#everyone sings his praises but you watch as he is sent on more and more ridiculous solo missions

[opaleyedprince]

thinking abt the horrors of immortality btw. if u even care

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[mooglyyoon]

The Groupie

Synopsis: You meet Jungkook after one of his shows and makes you his personal groupie.

Warning: Degrading, Spanking, Hair pulling, Rough and raw sex.

Pairings: Rockstar!Jk x Fem!Reader

^^^^^^^^^^^

You feel your stomach start to bubble with nerves as you make your way through the crowd to get to the front of the stage. You had manage to get floor tickets and you definitely wanted to get your moneys worth. Getting to the front you press yourself against the metal gate that held you and the thousands of other people in barricade.

You came alone but managed to mingle with some of the girls around you waiting for the show to start. You’ve seen Jungkook live before but you’d never been this close. As dumb as it may sound, you always believed artists would find someone in the crowd they’re attracted to and make it slightly known. So you put some effort into your appearance tonight.

A black tube top, tight enough to expose your cleavage, a black ripped denim jacket with a black plaid miniskirt and black combat boots definitely matched the aesthetic of Jungkook. You did makeup that fit you and your outfit and the others around you definitely praised your looks.

You saw lights of the stage start to flicker and the vibration of the speakers close to you started to vibrate through your body. You turned fully and directed your attention to the male that made his way onto the stage.

The concert was amazing. You were jumping, laughing, singing, and during the last song, you were holding your shirt from falling, jumping to the beat and you swore Jungkook was watching.

He was singing with a subtle smirk on his face and he kept his gaze on you, watching the way you moved and shined under the flashing lights as you recited every lyric of his song. Jungkook swore you were heaven sent. He’d never seen someone so beautiful in such a setting.

The song ended and Jungkook left the stage and you left as quick as possible. Your makeup looked wet with sweat and you held your jacket in your hands as you walked out of the concert hall. Walking down the corridor you saw some girls standing out like they were waiting for something or someone.

And that’s when you noticed the male you came to see. The girls huddled around Jungkook and he brushed them off politely and kept his stride determined as he made his way to you.

There he stood right in front of you. You knew Jungkook had groupies. Everyone knew that. He never cared about what anyone thought of him and evidently, that’s what made him more attractive.

“Hi there.” He spoke roughly, voice slightly raspy from earlier. He looked down at you, his tattooed hand pushing your hair off your shoulders. “Jungkook..” You spoke up, a little stunned at the situation.

“Can I take you back with me, babe?” He spoke so confidently and so smoothly, you couldn’t help but nod your head. Immediately he wrapped his arm around your waist and walked you to his dressing room, ignoring the girls mean mugs at you.

He walked you into his room and locked the door quickly before anyone could interrupt. You set your jacket on the chair in the room and put your attention to him. “You’re so fucking stunning.” You heard him gruff as he stepped closer to you. He looked at you and put a hand on the small of your back, pushing you into him.

“Couldn’t help but need to see you after the show.” He tilted his head at you and you looked up at him, putting your hands on his toned chest. “Need to?” You squinted at him. This being confirmation of what you assumed earlier during the performance.

“Mm yes baby, need to.” He said and you felt his hand drop to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. Your jaw fell with a gasp and your eyes fluttered ever so slightly at the feeling. The pool between your legs growing by the second. Jungkook knew the affect he had on women, but with you, it was so different. You weren’t quick to give it up and he loved it so much.

“Jungkook.” The moan left your lips quietly and he smirked above you before he spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch. You yelped when you felt your skirt being flipped up and your legs being spread roughly. The wet stain on your panties being exposed to him.

“Soaked already?” You practically hear the smirk in his tone as you felt your panties being pushed to the side. “Mm yes.” You muffled against the couch and felt his finger rub in the wetness. His finger rubbed against your clit and your moans sounded like sweet music to his ears.

“Gonna fuck this pretty cunt yeah? Make you cum like a dirty slut.” Your pussy squeezed around nothing at his harsh words. It turned you on more and you heard his pants being undone and soon you felt his wet tip at your entrance.

His hands parted your ass for him so he could get a better view and he continued to press his tip against you, teasing you. “P-Please…Need to feel you.” You begged, wanting him to stop stalling. You heard a chuckle and felt a stinging pain in your ass as the smack echoed through the room.

“Such a slut. Just wanna be filled up by a dick.” You moaned at his words and soon felt his dick fill you up quickly. He stretched you out so much and he didn’t even give you time to adjust when you felt his dick slamming back into you at a hard and quick pace.

“Fuuuuck so wet and tight.” His head was thrown back as your pussy basically suffocated his dick. The sounds in the room were nasty to say the least. The slapping of his hips against your ass, your moans with his grunts, the sound of your wetness with each thrust he made only caused you to grow wetter if it was even possible.

You felt your knees buckle as you squeezed around him. He slapped your ass against and spoke up, “Let me breathe fuck, so tight.” You squeezed again with a moan and you felt a hand reach to your hair and yank you up by a makeshift ponytail.

His thrusts didn’t stop however, he pulled you into his chest and it was as if he thrusts became relentless. “Sluts need to listen when they’re spoken to.” He groaned right into your ear and his hand went down to start roughly rubbing your clit. His fingers pressed down hard causing enough pressure to be too much and your knees start to buckle again.

“T-too much!!” You cried as tears pooled your eyes and a hard orgasm washed over you. He didn’t stop and only went harder. He pushed you back over the couch, his hand in the middle of your back as he continued fucking you. “Gonna make me fucking cum, shit.” He grunted and moved his hands to grip your hips roughly. Moving you back slightly onto him with each of his thrusts.

“P-please!” You almost screamed at the over stimulation and with a few more hard thrust you felt an emptiness between your legs as he quickly pulled out of you and came right on your ass. “Fuuuuck, such a pretty ass.” You felt his release coat your lower half as he finished.

He pulled his pants up and fixed himself as he grabbed a rag from the table and gently cleaned you up. He helped you stand even with the slight struggle and turned you to face him.

“Wanna see you again, yeah?” He spoke and slipped a paper with his number in the hem of your skirt and kissed your cheek quickly before walking to the door and unlocking it. Letting you leave, knowing he’d see you soon.

[your-regular-toast-enjoyer]

Yandere! Batfam x Reader

Batfam x reader or Batfam/reader

Yandere Batfam x reader or Yandere Batfam/reader

Word count: 8639 words

TW: GN reader, adult Damian Wayne, mentions drugs, yandere, neglect, angst and kidnapping.

You were Bruce’s youngest child, a year younger than Damian and several years younger than the rest. You were simply the result of a hookup on one of Bruce’s many business trips, it might’ve been to Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia or even just somewhere else in America. The point is, you didn’t grow up in Gotham until the age of thirteen when your mother died in a violent car crash, one in which you had also been involved. 

