#both of them have different home languages

[bbokicidal]

Can I request Felix who is usually a sub leaning/vanilla and wants to dom reader for the first time, and Bangchan is there to help teach him what to do.

Idk if it makes sense but I love your work sm💕

-👩‍💻

[Drabble] Just A Little Help | Felix x Reader [+ Chan]

Felix loves when you take control, don't get him wrong. He likes the feeling of you being on top - hovering over him, sitting in his lap, riding him until his thighs push together and his knees knock against one another, shaking as you milk him dry. Those times are the best for him because it lets him relax, lets someone else take control so he doesn't have to worry about how he's doing, if he's doing it right, if he should do something different;

But he wants to try something new. He wants to try being dominant with you, but he isn't really.. sure where to start. It isn't the same as you being dominant so he can't really just think back and retrace your steps before following them himself, so he tries to do some research. But even then, he's a little nervous! Videos only show so much and so many of them are staged, even some of the amateur stuff (which is also filmed at shitty angles.)

Videos didn't help, articles didn't help - and his confidence is beginning to dwindle so much that he's debating just giving up and letting you dominate him like usual tonight. But then Chris sends him something - it's a meme, though it's sexual in nature, a clear innuendo that Chris is laughing at over text.

And so Felix decides to ask his Hyung for help.

It's a little embarrassing at first, but Chris seems to take it seriously. He understands why Felix is asking and offers up front to help the younger Aussie with his wants. He comes to the house in the evening and greets you with a polite smile.

When the time comes, you expect Chris to take his leave and head home. Only, Felix informs you that he wants Chris to stay, asking for your permission to keep him in the room. You're surprised, but if it's something they both want then you suppose it's alright - And you're only further surprised by the way your boyfriend initiates everything first. He's the one to kiss you, to gently guide you to the bed, to grind down against you and have you squirming beneath him in need. You're confused, but wildly aroused, and peek over at Chris only to see him gently nodding at Felix who was also glancing over.

Chris is there to guide him.

You've caught on, but stay quiet. Bringing it to their attention might only embarrass Felix and he seems to be in the groove right now, so you simply hum and moan and nod along as Chris comes closer to the bed to tell Felix what to do verbally. No more hints - simple, crisp, clear instructions. When to take off your jeans, how to pull down your panties with his teeth. Felix's tongue meets your clit and you gasp out, use to sitting on his face and having it all at once; But the gentle teasing he ensues when he's in control is enough to drive you mad - No tongue burying in your pussy, no suffocation of your poor sweet boyfriend beneath you. Instead it's little kisses peppered inside your thighs, the tip of his tongue flicking over the bundle of nerves he seemed to locate so expertly.

Chris watches the way your body shifts and uses your body language to decipher whether or not Felix needed to do more. He stays quiet until Felix comes up, hastily pushing his boxers down his thighs and crawling onto the bed between your legs. He doesn't need help with this part, sinking into your walls and whimpering at the way you seem to swallow him whole. Felix had to admit, the moment he started moving he almost regretted being on top - because he knew as soon as your thighs locked around his waist that he was going to become addicted to the feeling.

He's fucking into you just fine, and you seem to be pretty content with it - moaning, whining into the space between you - but Chris suggests Felix could take it a little further. Chris hums out that Felix could choke you, but the younger of the two quickly shakes his head. He isn't sure about it, is a little too shy to do such a thing just yet, and instead opts to lean down over you and cage you in with his elbows pressing just above your shoulders. It allows him to kiss you but still gives you the feeling of being held down, trapped beneath him.

Felix is exhausted by the time it's over. He isn't use to doing more of the work so he just lays atop you and lets you card your fingers through his hair while Chris sits aside quietly, waiting until someone got up to take his leave. He shifts when you get up first, rolling so Felix laid on the bed and you could get up and off of him.

Chris gives you time to get dressed, meeting you in the kitchen shortly after. He asks how it felt, if it was okay with him there - and when he hears that you actually liked having someone else in the room, Chris asks if he could potentially come back another time. Maybe be involved more.

Though, he has to warn you; He isn't as gentle as Felix is.

[harrywavycurly]

Handle With Care: Sunshine and Citrus

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, miscommunication, jealousy Harry and one brief mention of your ex and angst like hella angst.

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

A/N: There’s only one more part left in this mini series and I am so sorry in advance but just know this does have a happy ending so just hold on okay? 😅

Summary: Harry is on a mission to show you he’s not an asshole but little does he know you’re also on a mission of your own✨📦

Harry feels all the knowledge he has about flowers, as little as it may be begin to slip away as he stares at the multiple bouquet options that are in little black bins right in front of him. For the life of him he can’t seem to remember the color of the flowers he ruined when he ran into you coming off the elevator almost a week ago, so he’s struggling to even know where to start in his efforts to replace them. He chews on his bottom lip as he scans his options for the third time, his eyes landing on an arrangement that has different hues of orange and yellow tulips with the smallest bit of red from a few roses tucked in as well.

A small smile slowly spreads across his face as he reaches for it because it reminds him of all the colors of a sun and if anyone deserves to have a bouquet of flowers that look like the sun it’s you. The girl who smells like pure sunshine and flowers rolled into the perfect mixture with a hint of something fruity, a smell Harry found himself missing so much he even went as far as trying to recreate it with candles and an odd room spray he found at a home decor store and while he likes the way they smell, nothing compares to the real thing.

“Thank fuck you finally picked something we’ve been here for ten bloody minutes staring at flowers like a pair of weirdos.” Niall’s statement of annoyance snaps Harry out of his thoughts as he rolls his eyes at Niall rant, having momentarily forgot he was even standing next to him the whole time he was staring at the bouquet options.

“Why are you even here?” Harry asks as he heads towards the checkout counter so he can get the flowers wrapped up in paper with some string.

“Because we both know you’ll somehow manage to ruin this whole thing if you do it alone.” Niall states as he looks at the roses next to the checkout counter while Harry just lets out a scoff as he places his bouquet on the counter for the nice woman to ring up.

“I’m more than capable of picking flowers for someone you tw-”

“You’re like an overgrown toddler Harry. Always making a mess of things that should be simple especially when it comes to her.” Niall cuts him off making Harry’s cheeks get warm at his words that even though they may be true doesn’t make them hurt any less. But when Niall looks over and sees Harry just rubbing his lips together he lets out a sigh and gives him a harsh pat on the back. “But don’t worry H m’not gonna let you fuck it up this time.” Niall says trying to reassure him as Harry smiles at the woman as she hands him the bouquet that’s been beautifully wrapped in white paper and some ribbon that’s tied in a nice bow.

“Good luck honey. I’m sure she’ll love them.” Harry feels his face get warm at the woman’s kind words and all he can offer in return is a tight lipped smile and a nod before he turns around and heads out of the store with Niall following behind him.

“Why won’t you just let me give you her number so you can better arrange this whole thing?” Niall asks as the two of them begin to walk the short distance back to Harry’s apartment complex.

“I already told you why.”

“Okay yeah but what if-”

“I don’t want to hear any what ifs okay? I want to get her number myself because I want to make sure she actually wants me to have it and that’s the end of it. We both know if I just text her she’s way too nice to tell me to fuck off so I’ll never know if she wanted me to have her number or not.”

“I get all that Harry I really do. But what if she’s out of town for a week and you leave these on her door and they’re ruined by-”

“Niall.” Harry stops walking so he can turn to face his friend who is usually always trying to look out for him but in this moment he’s not doing much besides annoying him. “I don’t care if she’s out of town for a month the point is she will see that I tried and that’s all I really care about right now. I need her to see I’m not an asshole.” He explains with a sigh as he runs his hand that’s not holding the flowers through his hair. Niall just nods and turns his head in the direction of Harry’s complex.

“You gonna leave a note with the flowers or just drop them off like a secret admirer?” Niall questions with a raise of his brow as he looks back at Harry.

“Fuck no I’m not just dropping them off are you insane?I’m not letting some random asshole take credit for my flowers.” Harry answers making Niall laugh as the two of them start walking again.

You rub your lips together and try to fight off the nerves that are beginning to creep back up as you stand in front of Harry’s apartment door, the pep talk you gave yourself in the elevator long forgotten as you rethink your whole plan. But before you can give yourself anymore time to possibly back up and turn to head back down the hallway to the elevators you raise your hand up and knock on the door. Not trying to be nosey or be seen as a creep to anyone that might glance out of their peepholes or come out of their front doors, you just stand there and do your best to listen for footsteps or any signs that someone is home but after a solid two minutes of silence you come to the conclusion no one is going to answer.

The sigh that you let out if a mixture of relief and also disappointment, having texted Niall asking for Harry’s apartment number so you could try to talk to him about the other night when he showed up at your door talking about zaps and a party but ended with you accidentally hurting his feelings. As you turn to make your way towards the elevators you begin trying to work through what exactly he was talking about when he mentioned feeling a weird static like shock every time you touch him but you’re certain that if something like that was happening to him then you’d have to feel it as well and yet you haven’t, not even once. But most importantly you begin to wonder why you can’t seem to just let the whole thing go, why you can’t just forget about the tall tattooed man who’s been nothing but mean to you since you met him minus the one time he showed you an ounce of kindness when he was drunk standing in your door at one in the morning.

“Why does he have to be so cute?” You mumble to yourself as you step into the elevator. “Like really cute.” You add with a sigh as the doors close and you press the number for your floor. All of a sudden you feel annoyed with yourself for letting Harry’s looks get in the way of the fact he’s not nice nor does he seem to be interested in you, because even when he knocked on your door to invite you to his party he only did it on Niall’s behalf and hours after the party even started meaning he didn’t really want you there.

“He doesn’t like you. So we are letting him go.” You say with a firm tone, you nod at your reflection in the elevator door just before it opens up on your floor. “He doesn’t-” you are about to repeat your new mantra but the words get stuck in your throat as you look down the hallway and see Harry bending down to leave a bouquet of flowers on the welcome mat outside your front door while Niall stands off to the side with his back against the wall.

“Jesus Harry you writin’her a damn novel? Just sign the card and let’s go. I’m hungry.” You hear Niall’s voice from down the hall and you instantly look around for a place to hide so neither of them see you, deciding you don’t really know if you’re ready to be face to face with Harry yet since just a few moments ago you were ready to swear him off and now he’s suddenly leaving you flowers.

“Oh fuck off you’re always hungry.” You hear Harry’s voice snap at his bestfriend and you feel your cheeks get warm at how deep it is but you don’t have time to wonder if he’s always sounded like that or not because you then hear them begin to walk towards the elevators because Niall’s keys he keeps on his belt loop begin to jingle with each step. Quickly you dart into the stairwell and thank your lucky stars they don’t opt to get in some cardio and choose to use the elevator instead.

“You think she’ll like them?”

“I mean yeah why wouldn’t she?”

“Because I don’t know? What if that’s the kind of flowers she hates? Or what if she’s allergic to them or-”

“What happened to not wanting to hear any what ifs?”

“You’re such a twat.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop yourself from letting out a laugh at Harry’s choice of insult and to keep yourself from audibly awing as he voices his worries about if you’ll like the flowers he picked for you.

“Yeah yeah whatever at least m’not in-” You don’t get to hear the rest of Niall’s sentence due to the very obnoxious sound of the elevator doors opening. You chance a glance through the small window on the door to the stairs and let out a sigh of relief when you see the doors to the elevator have closed and the arrow shows they are heading down.

“Just because he left flowers doesn’t mean he likes you.” You repeat over and over again in your head as you quietly exit the stairwell and begin to slowly walk down the hallway towards your front door.

“Love, Harry.” You whisper to yourself as you hold the card from the bouquet of tulips and roses that are in a yellow and white polka dotted vase on your kitchen counter.

It’s safe to say you’ve been staring at the flowers and the card that was tucked inside them ever since you picked them up off your welcome mat two days ago. It’s also safe to say you have been doing everything humanly possible to not run into Harry since then because you just don’t know what you’d say to him. You’re trying to figure out what exactly it all means, because if you wouldn’t have heard Niall complain about how long it was taking Harry to write the card you never would’ve thought something so sweet could be written by him, the man that usually is extremely short and snarky towards you.

