours.

"Quiet," he whispers harshly in your ear, an unnecessary command because a moment later he's devouring you again, the frantic movement of his lips against yours concealing any evidence that threatens to escape. It's fast, the way he's rutting into you, within you, driving you higher until you're no longer certain where he stops and you begin.

And then you notice it. You catch the way he's focused on something over your shoulder, but it isn't until he's lifted you from the counter and carried you effortlessly across the room that your mind begins to process.

Ellie's earlier question slips from your mouth when he settles you in his lap, your knees braced against the wood on either side of his hips. "Thought this was for Tommy," you grit out when he guides your hips against his own, the chair rocking back in a way that leaves you feeling off balance. "I thought it was for the ba..."

He cuts you off with a grunt, pulling you back down and holding you tightly against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He's strangely silent, his movements slowing to nothing even as the chair continues to shift slowly back and forth beneath you. The only sound remaining is the heavy rhythm of your breath, your body relaxing further against his in a way that makes it impossible not to feel him everywhere.

"Hey," you ask, voice softer now, more at ease, because you know he'll hear you this time. "I saw the way you were looking at them, earlier." He says nothing as you trace your fingers along the greying stubble on his jaw and you wait to see if he'll answer you, even if you already know his answer to the question you haven't asked.

It wasn't a secret to anyone that Joel was struggling with the idea of his brother having a kid, but it left everyone treading a fine line between the eager new father and the man still plagued by the memories of his lost daughter. The prospect of new joys mirrored only by the multitude of moments stolen long, long ago.

So when Joel had brought up the idea of the rocking chair, it caught you off guard. Things had been understandably tense between the Miller brothers, but it felt to you like Joel was finally finding peace with the situation, the rocking chair serving as an olive branch. One that might just help repair the broken parts of their relationship. But now, wrapped up in his arms, you begin to realize that perhaps you've been reading it all wrong.

You smooth back his hair from his forehead, looking down at him, and you see it. It's not just the loss of Sarah he's mourning now. It's the loss of all of it.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You move.

The sound that escapes his lips as you lift from his lap can only be described as a growl, one that you can feel rumbling in his chest when you brace your hands against it. You're slow at first, letting his length drag along your walls until he's nearly slipped from your heat, and then you fall back down. Joel's hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it up along the expanse of your back as his fingers trail along your spine.

He pulls you closer then, his grip just as possessive as earlier, tugging you against him in a way that has you keening. You do your best to cling to reality, gripping the wood behind his head, nails digging into the surface as he continues to guide you. But when he tries to lift you from his lap, as he tries to proceed through the practiced motions that will leave him spilling across your stomach, you stop him.

"It's okay," you whisper against his ear, "let go."

For a moment he resists, his eyes clamping shut with the effort it takes to ward off his own climax as you continue to clench around him. But when you whisper it again, it's all the encouragement he needs. He finally snaps, pulling you somehow closer as he buries his length in your heat, the movement causing the chair that supports you both to rock back and forth gently as he fills you to the brim.

The air in the room feels different as you come back to earth, the two of you still nearly fully clothed as you perch atop his lap. He's softening inside you, the gentle feeling of his release trickling down your thigh and onto his jeans, but neither of you have the will to move aside from the way you gently rest your head against his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks a while after, the question sounding redundant as his hands run soothingly along your back.

You nod against him, pressing your lips to the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. "I'm sure. Although," you pause, pulling back, "I think you might need to make another chair for Tommy and Maria."

"And why would that be?" he questions in a way that, for the first time in weeks, makes you feel like the man you love is back.

"Because," you kiss him softly, "we're gonna need this one for us."

[originalwinnerfanfish]

Well, I did it

Megatron - I love his tfp design. Probably one of the best iteration of Megs. He is huge, heavy armoured, his face covered with scars… He doesn’t looks like an ordinary military leader who is only capable of giving orders, but like real warrior who can destroy any enemy with his bare hands.

So, in the WOF version, he definitely shares some features with Princess Burn, not only because of his might, but also because of his horns shape and dirty-dark scales (that absorbed blood of his enemies)

Starscream - Boy, I hate him so much 🤣… but in the good way, trust me! In my opinion, when the show's creators make you feel such strong negative emotions towards a villain, it means they've done a great job. Also, I think that his animation in the show was absolutely incredible, because even though he's a 3D model, he still manages to move like a 2D character, which is amazing!

I feel that in my design he still looks more like a skywing, than an icewing (which is kinda logical)

Soundwave - This one was tricky. I couldn't figure out what his mask would look like, so I just made his face a really dark color. I think Soundwave has both gifts of the nightwings, and he’s equally great at telepathy and a future vision. So he doesn't really need equipment to predict enemy movements, which makes him an ideal communicator in the WOF setting. His Laserbeak is part of the armor enchanted by Shockwave, and it might also allow him to open portals (but I'm not sure with this one)

Shockwave - My favourite evil genius. He would definitely have animus magic and mind reading. I think Shockwave is the only one who has advanced the study of magic so far, precisely because he combined it with scientific knowledge and created safer methods of using it, that don't damage the mind. It's like if a Mastermind got animus magic in books.

I also like to think that he didn't heal the damaged part of his face just so that his enemies would fear him more)

Dreadwing - This man deserved better! It's really a shame that he was removed from the show so quickly due to financial problems. It would be great if his arc got a proper conclusion in season 3.

Considering that I didn't want to make him a hybrid, it was difficult to choose a suitable color palette. So let’s just say, that I tried my best😅

I don’t think that he would have any nightwing powers, but honestly it doesn’t even matter - this guy can make a bombs, what else does he need to be cool

Arachnid - Did anyone even doubt that she would be a hivewing? Damn, she even got her own “Othermind” virus. Her design was the easiest to work with - just a little poisonous ass (suspiciously similar to Maleficent).

Just like Starscream, I hate her, but in a good way. She's one of the creepiest characters in the entire series, who’s acting like a fucking heartless monster, especially with Arcee, but even so, there's always was something mesmerizing about her. I just really like strong female villains

Knockout - Wery bright and charismatic guy, definitely one of my fav cons!

I tried to draw him as handsome as possible. Worked a lot on the face shape and coloring, and as for me it turned out pretty nice (finally).

Most decepticons think Knockout is as stupid and lazy as all the other rainwings. And it's not like he completely disagrees with that. Of course he’s not stupid and lazy, but if it’s means less dirty work on the battlefield, well, he’ll continue act like a tipical rainwing

(I also believe that Megatron keeps him as an “art”)

Breakdown - Fun fact: "Operation Breakdown" was the very first thing I saw in this series. And it was an interesting experience for 8 year old me. Maybe that's why I'm so scared of eye gouging scenes in movies now…

I think that he didn't have any siblings initially due to his parents nature, and even after meeting Bulkhead, he felt uncomfortable among the other mudwings. And this is why he later chose the side of the decepticons. And maaaaybe because of one cute rainwing influence)

P.s.

I think that, being mostly nightwings and icewings, the decepticons are much more concerned about purity of their blood and rarely accept half-breeds into their ranks.

During the war, there were many animus dragons among decepticons, which is why they have so many artifacts that allowed teleportation and communication at a distance. But, honestly, I still can't imagine what Nemesis would look like in this AU