You had sat for hours in the backseat, slowly seeing your mother’s life drain from her eyes as the fire brigade did their best to cut their way into the car. It had all been for nought though, with her dying before the paramedics even arrived. You were physically fine except for some deep cuts and bruises, but your mother’s abdomen had been pierced as a drunk driver of a flatbed lorry carrying steel poles had backed violently into your car, sending the metal sticks flying straight towards your vehicle. One of the poles had gone through the window and hit your mother. It was a gruesome sight, so vile that you threw up several times as you were hauled out of the wreck.

Legally, you were supposed to go to your father, even if your mother’s parents, possible siblings or someone else were willing to take you, the law demanded that it’d be your father who took you. Bruce had signed your birth certificate, he wasn’t unaware of your existence, and he had since your birth sent monthly child support to your mother, but that was all you really were to him up until that point; A negligible extra expense. 

It wasn’t that Bruce disliked you when you came to the manor. You were simply a scared kid who had just lost their mother and was deeply grieving. He had dealt with plenty of those. He had just been busy… He obviously had his obligations as Bruce Wayne: CEO duties, public image and bundles of paperwork, but it was more so his obligations as Batman and to his other children, which pulled him away from you when you first came into his home. Damian, especially, took up most of his time. Not only did the two of them constantly train for protecting the city, thus developing a closer bond than you’d ever have with either of them, but Bruce was also very aware of how Damian’s childhood at the league weighed down on him mentally, so, he kept him close, let him vent his frustrations and slowly but surely get over his trauma. 

 From the very beginning, you became the forgotten child:

Dick was always so focused on Damian, singing his praises and always taking care of him. He usually forgot to even greet you whenever he visited the manor for a week or two, often going “Oh! I haven’t seen you all this time! Well, bye to you too Y/n”, whenever he left. Whenever the oldest brother was visiting, you’d stand in the doorway to the living room, observing with stinging eyes as he embraced Damian like the boy mattered more than the entire world. You had forgotten how it felt to actually matter that much to someone. You wondered if you ever had. Why you tortured yourself with watching the two, you didn’t know, perhaps because you longed to be in Damian’s position? You weren’t even sure yourself. The reason probably didn’t matter, as your forced your eyes to stay on the two, only leaving when you could feel silent tears run down your cheeks. 

Jason was the friendliest, not particularly caring for Damian and Bruce either, often calling the green-eyed boy “Demonspawn”, which you’d laugh loudly at, only to be sent to your room by Bruce for upsetting Damian. Jason understood though, usually going to your room to hang out with you and listen to your stories, unlike everyone else. He came to adore you. Damian might’ve been Dick’s favourite sibling, but you were Jason’s. Since Damian was called “Babybird”, Jason called you “Tiny tweet”, even though you didn’t hold the title of Robin. You loved the times when Jason was there, he made you finally feel understood and heard. Unfortunately, Jason was at the manor even less than Dick, (who spent 90% of his time in Blüdhaven), since he couldn’t stand the sight of Bruce for longer than an hour every other month. So, the brief moments of reprieve the second oldest offered were few and far between, still leaving you isolated most of the time.

Tim barely spared you a glance, too busy with his own school, vigilantism and friends. He appreciated that you weren’t annoying like Damian, who’d constantly attack him, thus automatically bringing you above the little devil on Tim’s tier list of family members… however, Damian was at the very bottom, which didn’t make it a great achievement. If you ever tried to converse with Tim, he’d dismiss you with a wave of his long bony hand, telling you to find someone else to chit-chat with. You stopped your attempts at befriending the middle child after a handful of unsuccessful tries, barely seeing him after that. As a matter of fact, whenever you tried to visualise a picture of Tim, it was the image of his slim dismissive hand which appeared. You had forgotten if his hair was black or dark brown, if his eyes were light blue or grey or if his nose had a bump or not. He bordered on becoming a personal myth to you; You knew he existed in a far-off world, but he wasn’t within your orbit.

Damian was at first fearful that you’d take his place, bullying you, physically harassing you and bringing up your mother until you were left wailing on the floor. When you told Bruce though he’d always tell you to, “Be the bigger person, Damian has been through a lot”. You wished you could have fought against your youngest brother, but not only was he older and stronger than you, but he was also a trained assassin and vigilante. You stood no chance. When Damian realised that you were no threat to his position, he left you alone, avoiding talking to you and interacting with you on the basis that you simply didn’t matter to him. He had actually once accidentally told a teacher that he only had three siblings, not realising that he had forgotten about you until he was on his way home, replaying the conversation in his head. Damian might’ve once tried to become closer to you after Alfred had given him a long spiel about how “family is important”, but quickly realised that you trusted him less than the thieves in Crime Alley, and so he abandoned the idea.

Bruce didn’t mean to ignore you, it was purely accidental, but he had on multiple occasions forgotten your birthday and even once failed to remember buying you any Christmas presents, leaving you as the only Wayne child with no gifts that year, to which you had simply muttered something along the lines of, “Of course”, not in a vengeful or angry way, instead in a resigned and understanding tone, before going back to your room that night and not leaving until a day or two later. Alfred had scolded him for that occurrence, there wasn’t really anything he could’ve said in his defence and even Dick had looked at him with disgust as they all took in the image of you standing there, alone, surrounded by gifts that weren’t for you. It had been a striking visual, yet not enough to make Bruce change his ways. It wasn’t that he held any animosity towards you, you were simply just air to him, he had no idea where you were at any given time or who you were, sometimes he even forgot your face.

Alfred was a kind man, an understanding man. However, just like Bruce, he also had others to worry about, and the more isolated you became in your behaviour, the less able he was to spend time with you. Not only that, but he also refused to hear you talk badly of any of your brothers, and even Bruce was off the table if you felt like complaining. Alfred was a sweet and patient man, but to you it felt as if he had lost the plot, as if he didn’t understand how badly you were treated, because his love for the others blinded him, making him an unfortunate enabler of your torment. Alfred was only really good for giving you a biscuit/cookie when you sat in the kitchen, apathetically staring into a wall, for venting your frustrations, however? He was useless.

Your father neglected to handle your trauma. However, somehow, in his messed up brain, he reasoned that any trauma which was vigilante-related could somehow be considered worse as it was on a much larger scale than a single individual losing their mother. This made you grow resentful of both Damian and your father, the careful way Bruce would adapt everything to fit Damian’s wants and needs, disregarding yours, slowly lit a fire within you, a fire which burned with hatred towards them both.

I could see you wanting to join the vigilante life when you’re perhaps fifteen. You had watched the others train for years and would often sneak into the bat cave after dark to train yourself. You were good, really good, so you decided that you might as well start doing actual vigilante work. You did realise that you hadn’t quite reached a fighting level where that’d be a good idea, so you decided to find a more seasoned mentor. A slight detail, which would become important. Your father didn’t have the time to teach you. So who did you call up? That’s right! Jason.

 Jason was reluctant to take you under his wing, at first. He even came to the manor to convince you that vigilantism wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. However, after pouring your bleeding heart out to the only brother who cared, he accepted, still apprehensive though.