“Tried to pick some that reminded me of you. Hope you like them and they make you smile. I really like it when you smile.” You read aloud hoping that saying the words out loud and not just in your head it’ll help you uncover the secret message that you feel is hidden somewhere within the three simple sentences. “He likes it when I smile?” You question while placing the card down next to the vase.

“Doesn’t mean he likes you.” You remind yourself as you turn to go into the living room, ready to get comfortable on your couch and decide what you want for dinner before starting a movie. Right before you sit down you hear three loud knocks on your front door making you raise a brow because you don’t have plans with anyone tonight and you haven’t ordered anything to be delivered. When you get to your door you look through the peephole and you feel your eyes go wide at who you see standing on the other side.

Harry tries not to let the idea that you’re avoiding him enter in his mind as stands outside your door after his second round of knocks. He thought you moving into the same complex as him would make it easier for him to run into you but he’s quickly learned that’s just not true. Much to his disappointment he hasn’t even gotten a whiff of your floral and sunshine scent in the elevators and he finds that extremely odd because usually it lingers long after you’ve left the room. So naturally that has him convinced that you just haven’t left your apartment recently or you haven’t been home, but when he sees the flowers he left on your doorstep two days ago are gone he knows you’ve at least been home in the last forty eight hours. When he reaches up to knock one more time before giving up he hears what sound like locks being undone so he takes a small step back to give you some space once you open the door.

Now Harry swears he’s not one to really believe in the whole love at first sight thing, thinks it’s silly and probably just a really hearty dose of lust getting mixed up with love. But something about the way your eyes almost get a whole shade brighter when they meet his has his knees wanting to give out and his mouth to hang open as he tries to come up with something, anything to say since he is the one who knocked on your door after all. He finally feels a brief moment of clarity when your eyes break away from his and travel down to the box in his hands.

“Uh hi Harry what-what are you doing here?” He hates how unsure of yourself you are as you cross your arms over your middle as you stand in front of him in a pair of bike shorts and a pink and purple tye dye shirt. He knows it’s his fault that you don’t know how to act around him, he’s the one who can’t seem to get it together around you but that’s also the whole reason he’s here.

“I got these for you.” You look down at his hands as he holds the box out for you and that’s when you get a good look at the picture and label on it, it’s a dish ware set that looks like the ones he broke when he dropped your box. “Sorry if they aren’t the exact same as the ones you had I looked everywhere for-”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Harry feels the corners of his mouth fall a bit at your words, he absolutely did have to do this because he’s the reason you don’t have plates and bowls but he knows you’re just trying to be nice per usual.

“We both know it’s the least I could do.” He counters making you just rub your lips together as you take the box from him.

“But you didn’t do anything right? Nothing happened?” You repeat the same words he snapped at you with when you confronted him after you watched him drop your box, but to his surprise there’s a smile on your face as if you’re teasing him.

“You know that’s the uhm-only box I’ve ever dropped.” He admits with warm cheeks making you quirk a brow at him as if you don’t believe him. “Really out of all the moves I’ve done over the years your box of dishes is the only casualty I’ve ever had. I had a perfect track record.” He explains making you let out a light chuckle as you shake your head.

“Sorry I ruined that for you.” You apologize as you look down at his feet that are once again covered by his scuffed brown boots.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” It’s the way he says it that has you swallowing nervously as you dare to look up at him and you almost have to take a step back at the intensity of his stare. “I’m sor-”

“It’s okay.” You don’t want to hear him apologize right now because you’re not sure you’d be able to keep yourself together if he does it while he continues to look at you as if you hung the moon and all the stars. Harry just runs a hand through his hair as he nods his head but he doesn’t turn to leave like you assumed he would, instead he takes a small step towards you and reaches out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I uhm-sorry I just you had-a hair.” He stumbles over his words as if his tongue doesn’t know how to help him form proper sentences. Meanwhile the spot on your cheek his knuckles lightly skimmed when he brushed the hair behind your ear feels as if it was stung by a bee but without the pain, leaving behind a warmth and slight tingling feeling.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks a few moments later when concern replaces his earlier embarrassment, he bends his knees a bit so he’s eye level with you as you stare off into space with wide eyes and pink cheeks. You don’t know how to answer him, because inside you feel all warm and tingly but your mind is cloudy as if it’s stuck in a fog and can’t find its way out leaving you unable to do much besides just stand there staring at him.

“Uh-uhm I think-” Before you can finish your sentence Harry is grabbing the box just before it hits the ground having slipped out of your hands in your dazed state. “Thank-thank y-you.” Normally Harry would be flattered at someone getting so tongue tied around him but in this moment all he’s feeling is worried as he looks you over and realizes something isn’t quite right.

“Let’s get you off your feet okay? You look like you’re about to pass out on me.” Harry takes your small nod as his permission to softly put his free hand that’s not holding your box of plates on your shoulder so he can quickly maneuver around you and walk into your apartment. He rushes over and places the box on your counter, only briefly catching a glimpse of the flowers he left for you sitting near your sink in a vase before he’s back at the door standing behind you.

“Sorry it’s uhm just me.” He whispers when you flinch at his touch as he places his hands on both your shoulders so he can help you turn around so you’re now facing inside your apartment with him close behind you. “Let’s go to the couch okay love?” He suggests before he takes a step so he’s now by your side and kicking your front door closed with his foot, his eyes don’t leave your face as he drops his hands from your shoulders so he can wrap an arm around your middle so he can help you walk since he can tell your legs seem a bit wobbly.

You feel like you’re floating as Harry practically drags you to your couch, a trail of warmth and tingles left everywhere his hand touches you in the process. Right now it’s your hip he has a firm grip on and it’s sending the tingling sensation right down to your knee almost making you take Harry and yourself out but luckily he manages to get you to the couch before that happens. Your heart is beating so fast you think it’s going to explode as Harry sits on the edge of your coffee table right in front of you so he can get a good look at you.

“Are you okay? Do you need-”

“Why-why’d you get me-me the flowers?” Your words are rushed and jumbled but Harry understands you because you watch him turn and look towards your kitchen where they are sitting on your counter.

“I just want to fix what I broke.” He answers when he turns back to look at you, he wishes so badly he could have an inside look at what’s going on in your mind because the way you’re staring at him has him thinking you’re about three seconds away from kicking him out or you’re about to start crying and in this moment he’s not sure how well he’d handle either option.

“They remind me of sunshine.” You whisper as you place a hand on your chest and try to help clam yourself down a bit. Harry feels a grin take over his face as you tell him the exact reason why he picked that arrangement in the first place.

“They reminded me of you.”

“Sunshine?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?” You question making Harry let out a deep breath as he tries to ready himself to explain evening to you.

“From the moment you opened your apartment door I haven’t been able to get you out of my head and a massive reason for that is because you smell just like sunshine and flowers and-”

“It’s called sun washed citrus.” You correct him making him quirk a brow. “It’s my body wash. It’s called sun washed citrus not sunshine and flowers.” Your words are less mumbled as you begin to gain a little bit more control of yourself. Harry chuckles and nods as you blink at him a few times and he’s honestly not even sure you’re really understanding what he’s saying but that doesn’t stop him from continuing on.

“I was mean to you and I’m sorry. I swear I’m never like that-I’m a nice guy but I think I just knew you were too good or too nice for me from the first time you smiled at me.” You watch him slowly place a hand on your knee and you feel grateful that you’re already sitting down because it sends a tingling jolt down to your toes. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you upset and I’m sorry that’s all I’ve seemed to do but I think I realized the real reason I just can’t get my shit-”

“Stuff.” You interject making him laugh as he gives your knee a little squeeze.

“Sorry. I know why I can’t get my stuff together around you and it’s because I uhm-well I uh I really like you and it’s got me all messed up.” Harry tries to focus on how much lighter he feels after admitting he likes you, as if the weight that’s been holding him down ever since his party has been lifted off his chest. But he also can’t stop himself from trying to get a sense of how you’re feeling about the words he just let slip out, and right now he really can’t tell because you’re just staring at him with big eyes and a blank expression on your face.

It’s not until Harry removes his hand that’s on your knee so he can use it to run through his hair that you begin to feel the fog lifting from your mind allowing you to think more clearly. You try to register everything he just said to you, the fact he likes you and how he really seems to enjoy how you smell but you can’t make sense of how his feelings for you had him acting like a complete jerk. So with a clear head and a full control of your limbs you push off the couch making Harry quickly stand up and hold his hands out for you to grab just incase your knees give out of your legs feel wobbly still.

“I don’t think you really like me Harry.” Of all the things Harry was prepared to hear you say that sentence wasn’t on the list. He gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you look down at the floor. “You don’t treat the people you like the way you treated me. Thank you for the flowers and the plates that was very nice and-”

“I’m sorry I’m-I’m so sorry for everything I did and said to you I never wanted to hurt you I just-”

“But you did.” When you look up from the floor Harry feels like he’s been punched in the gut, your eyes are glossy and the very tip of your nose is turning a light shade of pink as you sniffle a few times. “I know you’re sorry and I do forgive you for everything but I don’t think you did all of that because of how much you like me. We aren’t in junior high anymore Harry we aren’t mean to the people we have crushes on.” Your words hit him right in the chest as you move away from him and towards your kitchen.

“I’ve seen glimpses of the nice guy you say you usually are but then you just turn right back into this jerk and I’ve already dated a guy who treated me like dirt and it didn’t end well so I’m-I’m ending this before it even starts to save us both the trouble because you’ll just get bored with me while I’ll probably fall in love with you and it’s not fair so you-you should just go.” You cross your arms over your chest and let out a shaky breath as you try your hardest to keep yourself held together, but Harry can see very clearly that you’re moments away from a breakdown and he hates knowing that it’s because of him and the way he’s made you think he’s exactly like your shitty ex boyfriend.

“I swear I’m nothing like him.” He tries to get you to look at him as he takes a step towards you but you just shake your head and take a step backwards until your back is hitting the edge of the counter.

“Then why do you act so much like him?” Harry feels like the wind just got knocked out of him as you stare at him right in the eyes and break his heart piece by piece with every word that comes out of your mouth. He doesn’t try to argue with you because there’s nothing to argue about, you’re right he’s been acting exactly like your ex he just didn’t realize it until now.

“Can I try to explain why I’ve been acting that way? I know it doesn’t make sense right now but I swear there’s just something about you that has me-”

“Please just go Harry I can’t-can’t do this right now.” Your voice is low and watery making Harry feel sick to his stomach at the thought of you shedding even a single tear because of him but he can’t do anything about it since you no longer want him in your space. He lowers his head and lets out a long sigh before he starts to head for your front door.

“I know you felt it.” You turn your head and find Harry already looking at you from where he’s standing by your front door. “I don’t know what it felt like to you but I know you felt something when I touched you and that’s why you looked like you could pass out. So I know you at least feel something for me.” You feel your heart sink to your stomach as he runs a hand over his face to try to distract from the sound of his own sniffles. “If you ever change your mind and want to maybe start over you know where to find me.” With that Harry opens your front door and steps out into the hallway, quietly closing it behind him leaving you alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts.

Harry does his best to hold himself together until he makes it to his apartment, only letting out a few shaky breaths and some sniffles in the elevator. When he finally closes his apartment door he can’t hold back anymore as he sinks to the floor with his back up against it. He brings his hands up to his face as he lets out the first of many tears he knows are coming, he swears he’s had his heart broken before but the feeling he has now is as if someone reached inside of him and ripped the entire organ out of his body and replaced it with a black hole. He didn’t see it ending like this with you especially since it ended before it even began, he didn’t imagine for a moment that you’d want nothing to do with him but he can’t blame you because he brought all of this upon himself with how he treated you.

“God I’m a fucking idiot.” He mumbles between sobs as he thinks back to how he really thought some flowers and plates would magically fix everything and have you jump into his arms and want to be with him the same way he wants to be with you. In a moment of pure selfishness he allows himself to cling to the small shred of hope that maybe in time you’ll want to start over with him, you’ll let him show you the man he really is and the story of the two of you can get the happy ending he so desperately wants. So even though he knows it’s probably just going to end up hurting him, he lets a tiny smile form on his face as he tells himself that you just need time and then you’ll come around because you felt it, you felt the zap just like he did and that has to mean something.

[lesmiix]

HELLO POOOKIE

Can i ask for hyun-ju with a partner who loves to buy her things? Like dresses, makeup, perfumes, you name it ;3

thank you 🙏🙏

Hiiii!! thank you so much for such a sweet request! 😭🫶

Summary: Your gf is broken so you buy her everything she wants (and more).