Jason started his training from the top, getting into the basics swiftly. You got it down faster than he had at first thought, being an astoundingly quick-learner, something which the red-masked vigilante attributed to having Wayne blood in your veins. After locking down all the groundwork within a year or so, it was time to start your specialisation; Choice of weapons, fighting style and general tactics were all next. While training with Jason, you slowly moved into the spare room in his apartment. It wasn’t like you had a bunch of things to move, but what little you had, Jason helped transport from the manor to his primary safehouse.

When Jason considered you ready, you started working as his shadow sidekick. Never known by the vigilante community at large, but definitely a secret menace to Gotham’s criminals. Jason did a good job of keeping your vigilantism a secret After your first three years of training, you completely stopped visiting the manor, even on holidays. You were technically a legal adult now and felt no obligation to stick around a house whose inhabitants had made it clear that you were unwelcome.

No one except Alfred knew that you had completely left for the first long while, with him being the only one you had bid farewell to. The old butler refused to tell Bruce until the man noticed himself. That day would come approximately four months after you stopped coming to the manor, on Christmas eve:

Damian had been the one to notice your absence secondly, after Alfred. He commented on it during the Christmas family dinner, one which Bruce only held for his sons' sakes, and where the only two not attending were Jason and you. Even Dick was there, on a visit from Blüdhaven, spry and jolly around his favourite younger sibling. Damian. 

“Where’s L/N?” The green-eyed man had questioned loudly. Silence followed. Bruce took a look around, you weren’t there. They all knew that Jason wouldn’t be attending, he had declined Bruce’s requests every year since his resurrection, instead opting to go to Roy’s place. A lump formed in Bruce’s throat, yet he didn’t know why. “Damian, can you go get them down? They probably didn’t hear that dinner was served”, Dick requested kindly with a smile on his lips. The man in question would’ve usually complained, but since it was his eldest brother who asked, he got up wordlessly. Conversation at the table resumed, with Alfred biting his lips in contemplation. ‘Should he have informed Bruce of your absence, even though he knew you were at Jason’s?’ ‘Perhaps’, he concluded, deciding to keep silent about the whole matter, it was unfair to you. You had moved on, and even if he missed you terribly, it was not his place to demand your return. A piercing “What!” Stopped all the chatter at the table. Damian came barrelling back into the dining room, grabbing the side of the door with a tight knuckle to stabilise himself. “Their room is completely empty! All their stuff is gone! The only things left are the bed and closet!” 

Bruce had stood up immediately, his chair colliding with the ground behind him as he brushed by Damian, entering your room, his son had been right. Your room was empty. None of the posters you had brought with you from your life with your mother, no papers lying scattered around and no other signs of use. As Bruce looked closer at the remaining furniture, he found that a thick layer of dust coated every surface. The room was as empty as when you arrived as a child and something in Bruce’s stomach dropped. “Y/n!” He called out. No reply. Soon, the entire manor was looking for you, even Alfred pretended to do so as well, his guilt of knowing eating him up from the inside. None of them found you, you had vanished without a trace.

 Somehow, your perceived disappearance became the thing to snap your family’s collective consciousness. All hyped up by each other’s worry and driven into a frenzy. Bruce believed that you had gotten kidnapped or ran away, and it scared him. The thought of his negligence having brought you to extremes was like a spear through his heart, switching something on in his brain. He ordered his available sons to scour the entire city of Gotham to find you, completely forgetting about Christmas and leaving only Alfred behind to stay at the manor, in case you returned on your own. Bruce also ensured that most rooms in the manor were lit, like a lighthouse showing you home. Meanwhile, you and Jason were celebrating the holidays at Roy’s place in Star City, oblivious to what was taking place in all the major cities. You were playing with Lian as the two men chatted about old times and the poor quality of the beer they were drinking; Roy had let you two stay for a few days, so Jason could properly enjoy the festivities without thinking of his alcohol percentage as he was the designated driver. None of you had any idea of the ruckus going on only a few cities away.

It was after this Christmas that the family changed irreversibly. Suddenly, your safety became their top priority. Spear-headed by Bruce, who had a borderline existential crisis as he believed there was an equal chance of you being dead in a ditch somewhere and you being tortured by some rogue. Bruce was overtaken by guilt and challenged this feeling into pure rage as he beat up henchmen and rogues within an inch of their lives, believing them to have somehow connected you to Batman. They hadn’t and were entirely unaware of why the bat was so obsessed with this one person. Were you perhaps vital in an ongoing detective case? Or did Bruce Wayne tip him off to be extra vigilant when finding his youngest? They had no clue.

Well, obviously, Christmas was ruined. When all of the batboys and their father returned home empty-handed, they were in no mood for celebrations. Tim simply sat in a chair, lamenting, as he stared into a wall with something akin to resignation, running calculations in his head of where you could have possibly gone, before heading for the cave to view the security footage as far back as he had stored. Bruce and Damian refused to simply stop looking for the night, not staying long at the manor before they started searching other cities, making some of their vigilante friends aware of the situation. After staying in the nearest bathroom, and regaining control of his emotions, Dick joined his youngest brother and father in their quest for searching other cities. Bruce went to Metropolis, Damian to Central City and Dick to Blüdhaven. They had planned that they would each scour a city tonight and one the night after, it would be impossible to find you during the day, as there were way too many people wandering the streets. Alfred still remained silent, he didn’t think it was fair of them to bring you back, not with the way they had treated you and not when you had clearly left of your own volition.

Bruce had informed his closest friend, Clark Kent, of your disappearance, with the alien immediately insisting on aiding in the search. “It’ll be quicker if we both look at the same time!” Clark had yelled determined through the phone, his southern drawl helping to calm Bruce’s nerves, if only slightly. That was how not only Batman but also Superman started patrolling the streets of Metropolis, in search of a single person, you. Jon too wanted to aid in the search and offered Damian to take over looking in Central city, so he could look somewhere else instead, thus covering more ground, Damian agreed and went to Coast city. 

As the news spread to the citizens of these cities that the Supers and the Bats had teamed up to look for one of Bruce Wayne’s missing kids, it became the talk of everyone’s dinner tables. News channels ran multiple stories about it, despite it being Christmas, being hyped up in no small part thanks to Lois Lane, whose heart went out to the Waynes for losing someone so close to them. The story had slowly morphed from you having run away voluntarily, to you having been kidnapped as a ransom. Everyone who heard of your story believed it to be a tragedy committed by someone who couldn’t even hold up the sanctity of the holiday spirits.

Back at home, Tim reviewed all of the security footage and went as far back as four months, that was when he saw you exit the manor with multiple boxes in your arms, loading them into a red lorry. He kept looking at you walking back and forth for a while until a well-known presence stepped out of the vehicle. Jason. Tim stood still, you hadn’t just moved out of the manor, you had moved in with Jason. You had moved in with the second oldest brother, and neither of you had bothered to inform anyone! Tim seethed, he wasn’t mad at you, no, he could never be. But Jason, the mere thought of him now made Tim’s blood boil. He believed that his brother had borderline kidnapped you away from them. His ire intensified when he saw Jason enter the manor and come out with more of your stuff packed into boxes. That was enough evidence for Tim to conclude that Jason must’ve forced you to move out, that it really hadn’t been your choice at all… Skillfully ignoring how none of the people in the manor had ever given you a reason to stay, let alone noticed that you had been gone for over four months. 

However, knowing that you were with Jason made him able to conclude that you were likely in one of his safehouses or spending your Christmas with his best friend Roy, those two were inseparable, after all. He decided that he would look through Jason’s safe houses, then he called up Damian, “Go to Roy Harper’s place and look for Y/n. They’re with Jason.” Tim’s voice was dark, foreboding and it even made Damian’s hairs stand straight. Truly the stuff of nightmares. Tim explained the situation to both Dick and Bruce afterwards, as he glided through the air from safe house to safe house. Letting the two know that he had sent Damian after you and that they could come home now. Even if Tim currently held the desire to puncture Jason’s lungs for taking you away from them… away from him, he knew his older brother would never let anything happen to you. You were weak in his mind, and in the rest of the family’s mind too. Perhaps they would’ve worried less if they knew of your vigilante training… or maybe not. Vigilantism is dangerous, after all.

When Roy had turned on the TV briefly, you had all been bombarded with news of your disappearance. Your apathetic face from your last high school photo was plastered on every news network, big and small. News of an all-out search party with multiple vigilantes involved was outlined in great detail. Both Jason and you looked at each other with a mix of concern and confusion. It had been four months since you had last been at the manor, Alfred knew of your departure, what were they doing?! Lian had thankfully been put to bed, none of you wanted her to view the panic that crossed all three of your faces. “What the heck are they up to?” Roy questioned no one in particular. “It’s probably a façade, someone might have noticed that ‘Bruce Wayne’ was down one child and now he needs to find me to assure them that I’m not dead. It wouldn’t be a good look to have multiple children die in your custody. No offence Jay”, you postulated, it was a far reach but still the best explanation you could come up with. Jason had agreed with your assessment, giving you a light smack to the back of your head for mentioning his death. He wasn’t mad, but he always joked that it was a sensitive subject.

The three of you tried to come up with solutions to the problem at hand when you were interrupted by an impatient knock on the door. “I’ll get it”, Roy muttered. Making his way out of the living room, where you had previously stood, and towards the entrance. The moment he turned the lock, the door was swung open by whoever was on the other side, the wooden frame just barely missing Roy’s face. Heavy footsteps made their way towards the living room. Roy barely had the time to realise who it was before they were gone, striding towards where you were. 

“Damian?!” You exclaimed, confused. The green-eyed man stood in front of both Jason and you, wearing his full Robin costume. You wondered how he had gotten here so quickly, the news mentioned how he’d been to both Central City and Coast City, both were relatively far away from your current location. “I’ve come to take you home, Y/n. We have been worried for your safety and I see that Todd took full advantage of your little outburst.” Damian’s voice was spiteful, Tim had managed to fuel his ever-latent anger and direct it towards Jason. You tried to rebuke your youngest brother, but Jason stepped in front of you, ready to defend you against the green-eyed menace, “As if! They’re not going back with you, just to end up being ignored by everyone again! Just because Bruce needs his public image to be clean, doesn’t make it their problem! So run along, Demonspawn!”  Damian did not take well to refusal, let alone Jason’s uncalled-for name-calling. 

Damian marched past the taller man and straight towards you. As he tried to grab your forearm, he was thwarted as you defended yourself, blocking his arm and throwing him to the ground. Damian was shocked and Jason was grinning like a proud father. Roy came strolling in at the same time, having checked on Lian’s safety, no problems there. “What did you teach them?!” Damian screamed at Jason, blaming him for your newfound strength. “Everything, they’re a vigilante. I’m not gonna send them out on the streets without knowing how to defend themselves.” The second oldest brother swung an arm around your shoulders as you stood still, giving Damian a look that promised nothing good. 

Well, this was unacceptable to Damian, who had silently called for reinforcement, filming your entire interaction so far on a gadget connected to his chest plate. When Bruce heard Jason’s words, he felt yet another stone sink to the bottom of his abdomen, he had let you become a vigilante, his little Y/n… No, this would not do. All of them agreed on this. Once they had you again, they all decided that anything vigilante-related would be kept out of your reach. While both Dick and Bruce were flattered that you’d share a career path with them, they could not accept the danger it brought you in.

It didn’t take long for Damian’s request to be honoured, as Bruce and the boys took a zeta tube to Star City and immediately went to Roy’s. It took no more than twenty minutes, with Damian engaging in a violent screaming match with Jason, accusing him of kidnapping you, of forcing you to play his mock Robin just to spite your shared father and of many more heinous crimes, which the green-eyed man covered your ears for, despite your attempts to get him to stop touching you. When a barrage of impatient knocks sounded on Roy’s door for the second time, he didn’t open it. Instead, he opted for locking Lian’s bedroom door and grabbing his bow as well as a handful of arrows, which he had reverse-engineered from Oliver’s original ones, aiming one at the entrance. 

Of course, none of the dark-haired men on the other side waited for Roy to feel charitable enough to invite them into his home, as Dick harshly kicked the door in, wooden splinters spreading across the entrance hall’s floor. “What the hell are you doing in my home!” Roy screamed, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Lian. His bow was still pulled tight, an arrow aimed at the newcomers as a threat to not tread further into his flat. “Calm down, speedy. I will replace your door. I’m here to bring my youngest home”, Bruce muttered as he tried to enter the living room, only to be stopped by an arrow flying just past his nose. “Do not take another step. You are intruders”, Roy seethed, orange strands of hair swaying in the air as he made his way in front of the bat trio of Dick, Tim and Bruce.

Bruce was almost surprised by Roy's violent reaction. Almost. He was obviously quite aware of the redhead’s close bond with his second oldest, who had in turn evidently been closer to you than he had ever thought. You had moved in together, after all. Bruce did not blame Jason like Damian and Tim, instead, he simply saw it as an accentuation of his own failings as a father. Still, it was a very serious action to threaten the Batman, the very implications of which stunted both Bruce and Tim for just a moment. Dick wasn’t, however, immediately turning on his trusted secret weapon, skilful manipulation. 