Warnings: Just fluff, no use of y/n, g/n reader.

author's note: English is not my first language so, sorry if there's any mistake😞 Hope you enjoy it!!

Hyun-ju x g/n reader!

Hyun-ju was never the kind of person who would spend a lot of money on herself, as she already spends a lot of her money on her transition, so she wouldn't give herself the gifts she would like.

You knew about that since you met, when you both went shopping you noticed how she admired the cute dresses placed on the mannequins.

Anytime you asked her if she liked it, she would always answer with a simple "it's cute" and look away, too ashamed with herself for not being able to buy it.

"Are you sure you don't want it? It'd look amazing on you" You said while looking at the tight black dress in front of her.

"I don't know my lov-" She started, but you cut her off. "Try it on at least? I'll pay for it" You said excitedly, at first she denied it, but you, being so insistent, finally gave in.

You knew about her economical situation so you offered to buy her the stuff she wanted so much, but she always denied. She didn't like the thought of you spending too much money on her.

One time you both were shopping at Sephora, because you really needed to buy some products. As you were looking around the shop trying to find them, out of the corner of your eye you saw Hyun-ju in the perfume section, spraying her wrist with a perfume bottle to smell them one by one.

"Any that you like?" You asked her, while hugging her by from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist.

"This one actually smells amazing, but it's way too expensive, maybe I'll come next month when I get paid". She said, putting the perfume back in it's place.

Some minutes later, when Hyun-ju was distracted, you picked it up and put it in your bag to pay for it later and give it to her when you got home.

...

"I have a little gift for you" You said while handing her the little box with a golden print. Her eyes widened as she opened the present.

"Honey, you didn't have to" She started

"Shhh it's okay, a little gift (40$😞) won't hurt"

I have the feeling that she would LOVE makeup, but like she would be obsessed with it, loving how she looks when she wears this thin black eyeliner (she'd be SO good at it btw) but of course, almost all of the good quality makeup brands cost like an eyeball, so she would have the most basic stuff. But you love her and want to see her happy, so ofc you would buy her anything she laid her eyes on.

"Darling, don't you think you already bought me enough stuff?" She asked while you picked a Rare Beauty lipgloss and two different blushes.

"You'll pay me when we get back home" You teased while letting a soft peak on her lips.

At the end of those little dates, you would be carrying thousands of bags filled with just gifts for your dear girlfriend.

When the two of you get back to your shared apartment, you would make her try all the cute dresses, skirts and crop tops you bought her.

"You look gorgeous my love" You said while admiring your girlfriend, who was looking at herself in the mirror with a little cute smirk on her face.

Of course she would thank you with a little make out session.

"Thank you for everything baby, I loved it" She muttered as she gently pressed her lips against yours.

a/n: It's 1 am and I'm so so so tired but I can't sleep 😭

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it!!!

Requests for Hyun-ju are always open🫶

[cece693]

Are You Sure It's Just A Childhood Friend? Pt. 2

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: blood, violence, kidnapping, delusional stalker, reader is just oblivious and kinda a dumbass, misunderstandings, hannigram to the rescue, slight manipulation

Nathan Carter was the root of many of your current problems. You didn’t see it that way at first—it was easier to view him as the innocent victim in all of this than admit he was the antagonists to many arguments between you, Hannibal, and Will as of late. Why couldn't your lovers discern that your feverous defensiveness about your friend wasn't rooted in some puppy love from eons ago, but because Nathan was the only person who had your back in childhood?

You weren't always this confident, friendly guy—rather, it was the opposite. Growing up hadn’t been kind; neglect at home and bullying at school shaped you into a simmering ball of resentment. No one really liked you, let alone tried to befriend you.

Except Nathan.

He was the popular kid, the golden boy who could have chosen any friend group he wanted. And yet, he chose you. He sat next to you in the cafeteria even when everyone else avoided your scowl. Offered to share lunch when you didn’t have enough to eat. Defended you when some jerk in the locker room decided to corner you. Nathan Carter was your first real friend. So when Hannibal and Will began to not-so--subtly refer to him as dangerous, you grew upset.

An elaborate dinner at Hannibal’s house was supposed to be a moment of calm. The chandelier cast warm light over the polished table, the aroma of braised lamb and herbed vegetables filling the room. Yet you couldn't cut into the meat; your lovers were sat stiffly, and while they didn't speak words, their body language spoke volumes.

"So, you sent all afternoon with Nathan—again. Any particular reason?" Will's knuckles were white, clenching around the fork.

You exhaled, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “We met for coffee, Will. I told you this already.”

“And you cancelled our lunch together for this coffee.” Hannibal said smoothly, but with a reproachful undertone.

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Look, I know you both worry about me, but Nathan is an old friend. He’s not some threat. Why can’t either of you see that?”

Will set down his fork with a heavy clink. “Because the lines he crosses aren’t as innocent as you think. Did he even let you breathe without hovering?”

Your defensiveness spiked. “As if what you're doing is any different. I can't spend time with Nathan without you guys making it out to seem like some nefarious crime. Wy don't you trust me when I say that Nathan isn't dangerous? He sees me as a brother—"

"Yeah, right. A brother who he wants to fuck—"

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor with an unpleasant squeal. Your heart pounds against your ribs, fueled by frustration and disbelief. It isn’t fair that Hannibal and Will—of all people—are accusing you of lacking judgment. They, who have taught you so much about yourself, who have seen every dark corner of your past, are now painting you as naive for trusting your oldest friend.

"I can't with you." Your voice shakes, but you won't be weak in front of them. Storming out of the room, you pulled on your jacket from the coat rack and slammed the front door. It was petty on your behalf and when you've calmed down, Hannibal would surely punish you for such a childish act, but you didn't care at that moment.

Sitting in your vehicle and against better judgment, you call Nathan. If Hannibal and Will are so against you seeing your friend, you figure you might as well give them something to argue about.

Nathan picks up on the second ring. His cheerful tone filters through the speaker, a welcome salve on your raw emotions. You tell him about the fight and how upset you are, letting the words tumble out before you can stop yourself.

“You want to come over?” Nathan offers. There’s a thread of concern in his voice. “You sound like you could use a break.”

Hesitating only a moment, you find yourself agreeing. You’re too riled up to go back to Hannibal’s place right now—face them in their silent disapproval. Maybe if you spend some time with Nathan, blow off steam, you can calm your mind enough to reason with your lovers later.

Nathan’s apartment building is on the other side of the city—far enough that you can collect your thoughts in the drive. By the time you pull up, night has settled in, a cold hush over the streets. He’s waiting at the door, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he greets, ushering you inside quickly as though he’s afraid you’ll be stolen away. “You look stressed.”

“No kidding.” Your sigh echoes in the narrow hallway. “I’m sorry for unloading on you. It’s just…they won’t listen.”

Nathan’s hand lingers on your shoulder, warm and comforting. You don’t even register the flicker of something intense in his eyes. “Don’t apologize. You know I’ve always got your back.”

It’s so familiar, so safe. The same words he used to say in high school when it felt like the whole world was against you.

The living area is cozy, albeit a touch messy—littered with boxes of old photos, clothes half-stuffed in bins, and crumpled papers you suspect are half-finished songs or sketches. Nathan offers you a soda, then sits close. You vent about Hannibal and Will, how they keep pushing you away from him. The anger still simmers in your chest.

“They’re controlling, you know,” Nathan says. “They might say they trust you, but they clearly don’t.”

You frown. “It’s not like that. They’re just…protective.”

Nathan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If they were protecting you, they wouldn’t forbid you from seeing me.”

“It’s not forbidden,” you protest, though you recall Will’s white-knuckled grip on his fork, Hannibal’s reproachful stare. “They just disapprove.”

He snorts. “Disapprove of what? Our friendship? Or that you’re spending time away from them? Think about it.”

Suddenly, you feel a spike of guilt. Am I being manipulated? By whom?

You push the thought aside. Nathan is your friend—your first friend. “Look, maybe I should go.” You stand, anxious to put distance between yourself and that unwavering gaze. “I appreciate your concern, but I—”

Nathan’s grip circles your wrist. It’s not enough to hurt, but it startles you. “What if you stay the night? Just crash here. I don’t want you to go back and get into another fight.”

You hesitate, scanning his face. He looks so earnest. Maybe Hannibal and Will are overreacting. Then again, the small alarm in the back of your head tells you something feels off.

The memory of their accusations—“He wants to fuck you”—floats across your mind. You swallow hard, unsure whether your lovers’ suspicions have clouded your perception, or if you should be genuinely concerned.

Against your better judgment, you nod.

Sunlight pries into your eyes the next morning. You blink groggily; the couch is lumpy under your back. Nathan is nowhere in sight. The last thing you remember is him offering you a pillow and blanket. You stand and stretch, looking for your phone to text Hannibal and Will. Maybe you’ll ask to meet for breakfast, try to fix things.

But your phone isn’t on the coffee table—or in your pocket. You feel a flutter of concern, searching the cushions.

Suddenly, a sharp prick hits your neck. A sting, like a bee. You wheel around, heart pounding. Nathan’s face is blurred by your panic; you try to shout, but the world blurs at the edges before turning dark.

You come to with a throbbing headache. Your wrists are bound with sturdy rope, ankles secured to a chair. It’s cold. As your eyes adjust, you realize you’re in what looks like a warehouse, empty except for scattered crates. Fear crashes over you in a dizzy wave.

Nathan steps out from behind one of the crates. The golden boy you remember is gone; now he looks haggard, eyes wild with determination.

“You’re finally awake,” he says, voice trembling with excitement. “I’m sorry for that, but I had to get you away from them.” His expression twists. “They don’t deserve you. You’ve been stuck under their thumb, and you can’t even see it.”

Anger flares, but it’s mixed with panic. “Nathan, what the hell is this? Untie me right now!”

He flinches at your tone. “I’m doing this for you,” he insists, stepping closer to cup your cheek. You jerk away in disgust and fear. “Once you understand how toxic they are, you’ll see this was necessary. We can be happy, just like we dreamed when we were kids.”

Those old fantasies you shared—running away from your crappy hometown, setting up a life somewhere that nobody could bother you—surge to mind. But never like this. Your stomach churns.

“They’ll come for me,” you say, voice tight with anger. “And you’ll regret it.”

A humorless chuckle escapes him. “Let them come. They can’t take you from me.”

Hours pass—or maybe days. You lose track in the cramped warehouse. Nathan’s desperation grows clearer by the minute. He alternates between trying to feed you and ranting about how Will and Hannibal brainwashed you.

Meanwhile, fear gnaws at your chest. You wonder if Hannibal and Will have any idea where you are. They’re going to find me. You cling to that hope.

When the sound of a door sliding open echoes across the space, your heart leaps. Nathan stiffens, spinning toward the entrance. Two figures step through: Hannibal’s dark eyes sweep over the scene calmly, while Will moves with visible tension. They found you.

You feel relief and a stab of shame. Relief that you might be saved, shame that you let it get this far. Nathan’s face twists in fury. “Stay back!” He brandishes a small knife—he must have snatched it from one of the crates. “I won’t let you control him any longer.”

Will’s hands spread, placating. “Nathan, you don’t want to do this.”

Hannibal’s gaze is cold and assessing. His voice, as smooth as ever, slices through the tension. “You’ve made a very poor choice, Mr. Carter.”

For a moment, it’s silent. Nathan glances your way, desperation plain in his eyes. “Don’t you see?” he pleads. “They’re going to twist you around their fingers again. I’m the only one who cares about your freedom.”

You’re too frightened to speak—too overwhelmed by relief at seeing Will and Hannibal alive and well, come to rescue you. But part of you wonders if Nathan is right about anything. Are you simply bouncing from one controlling force to another?

Will moves first, stepping slowly toward you. Nathan raises the knife. “Don’t!” he hisses.

Hannibal, swift as a predator, seizes the distraction. He springs forward, twisting Nathan’s wrist with a calculated efficiency. The knife clatters to the ground. With a smooth, practiced motion, Hannibal wrenches Nathan’s arm behind his back, forcing him onto his knees.

It happens so quickly you barely comprehend the motion until Nathan’s strangled cry rings out. Will strides to your side, untying you with nimble hands. Your wrists throb as blood rushes back through them.