With slow steps, Dick managed to get right in front of the archer, putting a caring hand on his shoulder. “Roy. Surely, as a father, you of all people must understand why Bruce wants his child back. Y/n and he needs to mend their relationship. For Y/n. Imagine how they’ll feel years in the future when they have no father to turn to? They have the chance to get a real security net, something which I know you always wanted at their age. Surely, you must realise that just you and Jason can’t be enough… Not to go into too much detail, but the two of you haven’t been known to be the most… how would you put it… reliable? Stable? …clean?”  Dick’s mention of Roy’s former substance problems broke his initial apprehension. Between Jason, you and him, it was a topic that was never mentioned, it brought back doubts and was probably his second biggest insecurity, his biggest one being… “Imagine if Y/n was Lian? You would want her to have a father, wouldn’t you? Of course, you do! That’s why you stayed. Y/n needs a father too, and not just that they need all of their brothers at their side, Jason can’t stand in for a father. Surely, you would know.” Dick continued. It was a dirty trick to mention Lian, but it worked as Roy lowered his bow, stepping aside for the Waynes to enter the room where Damian and Jason were currently in a screaming match.

Once Jason saw his other brothers and Bruce, he ripped you away from Damian and tried to push past them, holding your hand protectively and tight. It didn’t work, however, as Tim was quick to stun his older brother with a taser, right after Dick had tugged you securely into his latex-covered chest. You didn’t quite know what happened after that, Dick pried your lips and teeth apart, dropping a little round tablet on your tongue, before immediately shifting his hand to cover both your mouth and nose. Shifting the pill around in your mouth to not swallow it, while you tried to kick him away, did absolutely nothing. Dick was stronger and a greater fighter than you’d ever be, your attempts at resistance were little more to Dick than a cat scratching his arms. The blue-eyed man held you close with his free arm, gently cooing supportive reassurances as the pill melted in your cheeks, bitter and promising a nightmare when you woke up.

When your eyes opened again, you were laying in your old bed at Wayne manor. The window had been covered up with thick metal bars, spread no more apart than half of your head’s size. Much of your old stuff, which you had brought to Jason’s primary safe house, was back. They were nowhere near where you had put them when you lived here previously, a testament to how little whoever had reinstated your items actually knew about you. Sitting up, you found that your old cotton bedding had been changed for what you assumed to be silk, it was weirdly soft and you didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. Your duvet was a deep shade of green with golden accents, and you immediately knew who was responsible for the change. Damian. Perhaps he was even the one who had moved all your old stuff back. Their methodical placement, with very few items not lining the wall, certainly looked like how Damian had decorated his own room.

 A large red box, filled with all your old clothes, as well as a bunch of new items stood in the middle of your room. You ignored it as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to stand up only to find that your vision was double-crossed and your breaths shallow, you were dizzy beyond measure and your head pounded like mad, not to mention the coating of glistening sweat, which made you feel gross just being in your own body. What in the world had Dick given you? 

Still, you attempted to move to the door, even if you realised you couldn’t stand up without fainting on the spot. Grasping your mattress tightly with both hands, you gently lowered yourself to the cold floor. Moving your legs under you, you managed to sit on your knees. Leaning forward, you took the fall with your palms, now standing on all fours. You hoped no one would ever see you in this state, it was humiliating not being able to move about as you normally did, but you had to get out or at least try. You had no idea what your father and brothers wanted with you, but you had a feeling it was nothing good.   

Sliding your shins forward and following the motion with your hands, you slowly made your way towards the door. Raising a hand to the knob, you were surprised when the door swung open by itself. In the door stood Tim, warm towels in his arms. “Ah! I saw on the camera feed that you were awake! I thought you might enjoy some pampering.” A beat of silence rang out as you met Tim’s eyes, pale blue like a summer sky. You almost impressed yourself as you jumped forward, drilling the top of your head into his knees, making the lanky man fall to the ground with a grunt, as you tried to crawl away as quickly as possible. Tim was quick to get back on his feet, running after you, but you had already reached the closest stairs leading down. It only took one look down the long wooden construction to realise what you had to do, even if it would hurt more than anything. Tim realised what you were trying as he saw your shifty eyes cast a sideways glance down the steps.

 “Y/n! Don’t you dare!” You didn’t let him finish as you closed your eyes and leaned to the side, starting to roll down the steps… or at least you would have, had it not been for the iron grip on your forearm. At first, you believed it to be Tim, but as you started to struggle, you realised that the hold was too tight and the hand too strong. Cracking open an eye, you could feel your heart sink into your stomach. Damian. Somehow, your youngest brother was the scariest one. The others were always ambivalent to your presence, but Damian had been openly hostile to you in your youth, oftentimes attacking you verbally or physically, and you didn’t doubt he could be violent towards you again. “What are you doing, Y/n?” His voice was no-nonsense, yet his eyes were soft. A strange dichotomy. “Getting away from you psychos”, you mumbled coldly, your throat was dry and the urge to cough arose as you spoke. The green-eyed man looked pensive, a tick in his jaw betrayed how he was trying to hold in his anger. He didn’t bother answering your insult, instead, he slung you onto his back and made his way back to your room, sneering at Tim when the two passed each other. Once back in your room, Damian held you down on the bed by your wrists, as he sat next to you. A general meeting was called, involving everyone in the family, except Jason, whom you had no clue where had gone.

Bruce had arrived almost immediately, with Dick prancing in not too long after. You weren’t sure what they wanted from you, assuming this was all to save Bruce’s public image, but even if that wasn’t the reason, you were sure that it was nothing good. They had all shown up on Christmas just to take you away from the only people you considered close friends and family. No one with good intentions would do something like that. As soon as the offending Waynes had all arrived, you spat out for them to announce the purpose of your kidnapping immediately. Both Bruce and Dick seemed disturbed by you titling their actions as a kidnapping. With the latter trying to defend it as being more of an obligatory change of scenery. It didn’t work, and you waited for someone to give you a proper answer with a deadpan. Damian had loosened his grip on you as the others arrived and all sat at the edge of the bed, surrounding you and making sure that you no longer had any possibility of escaping. It was claustrophobic and ominous.

Bruce was the one to explain that they had all led you back home to build the relationships, which you had all been deprived of in your younger years, expressing his regret and familial love for you, something which was echoed by the other men in the room. You were unconvinced. Telling them to drop the act and just tell you the real reason already, exclaiming how you didn’t have time to play charades with them. No matter how much they tried to convince you of their sincerity, you would have none of it, throwing their past actions in their face as proof of their dishonourable underlying motives. The meeting adjourned with no real progress made, other than the four of them deciding that you would be a danger to yourself if left alone and, therefore, making a schedule of when each of them would be by your side.

Bruce was shocked at your inability to believe in their love for you, his guilt multiplying by a hundred as he realised how untrusting you had become of your own family. He realised that he was to blame, attempting to grasp your hand, so small compared to his. Yet, when his fingers came close to yours, you jerked away, sending him a stare filled with nothing but disgust and hatred. He swore to change this, to do anything in his power to turn you to the truth of your family’s love for you, his love for you, his youngest child. The one he had almost let slip away. 

Dick was heartbroken, he had truly believed that when they revealed their regret, you’d accept them back into your life with open arms. At your apprehension, the acrobat felt as if he was brought right back to when his parents died. Once again feeling his family slip through his fingers. However, this time, he was no longer the innocent bystander, who had done nothing to deserve the situation. No, this time he felt just like the man who had cut the robes of his parents’ trapeze. He had been the one who sabotaged his relationship with you. Still, he refused to let that be how the two of you would part ways. No. He deserved a second chance, he was your brother, after all. Family doesn’t just split with each other because of misunderstandings. He promised you and himself that he would not let it end like this. The two of you would become just as close as he and Damian, no matter how long it’d take. Dick could wait... No, he couldn't.