“Are you hurt?” Will’s voice is urgent, eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m okay,” you manage, though your heart still hammers in your chest. “Just scared.”

Nathan sputters in pain. Before you can blink, Hannibal’s hand shifts, a flash of steel at Nathan’s throat—a scalpel or small blade he must have concealed in his coat.

“Hannibal—!” you shout.

He doesn’t give you time to protest. In one swift motion, he slices across Nathan’s throat. It’s almost surgical—clean and precise. A gasp, a gargle, then Nathan collapses in a dark pool of blood. You choke back a cry, hands flying to your mouth, your entire body shaking.

Will, behind you, grips your shoulders firmly as though to keep you from collapsing. “It’s over,” he murmurs, pressing his chest against your back, caging you in. “He won’t hurt you again.”

You swallow hard, an uncomfortable mix of horror and relief swirling in your gut. Nathan is dead. Your oldest friend—gone.

It’s all a blur after that. Hannibal and Will work methodically. They pull you out of the warehouse, bundle you into Hannibal’s car. You drift in and out of focus, shock settling over you like a weighted blanket.

By the time you realize what’s happening, you’re back at Hannibal’s house, seated on his leather sofa, a warm blanket draped around your shoulders. The tang of antiseptic is in the air; Hannibal must have cleaned up the small wounds on your wrists. There’s a cup of tea on the table.

Will kneels in front of you, gently lifting your hands in his. “Look at me,” he says softly.

Your gaze meets his. His eyes are full of concern and possessiveness. “You’re safe,” he repeats. “We took care of it.”

Tears prick at your eyes—grief, shock, everything. “You—you killed him.”

“He was going to kill you,” Hannibal says from behind Will. “He was unhinged.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. “I just…I didn’t think it would end like this.”

Hannibal’s steady hand comes to rest on your shoulder. “He gave us no choice. You are ours to protect.” Something about his words sets off a low alarm bell in the back of your mind—ours to protect—and yet you’re too mentally and physically exhausted to resist. Instinctively, you lean into Will’s touch as he holds your gaze.

“You see now why we were concerned,” Will continues gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Nathan was unstable.”

Your chest tightens. You want to protest—Nathan wasn’t always like this. But the warehouse, the rope around your wrists, and the knife… You can’t deny the truth of what happened.

“Trust us from now on,” Hannibal murmurs, stepping closer. His voice is almost hypnotic, as it has been so many times before. “We know what’s best for you. This could have been avoided.”

Will presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand. “No more secrets between us,” he says. “Promise?”

A thousand emotions war in your mind: guilt over Nathan’s death, relief you weren’t left with him, fear of the shadows that linger in Hannibal and Will’s presence, and a strange comfort in their unwavering devotion.

You let out a shuddering breath, your words trembling. “I promise.”

They exchange a glance above you—something satisfied and knowing passes between them. You are too drained to question it.

Time blurs together in the aftermath. Hannibal and Will close ranks, tightening their hold on you—under the guise of protecting and caring for you, which, on the surface, is exactly what they’re doing.

Your life slides into a controlled calm. You no longer go out without telling them where you’re going. You keep your phone on at all times. You relinquish little freedoms you didn’t even realize you had. It’s all part of feeling “safe,” they say, after such a traumatic event.

The strangest part: You allow it. Because you can still feel the ropes biting into your skin, taste the fear that soaked your tongue when Nathan loomed over you. You can’t forget his final, desperate plea. Was he right about anything? Maybe. But that’s a question you bury under the comfort of Will’s arms, the security of Hannibal’s unwavering presence.

In the end, the lines blur. You’re not sure if you’re truly free, or simply trading one set of chains for another. But you push that doubt deep down, because here, in Hannibal’s house, you’re warm and alive—and that’s enough for you right now.

They’re your lovers, your protectors, and in a way, your captors. Yet you lean into their touch all the same.

After all, they know what’s best for you.

[lin-ay]

English is my third language, German my first and Russian my second. I’m going to try and involve the languages into the story. That doesn’t have to mean that the reader is German or Russian, it just means that they speak more than just English! Tho the reader will not be born in an English speaking country. If the reader speaks in their native language it will be written like this: “{Hi!}”

Please correct me if I use a word wrong, forgot a word or similar things.

~pretty girl~

Part 1

PART 2

Last time:

“Damian Wayne.” His voice was deep but welcoming, (Name) didn’t know why but she felt his voice kind of calming and grounding.

Now:

“It’s nice to meet you!” (Name) stretched her hand out for him to shake, she hoped his hand would feel as welcoming as his voice sounds.

It quickly got awkward as Damian only gave her a side glance, ignoring (Name)s outstretched hand.

(Name)s let out a scoff and let her hand fell to her side. “So… you guys ready or…?”

Jon and Mia, finally stopped talking, apologized and Jon opened the car door for Mia and (Name) to step in. He and Damian went for the front seats, Jon behind the wheel.

“So Mia whose Party is this?”

“Some girl I met when we took a pre course for something.”

(Name) nodded and laid her head on the window, she looked into the rear(?) mirror and catches the sight of green eyes staring right back. (Name) didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, she didn’t want him to think she is imitated by him because she is not. He is just some random, handsome guy who basically shits money.

After a 15 minute drive they arrived at a pretty fancy and big house.

(Name) felt her excitement coming back, just because some guy was not interested in talking to her doesn’t mean she can’t have fun with someone else.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Damian watched (Name) from a distance, as she was sitting on some girls lap, making out with her as she let out moans.

Jon and Mia were flirting like little high school kid, which is not to unusual for Jon but even the usually confident Mia was blushing, stuttering and what not.

Damian didn’t know why people like to party, he didn’t mind it but the loud music and the crowded space made his head turn in a weird way.

His look went back to (Name) again, she was still making out messily with the same brunette. (Name) smiled as the other girl whispered something into her ear. He saw them both stand up and disappear somewhere upstairs.

Damian had a weird felling but he ignored it, he didn’t know (Name) but her bright smile just wouldn’t leave his mind.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(Name) let out moans as the brunette named Lara sucked on her neck and touched her in ways she could only imagine doing to herself.

(Name)s hand went up to Lara’s hair and gripped, Lara moaned quietly and (Name) put her lips upon Lara’s.

Lara pushed (Name) down and they both started to undress themselves. Lara pushed herself between (Name)s legs so their cunts will rub against when Lara starts grinding. When she did, they both let out different types of moans, Lara’s moans were breathy and more like quite gasps of (Name)s name and (Name)s moans were load and she basically screamed Lara’s name.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Damian was sitting on one of the coaches, when Mia and Jon joined him.

“Hey Damian have you seen (Name)? I really want to go home but I can’t find her.”

“She went with some brunette girl, they were making out.”

Mias eyes turned wide and she looked a bit spooked. “Did the girl have short hair, curls, with green earrings?”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowly nodded.

“That girl has been stalking (Name) now for days, (Name) didn’t seem to notice so I didn’t say anything but I heard stuff about her. (Name) apparently isn’t her first crush and the last time the girl was beaten up because the girl didn’t want to do some kinky shit!”

Damian and Jon shared a glance as Mia babbled about the stalker.

Jon asked with a hesitant voice. “You’re sure the girl is staking (Name)?”

“Pretty sure, everywhere we go I see her making heart eyes at (Name) and I even overheard her telling her friends how (Name) smelt so good like vanilla and she also said she wished she could see underneath what was clinging to her delicious curves.”

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Could you share some headcannons about South or Mochi, please?

No one ever talks about them unless it's to trash them 😔

Here are my ones for Mochi!

Refuses to fight girls and actively tried to avoid Senju during fights they were both in.

When he's grocery shopping he normally gets asked by people to reach things on the higher shelves, he always gets them what they need.

Has an arm wrestling club with Draken and Pah in the good timeline

Corn is actually a comfort food for him, he ate it a lot growing up

Would love to have a dog (also has a fondness for cats)

He frequently steps into fights that he feels are unfair like a group teaming up on one person (as long as they're not a target for his gang).

When he gets bored he looks for someone to fight

Loves festivals, especially the games at them

As a partner he's incredibly gentle, carefully holding your hand and placing soft kisses on you. He's very aware of his strength and careful with it.

Similarly to Pah and Mikey, Izana once fell asleep on Mochi

Doesn't like that he isn't a fast runner (mainly because Shion and the Haitani brother's sometimes tease him over it)

He didn't like his life in bonten much, it wasn't what he thought it would be like

In the good timeline, after he joined toman and realised Angry was scared of him, he tried to be friendlier towards him (usually by bringing him a drink to meetings)

He's very good with the kids in the future timeline, they love climbing all over him and how happy he is to play with them.

Very good at ball sports 

Growing up, his father was a police officer who often wasn't home and worked overtime. His mother was always kind to him and they were very close but she died when he was a kid, he ran away after that. 

One time he managed to catch a balloon a kid accidentally let go off before it got too high, he felt like a hero that day.

And here are my ones for South!

He's dressed up at least once as the phantom of the opera for Halloween. 

South can't swim and is actually kind of scared of deep bodies of water

He generally thought Takemichi was very strong because of the way Kakucho spoke about him and his reputation. Was very disappointed to find out everyone was talking about a different kind of strong.

Enjoys hugs a lot

Kept accidentally mixing up the Haitani brother's names when he first met them. 

One of his favourite things to do with his partner is to pick them up. Likes the feeling of being responsible for them, he especially likes it when they cling to him. 

He used to line up all his plushies to watch him play piano 

He's super soft towards his grandparents, he may be mean to others but will always help them out around the house and stuff if they need it.

All his plushies have names 

His grandparents call him Minami 

He frequently travels back to Brazil to visit the graves of his mother and Dino.

Doesn't understand the concept of a water fight, will start punching 

Anytime someone suggests an activity he will suggest karaoke 

Isn't used to hugs, doesn't know what to do with them 

Is surprisingly patient when it comes to teaching the piano

Gets along well with Senju in the good timeline, they match each other's energies well.

Does not have an inside voice

Has never used a helmet while riding his bike before

Very strong handshakes

Doesn't have a favourite song, he has a few favourites instead that he can't choose between 

Will purposely pick fights with random strangers just because he enjoys it. Will find any excuse to do this

As a partner he's very excitable, loves to hold his partners hand and just go walking about with them, showing them his favourite places and seeing theirs.

Really likes fireworks

Although he can insult people in multiple languages, he prefers to use a language the person will understand. Wants people to know when he's threatening them

Once stole Mikey's taiyaki to try and make him fight, it was the best fight he's ever had (Draken told him to never do it again)

Has a very high tolerance to alcohol, it's hard to get him drunk

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"GOD, YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL"

Another fic with him, because I need him so bad🖤

I hope you like it!

You had been dating Dave Lizweski for a few weeks.

Yes, the class nerd, the one who spent hours with his nose buried in the pages of a comic book instead of going outside to get some fresh air.

You smiled when you saw him adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose while staring at your language arts teacher. He was so adorable…

He felt someone staring at him and turned to meet you. He gave a shy smile, his cheeks blushing. You couldn’t help but take a deep breath at the sight.

You could tell that the fact that he looked so innocent in public and when you got home he was desperate to take your clothes off, turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

Class ended and he waited for you to gather your things to walk you to your locker. He had class in a different classroom than you, but he said he didn’t mind waiting for you. You smiled and opened your locker to take out the books you needed for the next class.

When you closed it you stared at him for a moment, long enough for him to give you a shy smile and a nervous laugh.

-Why are you looking at me like that? - he asked, touching his cheek - Is there something on my face?

-No, you look perfect, as always - you said, making him blush again - it's just that you look really handsome today

He stared at you for a few moments, as if you had suddenly turned green. His surprised expression made you smile.

-Thanks… I guess - he scratched the back of his neck - I'm not good at accepting compliments, you know that

-That's not going to stop me from giving them to you - you answered, very smugly-

You looked both ways down the hall, the bell had rung a while ago and there was no one there.

You turned to him again and placed your palm on his chest, pushing him against the lockers. Dave let you do it. He was unable to say no to anything when you looked at him like that.

-Have I ever told you how much I like your eyes? – you whispered, getting closer so that you could see yourself reflected in them-

-If I have, I don't remember – he murmured timidly before adding – Would you mind repeating it?

It was just those kinds of comments that made your toes curl and your arousal shoot up to unsuspected levels. How he could go from shy to a complete scoundrel was something you would never understand.

But fuck, you loved it.

-They're so blue – you began – sometimes I feel like when I look at you I could get lost in them-

-Oh yeah? -he questioned, watching you closely-

-Yes- you whispered, more and more tense- and your hair- you moaned softly- I love to pull your locks between my fingers when you kiss me

A broken sigh came from Dave's lips, before closing the distance that separated you and joining his lips with yours.

It was a passionate kiss, full of need, but at the same time tender and reassuring, as if he knew he had to calm down because of where you were but he didn't want to.

And that drove you crazy.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at his long locks as you felt his tongue make its way into your mouth.

You gasped when you felt him run the tip of your lower lip, before kissing you again.

You had kissed before, but this one had nothing to do with the others. You were 90% sure that he had looked for a tutorial on the internet on how to turn a girl on.

You smiled internally at the thought.

He didn't need any tutorial, his presence alone made your ovaries ache with the need you had for him.

He pulled away from you for a moment, his lips red and swollen from the kisses you had given each other.

He took your hand in his and without saying a word he pulled you into one of the stalls in the girls' bathroom, locked it and gently pushed you against the door.

He placed both hands on your hips, before moving them up to your breasts, which he squeezed lightly. You couldn't help but let out a gasp, which he drank in when he kissed you again.

Within a few minutes the bottom of your clothes had disappeared. You laughed when you saw that the condom he had taken out of his backpack almost fell to the floor.

"God, you're so beautiful," he said through the fogged-up lenses of his glasses, "we've never done it like this," he realized then. "Do you want to…?" we can…

-It doesn't matter, Dave –you said, holding the back of his neck so he could focus his gaze on you- I need you, now

He nodded and lifted you nimbly by the hips, before sinking into you. You gasped at the feeling of him so deep inside you, the way he stretched you was definitely out of this world.

You loved that at first glance he might look thin, but beneath all the layers of clothing he was wearing he had a pair of muscular arms.

You threw your head back when he moved you forward, then pushed you back against the stall door.

-Dave… -you gasped- I'm not going to hold on much longer… you're –

You moaned as you felt his lips on the side of your neck. “God…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed. “You’re so beautiful…” he growled, holding your hips tightly. “You drive me crazy.”

“Dave!” you cried, feeling yourself tighten around him. “Please, I need…”

“Do it, baby,” he whispered, pushing his hips against you faster. “Come on my cock.”

That’s what you did. You spilled out hard, holding onto his hair, just like he did, resting his hands on your hips. His gaze focused on you, or at least he tried to, since due to the fog on his glasses he could barely see you.

-God - you moaned with your legs shaking, while you readjusted your clothes as best you could- someone was very needy - you joked-

He smiled and left a loving and possessive kiss on your lips, before answering:

-I can never get enough of you - he smiled taking off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his shirt- it's clear that we're not going to make it to the next class - he laughed, and you with him- so what do you think if…?

-Pizza and D&D? - you ventured, he nodded putting his backpack on his shoulder again-

-You've taken the words out of my mouth - he smiled as you left the bathroom to carry out your plan-

[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie! Kindly coming into your ask box- First of all how are you? I adore your stories, I read them whenever I'm feeling down and it's perfect whenever I want to forget about my real life problems haha.

I was wondering how would the slashers react to a Hungarian y/n? Obviously I never found anyone writing about this scenario, for we 'hungries' are few. I'm actually Székely (Hungarians who speak the older version of the language and live in a different region than actual Hungarians), which means I'm Transylvanian. Like how would they react finding out that reader can literally move around with a bottle of alcohol on their head without it sliding off? Having long hair that is traditionally braided in two, and red ribbons braided in it (this is female case, which means the girl is 'on the market'), being able to speak multiple languages, meeting bears every single month given living in forest mountains, and owning traditional clothes that in old times mean high status? I'm sorry that this sounds so personal but like all my life (ever since I found out about slashers) I wanted to know how one might react to this kind of situation, given most fandoms, OBVIOUSLY include English reader. You can ignore if you want and sorry if u don't understand what I wrote :')

If you don't want to write for this (like I feel like I'm being too specific and personal with things) then I guess how they would react to reader with an interesting accent- all my English friends told me they love how I speak it's funny for them. Sending hugs and kisses I adore ur work <3

No need to apologize ! My pleasure. This is a really unique and interesting request, and I had fun searching what a Székely reader would be like. I hope I did it right. 😆

Slashers React to a Székely Reader

Jason Voorhees

Jason, being deeply connected to his own forested home, would be fascinated by your experiences with bears. He’s used to dealing with intruders, but meeting a bear every month ? That’s next-level survival. He’d probably view you as someone incredibly strong and capable, which earns you a lot of respect in his eyes. Your ability to balance a bottle on your head would both impress and confuse him—he’d tilt his head like how ? He is a clumsy man and if he tried the same, no bottle would survive. If you let him touch your traditional clothes, he’d be extra careful, appreciating the craftsmanship and the colors.

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t react outwardly, but he watches. A lot. He’d probably test your balancing skills by suddenly throwing something your way while you’re carrying the bottle. If you catch it without dropping the bottle, you’d get a slow approving nod. He might also silently grab a red ribbon from your hair, just to see how you react—if you snatch it back, he’ll keep doing it just to mess with you. But, he would also appreciate the traditions and understand your connection to nature—since nature is fairly important to him as well. If you could, he would ask you to learn the language. True, he would not be able to speak it—but just hearing it would make him happy. He would also ask you to teach him your traditional dishes.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms would fixate on your braids and ribbons. He’d like the idea of your clothes being a ‘status’ marker since Brahms is from a higher-class family himself. But the ribbons…he would like them, but might get possessive, asking you to remove the ribbons or change their color so others don’t think you’re ‘on the market.’ Because you are not. You are HIS friend. No sharing or letting someone take you away from him. He’d also adore your ability to speak multiple languages, insisting you talk to him in Hungarian just so he can hear how it sounds. Your traditional clothes ? He’d want you to wear them all the time in the manor, seeing them as regal and elegant.

Bo & Vincent Sinclair

Bo would act like he’s unimpressed but would secretly be very intrigued. He’d tease you about the bottle-balancing trick—"Alright, but can ya do that while runnin’ ?"—but would absolutely brag about it to tourists before luring them into his trap. He would show them your trick and kill them while they are dumbstruck. Or he would ask you to bring his beers like that—and exclusively like that. And when he first saw you in your traditional clothes ? He was mesmerised. You looked like a damn princess. When you told him what the braids and ribbons meant though…Bo suddenly grabbed your braids and quickly pulled your braids loose…On the market ? Like hell you are…

Vincent, on the other hand, would love your traditional clothes. He’d want to sketch you in them, fascinated by the detail and historical meaning behind them. He would love to take pictures of you too. He would ask you about your culture and be really interested. He would also be impressed by the bottle trick and would immediately inform Bo because Bo would be impressed too for sure.

Norman Bates

Norman would see you as someone from another world—elegant, mysterious, and old-fashioned in the best way. He’d be captivated by your hair and the meaning behind the ribbons, maybe a little too curious about your availability status. If you ever wear your traditional clothes, he’d compare you to an old painting, romanticizing it. Your survival stories about the mountains and bears would leave him both impressed and slightly intimidated.

Norman *comes up behind you and slowly wraps his arms around you from behind* : "…Te vagy gyönyörű, drágám."

He would learn the recipes for Székely Gulyás (Székely stew), Puliszka (A cornmeal dish similar to polenta, eaten with cheese, milk, or stew) and Töltött Káposzta (Stuffed cabbage, a staple at Székely celebrations) to surprise you.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy would not take you seriously at first—until he sees the bottle trick. Then, suddenly, he’s got a new game to play. He’d try to mess with you by making dream versions of your traditional clothes wrong just to see if you notice the inaccuracies. He’d also probably joke about the bears—"So, what, you got one as a pet ?" If you start speaking Hungarian with him, though ? He’d hate it—he loves running his mouth, and now he doesn’t know what you’re saying. He would have to get a dictionary. He doesn’t like reading.

Pennywise & Penny

Pennywise would see you as someone tied to old traditions, which he respects in a strange way. He’d enjoy the idea of you carrying history with you. Penny, on the other hand, would love that you meet bears regularly—he’d probably insist that the next time you see one, you have to bring him along. The bottle-balancing trick ? Oh, now it’s a game. He’d try to distract you just to see if you mess up.

Penny would definitely imitate you and laugh as he starts dancing with three bottles on his head.

Jack Torrance

Jack would instantly bond with you over alcohol—if you can balance a bottle on your head, you must know good drinks, right ? He’d want to drink with you, hear your stories, and maybe even try balancing a bottle himself (bad idea). Your language skills would impress him, but he’d be especially curious about your encounters with bears—probably comparing it to his experiences in the snowy Overlook. He would also use you as an inspiration for his work and ask you questions about your traditions. He would also be interested in learning your language.

Ghostface! Eddie Munson

Eddie would be so hyped about your skills. "Dude, that’s metal as hell ! You walk around with a bottle on your head and survive bear encounters ? Like…what ?" He’d immediately ask you to teach him your language, failing horribly but loving every second. Your traditional clothes would remind him of a fantasy character, and he’d start calling you things like “the warrior queen of Transylvania.” He’d also be obsessed with the fact that you speak multiple languages—every time you switch to Hungarian, he’d dramatically pretend to swoon.

You: "A mosolyod beragyogja a napomat."

Him *looking at you with a big smile* : "I didn’t understand a single word that just came out of your mouth, but I love it."

[strxnged]

i love listening to esl/efl it's so cool like damn you learned that

[arolesbianism]

Doodle of my boy

[mintakablue]

regarding ICE as someone who has done some reporting on it and talked to both ICE and immigration lawyers

in different states, there are often different levels of law enforcement with ICE. california, for example, has the california values act and so in many jurisdictions, law enforcement is less likely to involve itself with immigration matters. pay attention to the history of your area's compliance with ICE. it also means law enforcement may not know ICE is around.

ICE vehicles do not have to be marked. oftentimes their enforcement and removal cars are not marked as "border patrol" or "ICE" or anything. their plates are usually "exempt" plates.

ICE officers are SUPPOSED to wear identifiable clothing and gear when performing operations, but are often in plainclothes, even during operations.

for reasons above, it might not be obvious that ICE is in your area or that a car you see is involved with ICE operations. FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH LOCAL COMMUNITIES. trusted nonprofits and people who work with undocumented and nonstatus people will often be keeping tabs on ICE. law enforcement in some areas may know as well. find out if ICE is in your area through vetting sources and then keep tabs on them too.

try to provide information in as many languages as you can.

tell people: ICE NEEDS A JUDICIAL WARRANT TO ENTER YOUR HOME--not one signed by a higher up ICE official, it MUST be signed by a judge. ICE may insist that they don't need a warrant, that they operate differently. they are using scare tactics.

lastly, regardless of your immigration status: KNOW YOUR RIGHTS. you can access the Immigration Legal Resource Center's red cards page, which can express your rights in a legally defensible way when ICE comes to your door. print some for your community. distribute them to people. they can be a useful resource! (https://www.ilrc.org/red-cards-tarjetas-rojas)

stay safe and protect each other, especially the most vulnerable groups among us.

[somnoir]

Ghost KingConsort?

Prompt: Demon Twins AU where the ghost king is summoned and claims his appearance is that of his beloveds. Shenanigans of a vindictive dead twin.

Danyal Al Ghul escaped from the league. The Lazarus Pits were never merciful but for once, they were. The pits were merciful to him as the green swallowed him and spat him out miles away from that place.

Danny can't forget his first death, the sword in his gut as Damian cut through him. The title of heir was reserved for only one of them and the spare was no longer needed. He supposed it was yet another mercy upon him, knowing that the title of spare was not simple. He would have been Damian's spare—spare parts.

Danny remembers his second death. The electricity that killed him over and over again as the ectoplasm spilled from the artificial portal brought him back to life again and again. One second he was dead, the other he was being revived. It was torturous in every way possible.