Tim blamed Jason for your sudden unwillingness to trust their intentions. Not even giving their prior neglect any thought. It was funny how he had practically worshipped Jason when he was younger, but now? Now, he blamed Jason for having corrupted your mind. Tim had completely turned around the memories of you attempting to communicate with him when you were younger. Instead of him telling you to scram every time you walked into his room to talk, he had deluded his own mind into thinking that he used to welcome you with open arms. Certain memories of Conner and him playing video games for hours on end were changed into the two of you doing the very same. He did not blame you for your hesitance, he preferred to solely, yet delusionally, place the entire blame on Jason. The ex-Robin, who had once been Tim’s biggest idol, had now turned into his greatest enemy. The way he so readily placed the blame on someone else spoke volumes about his lack of awareness when it came to your lucidity. He was sure that he could turn your mind ‘right’, by that he, of course, meant, ‘make you believe his version of events’. Tim’s delusional memories might’ve started off as just a plan to manipulate you, but they almost immediately turned into his own perceived truth. Anything to place the blame on Jason and not himself.

While Damian also disliked Jason like Tim, he was nowhere near delusional. He was highly lucid and entirely aware that, yes, they had all treated you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. Yes, you were probably well within your right to deny them any affection or chances. Yes, their new-found obsession with your love had become unhealthy and guilt-ridden, and it was certainly to your detriment. However, Damian had always been selfish and spoiled, two traits of his that he was aware of, yet couldn’t find it within himself to change. He was brought up as a prince his entire life, first as the heir to Eth Alth'eban and then as the unofficial prince of Gotham. There had never been anything he wanted that he didn’t get, and he knew that you would be no different. He was loyal to any cause he set his mind to and now, you would be it. No matter how much you’d fight, he was willing to keep his course. It was better for the both of you, he would get to enjoy your presence, and hopefully your care, while you’d be protected from any and all harm. Damian would give you the world if you asked, literally, so he saw no reason why he couldn’t demand your affection.

After your initial shock at the kidnapping subsided, you came to realise that your family’s newfound care had nothing to do with their public image, but rather some psychotic break in their mentality. Their affections turned clingy and you slowly started to feel a sense of hopelessness. They never let you be alone and they were so demanding of your affections. 

Dick was especially bad in that regard, forcing you to cuddle and be physically affectionate, even if you showed an aversion to physical touch. He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be close with your eldest brother, which meant he lent you little to no understanding in regards to any lack in the enjoyment of his company. Bruce never stopped Dick, always excusing his overly affectionate demeanour and encouraging you to do the same. Dick would in general be very open and clingy in his affection, barely letting you leave the couch or bed so that he could just encase himself around you like plastic wrap, rubbing your cheeks together and otherwise holding onto you tightly. It would really just be a way for him to make sure yiu were still there, that you weren’t missing like the night they brought you back. It really changed him deeply. Dick would also likely move back into the manor, much to everyone’s, except you, delight. That way he could be near you more often and better follow the observation schedule that they set up.

Bruce himself was much more willing to let you have your space, but there were certain things which he demanded, like you calling him dad, or at least father, or you eating your meals next to him. The eating arrangements always put you between Bruce and Damian, across from Dick. If that wasn’t bad enough, Bruce also enjoyed watching you eat, feeling a sense of fulfilment as he ensured that you stayed safe and sound. Of course, Bruce had cut you out of vigilante life completely, and if it had been solely up to him, he would’ve wrapped you in bubble wrap and kept you by his and your brothers’ sides forever. However, he realised that bubble wrap might be uncomfortable and probably wasn’t a very breathable material for your skin, so he did the next best thing. He made sure that you were constantly provided for, as well as spoiled beyond measure, giving you any gift that he thought you could possibly enjoy. It was, in a way, his way of giving you back what he felt he owed you for all the birthdays, Christmases and other holidays that he had missed out on. Not only that, but he also enjoyed the idea of him providing for you as a good father should.

Tim spent hours trying to ‘re-program’ your mind. He would describe in great detail how the two of you used to spend time together. He became frustrated when you explained how none of it ever happened and started to double down, blaming Jason for messing up your mind. Sometimes, Tim would even drag you to his room, which had become even messier as he slowly started to spend less time there and more time with you, and force you to re-enact ‘your old memories’ by playing the games he remembered the two of you playing. He would force you to sit on his bed, between his legs, as he caged you in with the rest of his lanky body and rested his head on your shoulder. It made you claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but Tim would get pouty and extend the gaming sessions if you tried to get away. The worst part of being with Tim, however, wasn’t listening to his delusional rants about your old relationship, no, that was an unavoidable nuisance at best. The worst thing was how he would dirty Jason’s name with the vilest of allegations, none of them rooted in reality. Everything from Jason kidnapping you, to Jason wanting to put your life in danger to punish Bruce and, worst of all, that Jason was somehow in a conspiracy with the League of assassins to kill you so that Damian would be Bruce’s only true heir. Whether or not you believed anything Tim said in the beginning, it was hard to entirely brush off all his claims as they were repeated to you verbatim almost every day. Sometimes Tim would even present ‘evidence’ for his claims, like videos of Jason acting suspiciously, or messages intercepted between Talia and Jason, written in their handwriting, mentioning you in a less than ideal light. Most of this ‘evidence’ was either taken out of context or simply fabricated. With many of the letters that Tim claimed were from Talia having been written by Damian, who knew his mother’s handwriting down to the smallest flicker of her wrist. 

  Damian was perhaps the most refreshing of them. He wasn’t nearly as overbearing as Bruce, nor was he as clingy as Dick and Tim. Damian was simply quite demanding. “L/n, sit next to me”, “L/n, come read with me in the library”, “L/n, come walk with me through the gardens”, and so on. His commands were easy to follow, and not to be questioned, Now, that was something you could do. Damian was less of an affection seeker, he was more patient than the rest, perfectly willing to wait until you were ready to get emotionally close to him. He would wait, with welcoming arms and a composed smile. If you ever showed Damian any affection, like a hug or putting your head on his shoulder while the two of you were reading, he would experience a brief moment of shock, before laying an arm or two around you, careful not to overwhelm you, but absolutely celebrating like new years in his mind. On the other hand, if you were to try and escape, Damian would have no qualms about breaking both of your legs with a sledgehammer, Annie Wilkes-style. Damian is deeply loyal, both to you and to Bruce, but even more so to himself and his personal beliefs. Once Damian sets a goal, he will not lose sight of it, this is also why he can remain so patient with you, but it also means that even if you somehow calm down the rest of your family’s yandere tendencies to manageable levels, this will never be the case with Damian. He will forever remain by your side, ready to protect and serve you. He does almost become reverent in his familial love for you, not in a deity-like way, but he does view you as one of the only people set above him, this reflects in the painted portraits, which he will no doubt create for you. Your room and his will both end up covered in your portraits, from different angles, with different hairstyles and so on, it is almost unsettling to see your own eyes staring back at you everywhere you go, almost like a 1984 Big Brother, only it is yourself. Damian will also take you to interact with his pets, he might keep both Titus and Batcow at a distance at first, afraid that they’ll hurt you, however, he almost transfers ownership of Jerry and Alfred the cat to you, thinking you could probably need some non-human companions to help you settle back in. He would also help you re-decorate your room if you’d like, only to sneak in deep green imagery here and there to remind you of him.