It's been years since then. His parents were a difficult case, unable to accept that their darling child had died and continued to believe that Danny was being possessed by the menace Phantom. They hunted him, tried to rip him apart to 'free' their son. It took both himself and Jazz leaving with the help of Vlad (reluctantly accepted) for his parents to stop hunting. Their home that had already felt empty was even more empty now.

It's been almost four years since then. Danny had settled into his role as Ghost King, even when the crown of fire floated over his head then descended to be too big, too much—resting around his neck.

It's... Difficult...

CUT TO THE JUSTICE LEAGUE SUMMONING HIM!

Danny Fenton, nineteen and very much overworked from all the paperwork he had to sort through as Ghost King, finds a small tugging to his very being. A summoning he recognized, sighing loudly before he's answer to this visible desperation. Like it was a world ending issue.

And yes, it apparently was when the fabric of reality itself was tearing itself apart for some strange reason. As the ruler of the infinite realms—the king of the very domain that basically glued the multiverse—this was apparently the right call.

Dressed in all of his kingly regalia, Danny felt the crown of fire float up from his neck and burned over his head. His cape, cloak—whatever—was heavy and he blinked, green eyes boring into every soul present. He recognized the fractured soul of the laughing magician—one of his more irksome subjects that avoided taxes like it was the fucking plague. He really should tell Skulker to haunt his grandfather. Maybe even Youngblood would be suitable.

But aside from the laughing magician, his eyes settled upon a familiar soul, a familiar face. Danny blinks again.

Shit... He thought, staring at the masked yet horrified face of his own twin. Robin was nineteen as well by now, older, stronger—redeemed.

In the past, Danny would have cursed Damian to the seven hells and allowed the seven sins to have a bite. But Jazz was blessing. An older sister who made sure to heal him, to let him grow, to let him develop. He's forgiven Damian for his faults. They were children, brainwashed by a mad man. He's not too angry. Resentful and a bit vindictive? That was a given as he technically was the spirit of a murder victim. Of kinslaying.

"Hellblazer." The language spoken by the dead leaves his mouth easily. It can't be understood by the living, and it was barely understood who came back from death. But John Constantine was a different, more difficult case. One hell of a motherfucker that avoided death until the entity itself was ranting to both Clockwork and Danny about his escapes.

And John Constantine recognized his title regardless of the language.

The sad man in a trench coat stiffened, staring at Danny as he stiffly bowed. "High King Phantom." He greets, and attempt at respect. When there was suddenly movement, Constantine was quick to hiss at the others—glaring at Robin who looked ready lunge at them.

Oh, he can't help himself. This was funny. In the words of his own counterpart turned brother—He could make it worse. Jazz was going to nag him, true, but Danny was so. Utterly. BORED. Being Ghost King had a lot of entertainment, like how he got to fight people and basically hang out with people from the past. But it got... Repetitive. Normal Ghosts wouldn't mind with their eternal afterlife, but Danny was still half-alive. He was completely human—just a half dead one.

"Your majesty—" Constantine struggled to explain, "The universe... Do you know why portals have been opening, your majesty? Forgive my impudence but our world has been plagued by portals from different worlds, some even lead to the infinite realm."

"It's not uncommon for natural portals to the realms to open. Many of your dead like to visit." He smirked, "Many like to haunt those who've wronged them."

Constantine gulped, "Your majesty, would you, by any chance, be aware of why these portals are opening?"

Danny sighed. Well, he can't say he wasn't concerned. This was his world too after all, even when now. It was Jazz's world, where she still went to school, it was Sam and Tucker's world. It was his family's world. So yes, he is concerned.

"The portals to the realms are under my jurisdiction. They are natural and open in my places with thick and ambient ectoplasm." Danny drawls, "But these dimensional portals are strange. I'll check in with the Master of Time to see if someone is meddling with reality. It may not even be from your dimension."

He can only shrug at that, remembering how Dan had practically ripped through time with his madness and rage, tearing through the world to ensure his birth.

"I see, thank you for your understanding, your majesty." Constantine nervously says.

"Say, would you like to watch the battle royale for your soul?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, magician." Danny rolls his eyes, "But you'd certainly enjoy watching people tear each other to shreds for your fucked up soul. I don't understand why people want it so much when the paperwork it comes with is a hell in itself."

"Your majesty," Constantine paled.

"I'm joking. I'll deal with this as quickly as possible." Danny paused, grinning as he made a show of offering his hand to the justice league. "I couldn't possible sit by and allow my beloved's world to crumble. He'd be devastated."

Constantine blinked. Everyone blinked. And then Danny turned to Damian and... Batman. Bruce Wayne. His father. At least he seemed to be treating Damian better than Jack did with Danny and Jazz.

"You must have recognized this face, yes?" Danny tilted his head. "You are his family."

"What have you done to my brother?" Robin—Damian immediately growled, like a feral cat as he unsheathed his katanas and aimed for Danny.

"Hm." Danny rolled his eyes, "He's well. Very much taken care of." Because yes, Danny was well fed and taken care of, especially as the Ghost King. "I've taken his form so I assumed you knew of him."

He dismissed Robin long before he could even speak, turning to Constantine once again. "Don't fret too much, John Constantine." The man in question flinched once his name was uttered in the language of the dead he could barely understand. "This will be fixed in a days time. If not, I will send someone to deal with it."

The Ghost King's appearance had been startling when they summoned him. A boy with a striking resemblance to Damian if not for his white hair. A twin? Bruce had sounded devastated at the implications. But Damian? He'd seen the ghost king and felt nauseous, unable to tear his eyes away from the eldritch being that wore his brother's face.

It took a lot of explaining once they were back in the cave. The duel, Danyal's death, the Lazarus taking him and he was never seen again. Everyone was... Well, they were devastated. Yes. Grieving a son and brother they never met. But the Ghost King has been summoned with a face similar to that of their father's, a face that was the exact same one to their brothers. The Ghost King who referred to the dead Danyal as his beloved.

It's the next day when they're back in the watchtower, anxiously waiting for any update. Constantine continues to curse under his breath, shaking his head before a portal rips through reality. Everyone stiffened, preparing for the worst.

A girl appears, a child. She's a spry little thing with glowing green eyes, flaming white hair, and a face that they immediately recognized.

"Sorry that I'm late! Times pretty bendy and we don't really keep up with it." The unknown laughs, "Well, short answer, Phantom has identified the problem and has attempted to apprehend it. Unfortunately, it's been a week on our end and the perp apparently fell into your world."

Time distortion—Constantine had mentioned it. But they stare at the girl who rambled about their supposed target until Batman cleared his throat, seemingly softer on the girl—someone who was visibly a child.

"Young lady, welcome to the Watchtower. Even id the greeting it late." Batman curtly yet gently says. "May I know your name?"

The girl blinked. "Oh! You can call me Specter, princess of the infinite realms! I'm Phantom and Danny's daughter."

It is then that the possibilities processes in their heads.

One. The Ghost King took the form of his beloved, aka the dead twin brother of one Damian Wayne.

Two. Damian's dead twin and Bruce's dead son might be the queen (consort?) of the infinite realms.

Three. Danyal and Phantom had a daughter. Damian and the rest of the Bar kids were uncles and aunts. Bruce was now officially a grandpa.

Damian faints on the spot.

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[trashytracktales]

Omg can you please write some smut with Lando about the FIA gala??? He looks so hot in that suit and I need something about it🥵😭 Maybe after the gala ended and they’re back to their hotel or they fuck while they’re on the plane back to Monaco.

The FIA (Feral Instincts Arise) Awards | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I knew there would be requests for this the second I saw Lando on that carpet. Bon appétit 😛

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── It's the 2024 FIA Awards, and Lando and his girlfriend can't help but steal a moment of passion, unable to resist the tension built through teasing touches and glances during such a glamorous night.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, teasing, mild public intimacy, smut, descriptive language, fingering, bathroom sex, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.2k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 14, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I have nothing to say except that I am absolutely devastated that my role model and inspiration, Michèle Mouton has officially retired from her role as FIA Safety Delegate. I love her so much and will forever be grateful for the representation she provided for women in motorsport throughout the years. In other news, at least everybody looked so fucking hot last night.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT WAS PURE torture for her to see him up on that stage from the beginning of the evening. She’d sat in the audience, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for being able to be by his side during this exciting stage of his life — witnessing his hard work, his wins, and his dreams becoming reality. It's more than she ever imagined.

As she watched him, she realized she wasn't just proud of his accomplishments, but thankful to be the one he comes home to, the one who gets to share these moments that will live forever in both of their memories.

Standing up to cheer for him, as Lando’s name was announced for finishing second in the Drivers’ Championship, was a natural reaction. The applause was loud, a mix of respect and so much admiration for her determined racer boy who had fought tooth and nail all season.

McLaren’s triumph in the Constructors’ Championship only added to the celebration, the team beaming as they ascended the stage to accept their award.

While the room celebrated them, all she could think about was him — her man, standing under the spotlights, looking impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked perfect, from his styled curls to his sharp jawline and sweet, nervous smile. She felt very conflicted, overwhelmed with pride and love, yet squirming with a different kind of heat every time he looked for her in the audience. The way his dimple appeared when he smiled, the casual confidence in his voice as he gave his speech, and the glint of determination in his eyes as he thanked the team for having faith in him — every bit of it was intoxicating.

Now, at the dinner table, the atmosphere has shifted.

Glasses of champagne catch the glow, sparkling like liquid gold, as conversations hum softly among the elite of the motorsport world.

Lando sits beside her, relaxed in a way only he can manage after such a long, eventful evening. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He holds a champagne flute in one hand, the other resting lazily on her thigh beneath the table.

She can feel the warmth of his palm on her skin, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. It’s a casual touch — he’s sipping champagne, laughing at something Oscar just said — but the effect it has on her is anything but relaxed. Her heart races every time his thumb brushes against her soft skin, slow and intentional, almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

Her own glass of champagne sits untouched in front of her, her attention split between the conversation around them and the heat blooming under Lando’s hand. She tries to pay attention, nodding along while Andrea talks about some funny incident that happened in the garage during the last race of the season. But her thoughts keep drifting back to him.

She glances over at Lando, her breath catching at how effortlessly handsome he is, now that he’s more relaxed and in his element. The golden light softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal. But it’s the dimpled smirk that forms as he catches her staring that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” asks Lando, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, swallowing hard. “Positive. I'm just incredibly proud of you, that's all.”

His smirk widens, his thumb stroking her thigh with more purpose now. “You’ve said that already,” Lando murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes her ear. “But keep going. I like hearing it,” he adds, pressing his lips to her cheek.

She smiles, looking away, determined not to let him fluster her further.

However, Lando has other plans. His fingers trace unhurried patterns on her inner thigh, edging closer to the hem of her dress. The movement is subtle — nobody at the table would notice — but to her, it feels like her skin is burning. Her breathing gets heavier, and she shifts in her seat instinctively, her legs parting just enough under the table to grant him more access.

“My good girl,” whispers Lando, smiling against her cheek, then turning his attention back to the conversation.

Her heart skips at the quiet praise, and she shoots him a quick, warning glance, her eyes wide with panic.

Lando looks completely unbothered, taking part of the dialogue like he’s the epitome of innocence. The slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips tells a very different story, though. A secret one, that only they know about.

“Stop it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, her voice so low that it’s practically a breath.

Obviously, he doesn’t. If anything, her quiet protest seems to spur him on. The pads of his fingers creep higher, brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. She grips the stem of her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white as she tries to take her first sip of alcohol of the night — at least then she'll have something to blame if anyone asks her why she got so flustered all of a sudden.

“Lando,” she warns, her voice soft but firm.

“Hm?” he hums, his expression completely neutral as he keeps his attention to Oscar, who’s recounting his Turn 1 incident from Abu Dhabi.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to squirm in her seat. She almost can not believe how shameless Lando is, then she remembers all the times he tested her patience when they were in public. At that, her free hand drops to her lap, fingers wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to still his movements. He doesn’t pull away, but he also still doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb presses a little harder, a constant reminder of his presence.

“You’re squirming, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “People are going to notice.”

“Then stop,” she repeats quietly, her tone sharp enough to earn a quick, curious glance from Andrea, who's sitting across from her. She ends up forcing a small smile, nodding, then turning back to Lando.

He chuckles under his breath, leaning in just slightly so his words are for her ears alone. “But we’re having so much fun,” he teases.