They are all exceptionally loving of you, you are their little prince/princess/royal, and they make sure to treat you like one. Alfred is almost embarrassed at the over-the-top behaviour, but he accepts it, as he feels obliged to always go with what Bruce wants. Bruce was once his little boy, (not biologically but in spirit), and he understands why the man acts as he does, even if he disagrees with the intensity of their treatment of you. He does, however, offer brief moments of reprieve, when he takes observation duty and simply lets you sit in the kitchen, munching on a cookie or two, doing whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t bring you in danger. It feels nice to just be yourself, even if only for a fleeting instant.

Jason had tried to get you back many times but was constantly being fought back by the rest of the family, physically and mentally. He had tried asking Roy for help, but the redhead was afraid of what they’d do to Lian, so he refused. The other Justice League members were of no help either, while they enjoyed Jason’s presence, they were first and foremost Bruce’s friends, and as such took his side in the matter. There was nothing Jason could do, he was powerless to help you as you were practically held captive within your old childhood home.

In short, the family made you the jewel of their eyes, your previous neglect was swept under the rug and you’re expected to forget it or at least forgive them. If I were to rank them from worst to best, it’d probably be Tim, Dick, Bruce, Damian and Alfred, (let’s be honest, he’d definitely turn at least slightly yandere after a while, even if you won’t notice. Heck, the fact that he lets Bruce hold you captive definitely screams “Not entirely against you being here against your will”). I think Tim would be the worst, as he often puts the need to convince you that you have always been close and his hatred of Jason before your actual wants and needs, and he will do things which you will find traumatic and uncomfortable, just to get you to agree with him. Dick is right behind him, as he puts his own need for extreme physical validation before your comfort and will expect you to forgive him relatively fast, as well as not being particularly sympathetic to your situation. Bruce and Damian are both tolerable, with Bruce being slightly worse due to his extreme overbearingness and lesser patience. Alfred is… well he’s Alfred, he treats you like a normal person would, while just being insanely enabling in his lack of action against Bruce. You’ll never escape any of them, so you better get comfortable.

[alwaysonf1]

beauty and brains?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: Mild Language.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

Though the game the night before had them arriving at their hotels late production had them up at what felt like the ass crack of dawn.

Charles fought for his life to wake up and was happy he’d thought through pre-ordering room service because it arrived not long after his shower. He ate his food in silence, sleep still clinging to him and the coffee they sent not doing much to help bring him back to life. A late night didn’t usually do this to him, but he thought maybe despite his early arrival to Louisiana the jet lag may still have gotten to him.

He tosses the covering for his breakfast back onto the plate and sits back on the couch. His phone vibrates and though he’s half asleep and wanting to stay that way he picks it up, barely noticing it’s a call before he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he asks, voice cracking.

“Hello?” Daniel mimics. “Open your door.”

If Charles had it in him, he’d roll his eyes, but he hangs up and pulls himself off the couch with a groan. He undoes the locks and the door swings open, nearly knocking him over as the three men walk into his room like it’s their own space.

Daniel takes his spot on the couch while Carlos and Alex take the other two. Charles gives them all a look, but besides Alex, who looks sheepish, they look as if they’ve done nothing wrong at all. It’s a losing battle, so he sighs and plops down into the love seat perpendicular to the couch.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Carlos shrugs. “We were up and restless, thought we’d come here and wake you up if you weren’t.”

“Well, I’m awake.”

“And we’re bored,” Alex says.

A second eye roll in what has been less than two minutes. He enjoys spending time with these guys, more so with how much closer they’ve become due to filming. But they were also annoying in the way friends could be.

“You cannot entertain yourselves?”

“We can, but we were talking, and we know you’re still as mind blown by this as the rest of us. Who knew Lewis had a secret sibling,” Daniel says.

Carlos nods. “And that she’s American.”

All of them nod in agreement, because even if that isn’t at the forefront of Charles’ mind it is something that they couldn’t have seen coming. They got to speak to her a little after the game before she was whisked off elsewhere and her accent threw him off. It wasn’t the one you default to for Americans, but it was clear that it belonged to some section of this country. Her mother’s was the same, which is why it was a little silly that they weren’t prepared to hear it come out of her.

To be fair to them there was a lot to keep up with this.

“Yeah, that shouldn’t have been a shock. But hey, there was a lot going on. That dancing though, it’s like things I’ve seen before, but not. Ya know? I asked Lewis and he said they’re called majorettes. I looked it up last night and it’s almost always this good. Especially since little Hamilton became captain, people sing her praises. There’s one that has millions of views on twitter alone. I’ll send it later.”

The others speak amongst themselves, and Charles feels his mind wander off. He thinks about how confusing and brilliant last night was. Every part of it. He’d never watched American football on a college level, and it was as entertaining as at a professional level. Then the band was in peak form. It got his brain working on music again in a way it hadn’t in a while. And of course, the dancing. If that was what the majorettes had to offer, then he was eager to see what else they had going on. 

“I’m a little surprised that’s how they decided to let us meet her. Lewis seems to be the protective type and that could have gone either way,” Carlos says.

“He trusts us not to be weirdos, even if he didn’t, we wouldn’t have been stupid enough to say anything on camera for everyone to see. You know F1 will put out anything, even if they have to apologize for it later,” Charles says.

Daniel snatches a bottle of water from the table and nods. “Plus, I’ve seen that man win multiple championships and I have never seen him prouder and happier than that. He clearly supports her and would want to showcase her talent.”

“True, but I wonder what that means for today. I’m guessing it’ll be something school related. If they have me do school work under pressure,” Alex says.

“Like Carlos when he forgot that he should be able to drive an F2 car.”

“Hey!”

They all descend into laughter, while Carlos glares at them, arms crossed, and eyes clearly showing he’s not here. Probably imagining how he panicked himself so much it was like someone asked him to drive Nascar.

A knock on the door puts a stop to the laughter and without a word they all gather their stuff and head toward it. Their main producer, Anne, is there and she looks worried. Then she notices the number of people and Charles watches her relax.

“Time to load into the van, everyone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel says.

They head out of the room, and with the weird speed of the elevator, are in the lobby in less than a minute. Lewis and Lance are huddled together laughing and some of the production crew linger around talking in groups. When everyone sees them, they head out to the vans awaiting them. 