Her body betrays her as heat pools low in her belly, and she can’t stop herself from shifting again, her legs spreading a fraction wider. Lando takes full advantage of the movement, his fingers grazing higher until they’re just shy of where she needs him most. She glares at him, her eyes filled with need and her cheeks burning when his fingers slide easily over her lace panties, pressing harder on her warmth. As a response, her body jerks, and she barely suppresses a gasp, her nails digging into his wrist.

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, her voice shaky.

His grin returns, and he tilts his head, finally looking at her again. His gaze is dark, heated, and he looks entirely pleased with himself. “No, you don’t,” says Lando, so sure of himself.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t combust on the spot.

Because he's right — she doesn't hate him, she hates the fact that they're in public and she's incredibly turned on, but there's nothing she can do about it.

Finally, she can breathe normally when he withdraws his hand from between her legs, just as casually as he’d started. Her body is still buzzing with the lingering traces of his touch as she places her hand lightly on Lando’s shoulder. Slowly, she rises from her seat, her fingers squeezing just enough to send him a silent message only he’d understand.

At that, Lando’s heart stutters for a beat, his mouth suddenly dry as he watches her glide gracefully toward the bathrooms. The way her dress hugs her curves doesn’t help the growing situation in his pants — it’s like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, a small punishment for what just happened between them. He tries to act like he's not affected, emptying his glass of champagne while his eyes turn back to the table, but his focus is scattered.

His hand still tingles from touching her under the table, and now he’s left to deal with the knowledge that his teasing had gotten to her.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Minutes tick by, though they feel like an eternity.

Lando finds himself forcing a laugh at something Oscar says, remembering how impossibly talkative his teammate gets when he has a few drinks on board. He shifts in his seat, trying to mask his growing anticipation, but she’s all he can think about. His fingers drum against his empty glass, the weight of the moment making it almost impossible to sit still.

Then, his phone buzzes inside his pocket, her name lighting up the screen.

He doesn’t need to answer to know it’s just a diversion, and she’s not waiting for a conversation, either — she’s just giving him an out.

Lando clears his throat, “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, giving the table an apologetic smile, as he pushes back his chair and making his way out of the dining area with purpose.

His heart pounds in his chest as he walks toward the bathroom, careful not to seem too rushed, but acutely aware of the tension building inside his body with each step he takes.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is quieter, lined with soft, ambient lighting and artwork that screams understated luxury. He takes a turn, his steps slowing as he spots her standing in front of the mirror inside the women's restroom. The space itself is elegant, all marble countertops and gold fixtures, with sleek stalls and huge mirrors.

She’s touching up her lipstick, her purse resting next to her, the subtle curve of her smile betraying the fact that she knows he’s behind her. Lando approaches slowly, his footsteps soft against the polished tile. When he’s close enough, his hands settle on her waist, his touch firm yet familiar as he pulls her closer.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and full of heat. “Worried about your makeup when it’s just going to smudge off you anyway?”

Her smile turns into a smirk as she meets his gaze in the mirror. “God, you’re the worst,” she teases, her tone light but laced with something more intimate.

Lando chuckles while she turns in his arms. Her hands slide up his chest, her touch lingering as she looks up at him, her eyes dark with intent.

“Are you sure it can’t wait until we get back to the hotel?” asks Lando, even though he already knows the answer, because he knows the look she has painted all over her face very well.

Her lips brush against his cheek in a warm, lingering kiss before her breath tickles his ear. “Baby, that's hours away.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, and leads him to one of the stalls at the end of the bathroom. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of the venue — tall wooden doors that reach from ceiling to floor, polished brass locks, and a sense of privacy that makes it feel more like a secluded room than a bathroom stall. As soon as they step inside, the door locks with a soft click, and every ounce of restraint disappears.

Lando’s lips are on hers instantly, hot and demanding, his hands already traveling to the hem of her dress. There’s no time to waste, with all those people back at the table who could realize at any moment that it is no coincidence that they are both missing at the same time.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher until he reaches the thin band of her panties. His fingers slip beneath the lace, tugging them down in one swift motion before his hand returns, sliding between her legs and finding her completely soaked.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers dip into her heat. “All this from a bit of touching?”

Her breath comes out in a shaky laugh as she clutches his shirt. “No,” she whispers, “All this from watching you on that stage, sitting next to you the entire night, seeing how people were cheering for you — and then from a bit of touching.”

A cocky smirk tugs at Lando’s lips. “That so?” he asks, pressing a finger into her, his pace measured as he stretches her slowly.

She gasps, her head falling back against the door, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. A second finger joins the first, curling inside her as his thumb circles her clit, making her see stars.

Her hands, trembling with anticipation, move to his belt, fumbling for a moment before she pushes his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. Her touch is soft at first, her fingers wrapping around him and stroking slowly, making his jaw clench.

She looks up at him, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she echoes his earlier words. “All this from touching me under the table?”

“Shut up,” he growls, grabbing her thigh and hitching it around his hip. His cock presses against her entrance, teasing her as he slides the tip through her slick folds.

“You shut up, and fuck me already,” she says, her voice thick with desire.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them gasping at the full sensation. The stretch is so sweet and perfect, and he pauses for just a moment, letting her adjust before pulling back and thrusting again, harder this time. Her back presses against the door, the cool wood contrasting with the heat of his body as he sets a relentless pace, in and out of her tight pussy. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for him as he drives into her, each movement hungrier than the previous.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lando groans, his lips brushing against her ear. “Perfectly thight around me, baby. Always so sweet and eager, aren’t you?”

She clings to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he angles his hips, hitting a spot that has her biting back a cry. “Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky and full of need, while trying to mimic his rapid movements.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his voice rough as his fingers dig into her hips. “Let them hear you, baby. Let everybody know how well you take my cock.”

Her head falls on his shoulder as he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. The tension coils tighter and tighter in her belly, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Lando, fuck,” she moans wetly into his shoulder, feeling her pussy clenching around his length. “Shit, baby. Yes, don’t stop.”

As he buries himself so deep inside her, Lando realizes that's what he wants to do for the rest of the evening — the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. His lips part as he feels her walls twitching around him, making him — if that's even possible — even harder for her. His breaths come out in spasms, letting out a small cry of pleasure as his chest crashes against hers violently.

Sensing that she’s so close, Lando’s hand ends up slipping between their bodies to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Are you—oh, fuck,” she tries to speak, but all her thoughts are focused on how good he makes her feel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando assures her, “Right behind you, love.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before she shatters around him, her walls clenching hard as her orgasm washes over her. Her moans are muffled against his neck as he continues to fuck her through her release, chasing his own high. His movements grow erratic, sloppier, his grip on her tightening as he finally lets go, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, they can’t hear anything else except the soft whir of ventilation and their labored breathing. Their bodies stay pressed tightly together as the echoes of their pleasure lingers in the small space.

Her chest heaves against his as she exhales shakily, her lips brushing his neck, then up his jaw in a silent thank you.

Lando smiles, slowly pulling out of her, his cock still hard and sensitive from his release. She shudders at the sudden emptiness, but before she can speak, his hand slips between her thighs again. His fingers slide inside, pushing some of his cum and their mingled release back into her.

“Lando,” she gasps, her body clenching instinctively around his fingers.

His breath falls hot against her skin. “Gotta make sure you feel it all night.”

Her cheeks flush at his words, and she bites her lip, torn between glaring at him and melting into his touch. He strokes her lazily, savoring the way her body responds to him even now.

“Insane behavior, Norris,” she exhales sharply, finally looking up at him.

“My brand,” he smirks back at her. “But what about you, hm?” he asks, his tone soft, but teasing as his eyes rake over her wrecked expression. “Going back knowing you’re filled up so good?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrays her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he quips, fixing a strand of her hair and then kissing her deeply one last time.

She smiles against his lips, brushing her thumb over his mouth to wipe away the faint smudge of her lipstick. Then, leaning up, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Don’t take too long, champ.”

With that, she exits the stall, glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looks composed, and collecting her purse before heading back to the table.

When she returns to her seat, the conversation flows just as before, no one paying much attention to her absence beyond a polite glance. Her heart pounds in her chest, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Lando still fresh in her mind as she settles into her chair. She picks up her glass of champagne, finishing it in one go, her hands steady despite the warmth still coursing through her body — and the wetness between her legs.

A few minutes later, Lando comes back, his phone pressed to his ear as he pretends to be mid-conversation. His expression is casual, his voice light as he murmurs something unintelligible before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking his seat.

But as soon as he sits down, Oscar’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lando catches the look, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. “What?” he asks silently, his expression confused.

Oscar doesn’t answer, instead he points directly at Lando’s bowtie, which is noticeably crooked.

Lando’s eyes widen as he glances down, and straightens it as casually as he can, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“It's windy outside,” Lando mutters under his breath, low enough that only Oscar can hear.

His teammate just grins knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you say, mate.”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[chastiefoul]

coming home to nanami sleeping on the couch but there it is also, the cat he said he 'tolerated' atop of his chest, folding its legs comfortably like a perfectly adorable loaf.

both of his hands resting snuggly on its body, as if he was hugging it to sleep. (he did)

the biggest grin stretched out across your face, taking your phone out as you went to take many many pictures of them first because it was an overwhemingly cute sight, second... well, you know, just for additional satisfaction points after telling him 'told you so!'

alas, your excited steps in getting the photos of different angles woke the man up, as nanami looked like he was caught red-handed after looking back and forth from the cat to your phone. a smug smile made its way to your lips as you crossed arms with a raised eyebrow.

"she came to me herself after i fell asleep," he reasoned, getting worked up all by himself. "i didn't say anything," you replied with a playful shrug as he sighed, looking over the feline who's still asleep; his body language contradicted his words, moving as slowly as possible as to not disturb its slumber.

"you didn't have to love, your smile already said it all," he said as he finally let out a defeated smile, gently running his hand through the fur of the small animal. you had to swallow a squeal from witnessing such a cute sight.

"ready to be honest and admit that you love her so much and you won't let anything bad happen to her ever?" you asked, a big smile still loyal on your expression. nanami chuckled, "not sure if i am at that stage yet but-" he stopped, booping the cat's button nose.

"she is quite cute sometimes, especially when she's not running around clawing things she finds unpleasant—which are almost everything. a hard cat to please, this one."

oh nanami, with the way he said that, he's way past that stage, you thought.

you looked at the oblivious man, keeping that fact to yourself. "alright, i'll accept that answer for today." you nodded thoughtfully feeling pleased, making your boyfriend laugh at the personality similarities; perhaps that's why he came to love your pet as well. "you too, hm? i guess like mother like daughter."  

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

The cut that always bleed✧.* - what was i made for?

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammatical errors that this story may have.

Y/n L/n was a far cry from Y/n Wayne. Despite both last names, each carrying the weight of a turbulent history, "L/n" felt surprisingly lighter. Both names reminded you of the haunting shadows cast by your mother and father, yet they bore different emotional tolls. As you stood before the mirror, a somber reflection gazing back, you pondered on the 13 years—a whole decade and three more—that seemed squandered on people who couldn't hold your gaze for more than fleeting moments.

Of course, the toll it took on your emotional health was immense, but there was nothing you could do about it. You knew that no matter what you did, you could never capture their attention, not even for a moment. By the age of six, you took up martial arts, hoping your family would be proud of you for sharing their passion. But all you received was a pat on the shoulder from Dick when you won a gold medal.

At ten, you delved into video games, hoping to bond with Tim. You spent four days learning all the rules and knowledge about the game, and two whole weeks mastering it. But when you finally mustered the courage to ask Tim to play with you, he stared at you with bored eyes, barely registering your presence. After twelve minutes of rambling about the game, he sighed, pinched his eyes, and said, "I can't. I'm busy, okay?" before leaving your small room. The video game stayed in a box, forgotten and dirty, for thirteen years, a testament to the same treatment you received over and over.

You took every opportunity, every chance to learn something they were talented in, hoping to catch a glimpse of love in their eyes. But all you got were bored, empty stares. Every hobby you had was dedicated to them, except for one: ballet. The art of dancing, with its sharp and strict moves, dancing on your tiptoes, chin up, and a graceful smile on your face. Nothing could take this away from you, not even Cassandra, who was the apple of her family's eyes as she danced on stage. You loved dancing; it filled your heart with joy and bliss. You believed this was the one thing they could never take from you. That's what you thought.

Ballet demanded strict poise and discipline, watching every bite you took and every drink you swallowed. Your mother was a beautiful woman, enchanting enough to enthrall your father. Her eyes could charm thousands of men and bend their morals to her desire. She was like a siren, captivating men with her ethereal beauty. Your father was no different, dazzling people with his money, perfect white teeth, and undeniable allure. He made heads turn and people giggle at his mere presence. So why did you feel as if you were nothing like them? Created by a goddess and a god, yet you turned out to be so unsightly that your mother sneered and threw you out of her arms, forcing you into the embrace of an unknown man.

You panted lightly, staring at your features in the mirror. Why? Why? Why? Why are you like this? Why can't you feel beautiful? Why can't you be beautiful? Why can't you be a sight for sore eyes like the men and women around you? Their features blended so well with their faces, but you? You felt like a pig with makeup on. You saw beauty in everyone but never in yourself.

Your performance is in about a few more days and you haven't eaten anything healthy for the past 3 days, you're starved, you're pressured, and your family hasn't even answered your text in which you, inviting them to please come watch your performance. Dragging your body to walk home, Alfred unfortunately can't drive you home as he is too busy with work (helping your family with their nightly activities) you hiss as the cold wind blew against your fresh scars-the result of you scratching your face with your nails due to resentment for yourself because of the question in the back of your mind: “why can't you just be good enough?”

The harsh glare of your ballet dance teacher only added more pressure, intensifying the burden on your weak shoulders. You carried the lingering thought that your family didn't care about you and the nagging feeling that you would never be good enough for them. The performance was just a few days away, and you hadn't eaten anything healthy for the past three days. You were starved, pressured, and desperately longing for your family's support. Yet, your texts inviting them to watch your performance went unanswered.

Dragging your exhausted body home, you felt a deep sense of despair. Alfred, who usually drove you home, was too busy with work, assisting your family with their nightly activities. As you walked, the cold wind bit into your fresh scars, the result of scratching your face with your nails out of self-loathing. The question haunted you: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

Your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, each step a reminder of your solitude. The streetlights cast long shadows, mirroring the darkness that seemed to envelop your soul. You could hear the distant laughter of families and friends enjoying their evenings, a stark contrast to the silence that filled your life.

But even though you're killing me

Arriving home, you unlocked the door with trembling hands. The house was quiet, as it always was when you were alone. The once warm and inviting living room now felt cold and unwelcoming. You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a release of the pent-up frustration and sadness. Gasping for breath as you dragged your shivering legs to your cold, small bed room as you dropped your exhausted form to your squeaking bed, staining your pillows with your tears.

I need you like the air I breathe

In your heart, you still held onto a sliver of hope that your family would show up to your performance. You envisioned them in the audience, watching with pride as you executed every move with precision and grace. But reality was harsh, and you knew deep down that their absence would cut deeper than any physical wound. But you needed them. They were the salt to your wounds yet you still crave for their attention. It's not too late right?

Please.

You spent the next few days in a haze, practicing relentlessly for the upcoming performance. Every pirouette, every leap, and every graceful move was tainted by the thought of your family's indifference. You pushed your body to the limit, hoping that the pain would numb the emotional agony. Again, again, again– again y/n! You need to perfect this! This could be the chance for you to prove to them that you're worthy of their attention! That you belong in this family just as much as they do! You can't give up. Stop trembling. Stop acting so weak. If you don't stop acting like a child then maybe they'll eventually throw you out of the house too.

Please

The day of the performance arrived, and you stood backstage, nervously adjusting your costume. Your heart pounded in your chest as you peeked through the curtains, scanning the audience for familiar faces. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that your family was not coming. Your lips trembling, your brain can't fathom the idea of them not coming to this performance—of course you'd expect y/n to be unsurprised by this behavior but it's not fair! You worked so hard for this only for them to answer you with nothing but silence.

I need you more than me

You destroyed yourself for this; for them! You worked every bone in your body and stretched every limb of yours, starved yourself for days, just for them to dismiss your one request to just be there. You just wanted that family where they were all so supportive of you, they all loved and adored you. The worst part is they are just not to you. And you had to learn that the hard way.

I need you more than anything

Summoning every ounce of strength, you stepped onto the stage. The spotlight shone brightly, and for a moment, you felt a surge of confidence. The music began, and you moved with the grace and elegance you had practiced so hard to perfect. Each step was a testament to your dedication, a silent plea for recognition and love. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as a feeling of pain and happiness surged through your chest.

As you danced, the audience watched in awe. To them, you were a vision of beauty and talent. But inside, you felt empty. Every jump, every turn, and every sway of your limb was dedicated to them. With trembling lips you swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the pain in your chest as you play your part of the performance. The applause at the end of your performance was hollow, a reminder that the ones you longed to impress were not there to see it. Backstage, you received praise from your fellow dancers and instructors, but it did little to lift your spirits. You longed for a simple word of encouragement, a sign that your family cared. Instead, you were met with silence. You smiled faintly at them thanking them and exchanging a few compliments here and there. At this moment you couldn't feel anything. You were numb from all the pain you have suffered from this family.

Please, please

That night, as you lay in bed, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of inadequacy. The question echoed once more: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

"Those days are over," you say to yourself as you pack your bags and place your belongings into boxes. You've grown, and after 13 years in the manor begging for scraps of their attention, you've realized that what you want will never become reality. It took you a whole decade and three more years to come to this realization. You shake your head softly and smile sadly. What were you thinking? Of course, they wouldn't care about you. Your normalcy and mediocrity never appealed to them, and you’ve decided those days are finally over. It was time to move out and discover what you were truly meant for.

"What was I made for?"

you ask yourself. This question feels so much better than constantly wondering, "Will they finally look at me?" You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air of your new home. You breathe in and out, closing your eyes for a moment. This was it. You had made it. Slowly, you open your eyes and look at the people surrounding you, those who truly cared for you and saw you through your scars of insecurity, your perfect little hobbies, and your flawed personality. To them, you weren't Y/n Wayne, child of a billionaire, nor Y/n L/n, child of a prostitute. You were just Y/n, who tried so hard, failed, but ultimately succeeded.

The manor has been noticeably quiet for the past few days. The silence weighting discomfort as if something was wrong–as if something was missing. It was surprisingly first noticed by none other than Richard Grayson himself. The first Robin of Batman, the irreplaceable side kick, the first son of Bruce Wayne, and the darling of the crowd whom everyone loves and adore. As he walked through the large halls of the home he grew up in, he felt something was out of place. Like something wasn't in place or rather something was missing. It took him some time to figure it out as the clock ticks

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Aha! He's got it! It was because there wasn't any classic orchestral music playing through the thick walls of the manor. The soft music of pyotr tchaikovsky wasn't heard anywhere around the corners of the walls. That's strange. The sweet melody of violins and cellos wasn't found in any room at all. He didn't know why but it bugged him. He sighs as he disregards it, nevermind he said, must be Alfred playing his favorite old songs. He walks around the manor to look for his siblings and father and somehow stumbled upon this.. Unknown and empty small room. “wow this is.. Something” he muttered under his breath. He inspected the room and saw multiple trophies decorating the room. It was impressive how someone can achieve this many gold medals and such. His gaze traveled across the room and saw a box full of webs and dust, and got interested as he opened it to see an old video game and thought that it must have been Tim's before he decided to throw it away out of boredom. With no more much to do he slid through the doors and whistled his way out of the room, unaware of how many memories a person created in that very same room withering away.

Tim and Damian recognized the absence of humming and the pattern of footsteps that used to echo around the house from an unknown room. The silence made them uncomfortable. They had grown so accustomed to the faint noise that it had somehow brought them comfort. The melodic lullaby of humming painted a serene picture of paradise, lulling them easily to sleep—a struggle they had faced all their lives as vigilantes, or in Damian's case, as an assassin. Their heartbeats aligned with the rhythm of the faint noise.

For Tim, it was a sweet form of salvation from the demons that haunted his nights and kept him from a good night's sleep. For Damian, it was the comfort he never knew, a stark contrast to the heavy stare of his grandfather and the weight of expectations placed on his shoulders by his mother's watchful gaze.

Jason couldn't care less about what happens around that manor. He hated that place. It made him rethink all the moments he wished he could take back. Jason Todd is a hateful man but a good soldier. He destroys in order to protect. He kills in order to let another live. A morally gray person. In his eyes he was what Bruce wayne–Batman couldn't be. But even a man who goes out at night to protect needs a break. So when he came to the manor and went straight to the library and saw that the usual piled up classic books weren't to be seen at their usual spot he found it.. Unsettling per say. The books written by Jane Austen that were filled with marked pages, sticky notes, and annotations not found in the main table of the room were strange to him. He didn't even know who did it but it made him feel like he was home. The silly doodles and random words written on the sticky notes, careful not to dirty the book, made him chuckle every time he saw it; so where was it now?

Cassandra was into ballet. She grew up silenced, observing others, forever cautious. as to why she expresses herself through dancing: ballet. A moment where she can breathe and let go. Where she can freely pour her heart into dancing. Every point, every movement, she releases her unsaid emotions. She was raised that way. Except then she was thought to swallow her words and release her pent up emotions into bad things instead of gracefully dancing. She was completely in love with dancing. Whenever she went to collect her ballet shoes there's always an extra bandage, extra shoes played on the floor. She never knew why and she never questioned it. Just ignored it. But now she somehow froze at her spot to see nothing but her shoes and not next to the light pink ones that had a small bow to compliment its design. Ever so stunning; the person who wears it must have been the same kind of persona-wait.. Person? There's another one.. Oh.

Bruce Wayne was a busy man. By day, he handled his company, Wayne Enterprises. His days were filled with paperwork, meetings, and managing marketing strategies. But by night, he never slept. No, he donned the mantle of Batman, the prince of Gotham City, the guardian of Lady Gotham. He didn't have time for anything he deemed unworthy of his attention. He noticed every tiny mistake, be it at work or on the streets of Gotham. At work, he spotted grammatical errors and unstraightened lines of decorative mugs. As Batman, he detected the slightest hint of lies in a criminal's eyes. So, yes, he noticed that something—or rather, someone—from the manor was missing.

As dick whistled his way out of the room unable to find his family members, he decided to go to the batcave and have a little fun while being alone. He did all things he could think of. Look for more cases to solve, dig some stuff out criminal records, blah blah blah.. Then he decided to check the manor's CCTV.

As dick was checking the cctv's of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage-about 2 weeks ago of a person..? Packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible.. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates, it's impossible. Unless..

Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled and his eyes dilated..

It can't be.

You.. Y-..y/n? What were you doing? Where are you going? He bit his lips harshly as he watched the footage like a hawk. His hands came to fidget with his hair. Was that really you? You look so grown.. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered on what you were doing. After a matter of time he somehow remembers. Oh yeah! Your contact number. His hands trembling, in a hurry he pressed your name in his phone and.. Shoot. His eyes widened at the several missed calls and texts from you. Not even a single response from him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he talked to you? Like, really talked to you? He quickly text you “heyy baby birdddd I miss you! Let's hang out right now!” while biting his thumb as he bounced his thighs up and down from anticipation. And then suddenly.. He remembers! The room! It was yours! Before he even knew it, he was quick on his feet and ran like a mad man towards your room. He panted slightly at the face of your door and harshly opened your room unaware of his strength. He went through every corner of your room. He explored every side of your room to find something-anything that can give him even a spoil of information about you. And that was when he found a tiny pink notebook. He chuckled softly, out of breath, hair messed up like a mad man but dick didn't care, no because he finally found your one and only diary! Filled with bows and pink glitters.. Hah..you were so cute. He went through your diary, invading your privacy and saw all of the things you've said. The way you praised him, the way you adored your family, your little adventures, your previous ballet performances (you did ballet? Wow, you're just so talented.. Oh his little bird.) he suddenly heard a high pitched ping! And scrambled to his phone as he expected a response from you but instead all he was met with was “y/n has blocked you”.

What..? Why? Didn't you want to spend time with your precious big brother? His blood shot eyes twitched and sweat ran down from his face. The suddenly a deep voice said:

“dick? What's going on here?”

Note: as promised! Here is the chapter yall asked forrr tell me what you guys think!