When they get in Daniel and Lewis take the first row of seats while Alex takes the front and the other three in the back. The moment the seat belts click the cars are moving and Charles watches Daniel lean over to Lewis with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Any clues?”

Lewis looks contemplative and then he laughs.

“Hm… prepare to feel dumb.”

Daniel laughs. “So regular day at work?”

“You have no idea.”

From there it’s silence, but the kind where you can tell everyone is still a little tired. All their starter energy exerted, so now they need a moment.

It’s being tired and wanting to prepare himself for Charles. He went in yesterday with so little and he knows it showed, but he wants it to be a little different this time. There can be shock, but he doesn’t want to seem like anything they do and what she’s there to show them is something he didn’t expect of her. He’d hate to seem like he has any preconceived ideas of who she is. People who don’t like him would latch onto that and misinterpret, and there’s a possibility Lewis might too, but mostly he doesn’t want to offend. 

After twenty minutes of mindless scrolling, they pull up to a building. From their surroundings it’s clear that this isn’t where they should park, but it’s clearly been made so that if one needs to it can. 

Everyone piles out of the vehicle. And despite being the one who should get up first of the three, his friends are children who push him down and get out before him. Charles is on his third eye roll of the morning and the last to get out. And just as he does Iman emerges from the building and stands at the top of the steps with a smile. Today she’s in utility pants and a shirt that has a familiar emblem on it. 

“You're late,” she shouts.

“You told me eight, it's seven forty-five,” Lewis yells back.

“True, but I’ve had a man in here squealing about meeting a seven time champion and multiple F1 drivers. Have mercy on a girl who was forced to take an eight a.m. in her last semester will you?”

Everyone laughs at that, and they walk up the stairs toward her. She waits and then turns toward the building, but she pauses and turns around to face them.

“Where are my manners?” she asks, then points at Lewis, “And yours.”

“What did I do?”

She rolls her eyes and turns toward the other five drivers with a smile that makes Charles give her one of his. 

“I know all of you know my name and I yours, plus we kind of met last night, but let me properly introduce myself. I’m Iman Hamilton, little sister of this dweeb, captain of the SU Dancing Dolls, and a college student on her last semester close to losing her mind.”

She steps toward Carlos, hand out, and she shakes his. He gives a small greeting, and she goes down the line to each of them doing that. As Charles takes her hand, he notes her hands are soft, but the shake is firm.

“I’m Charles, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You as well.”

She also greets all the staff individually and then retakes her position in front of the door.

“Are y’all prepared for the horrors and wonders of an eight a.m. hands on class?” Her voice is fake cheery, and it makes Charles and Daniel laugh.

“Speaking of what would this class be?”

Iman throws her head back and laughs, then glances toward Lewis. “He is smooth.”

“Don’t let him get you.”

“Ooh, they talked about me,” Daniel jokes.

That sends laughter through everyone, and it lifts a weight that Charles didn’t realize was there. He was a little nervous, but he couldn’t understand why. But at least he could feel with the shift in everyone that it was a mutual feeling.

Without another word Iman turns and pulls the door open. Charles ensures he’s in after Lewis and catches a glimpse of someone rocketing back into a classroom. It must be the man that Iman was talking about. The excitement is flattering.

As they walk down everyone, especially the cameras, take in the space. There are pictures and many didn’t contraptions lining the walls. Probably as a representation of what goes on in this building. There was a sign on top of it, but it was too high to see where they parked. So, Charles looks up at the wall at the end of the hall and there he sees: School of Mechanical Engineering.

His eyes go wide unintentionally, but he reins it in and nudges Carlos. It takes a moment before the Spaniard sees what he does, and his reaction is very much the same. The others have already seen the sign and they look from the sign to the woman leading them and back. 

The smile that forms on Charles’ face reflects the pride he feels. Of course, he knows what it’s like to be happy and proud of his siblings' success in their fields, but in that moment, he understands why Lewis feels it. He understood last night, but when his mechanics and friends spoke about how engineering as a degree takes a lot out of you, he was sure. They spoke of sometimes struggling with it and normal life, so he couldn’t imagine an extracurricular that was probably as consuming.

The feeling dumb was definitely already starting.

When they reach the door to her class it’s wide open and in the center of the only space without tables stands a man old enough to be a teacher and students in similar clothing to Iman. Most seem giddy, some seem mildly interested, and there are one or two that look like they don’t care at all. Good for the ego.

Iman leads them to the center, standing directly across from her class and the drivers so she’s facing neither. Her hands go wide, gesturing to either group.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet drivers currently a part of the F1 grid. F1 drivers, welcome to Advanced Internal Combustion Engines. We’ll be here for three hours, so I’ll leave the more personal introductions to you.”

She pauses and there’s a chorus of greetings that come from both sides. Charles watches as her lips part to presumably say something else, but then the man who is obviously the instructor takes center stage with a giddy smile. It’s a little amusing, but mostly nice to see him so excited about this. Worry about how roping siblings in this would disrupt their lives, even for a short time, has been a thing since the beginning. Especially when they may not have people to work for or with that would love this kind of thing.

“It’s nice to meet all of you. My name is Dr. Malcolm Johsnon. I’m a big enjoyer of F1 and racing in general, just as many of the students in this class are. My industry background is predominantly in IndyCar, which is why this class focuses a lot on the types of engines used in those kinds of race vehicles. Today as much as you’ll be getting a peak at Iman’s life, you’ll see what the students learn here and a glimpse at the parts that make your cars go. I’m open to any questions you might have at any time. 

Alex raises his hand. “Oh, if you worked or work for IndyCar, how did you end up teaching? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He hitches a thumb in Iman’s direction, “Her mother can be very persuasive. She’d also taken a stint teaching as a break from working with IndyCar teams, so she had much to rave about. Plus, she wanted me here to make sure they taught her child right.”

That earns a few laughs, but Charles sees the odd look from a few students who are displeased but already knew this knowledge. Though it doesn’t feel like they’re displeased with their instructor, just Iman. An expected response to someone who uses the connections she has or in this case the connection just stepped in for her.

Which makes Charles pause. Wait, did he say Sherri?

“Your mother works in IndyCar?” he asks, his eyes on Iman.

“Has since before I was born. Racing is a family affair. Though more of us are on the engineering side than in the driver seat.”

When she says it, a fist extends out toward her from the corner of Charles’ eye and she bumps her fist against Lewis, smiling wide and winking at her older brother.

“But enough of that, though we’ve all agreed to this we still have a project to work on. And surprisingly multiple three hour classes aren’t enough time.”

There are several mutters in agreement and with that students disperse to the tables scattered throughout the massive room. Iman goes to one in the back with three other people. They get to work without a word and production and Dr. Johnson step closer to the drivers, forming a circle.

“Our focus is Iman and her life and what she does, but we don’t want all of you to just crowd her. As much as we want shots of what she’s doing and your interaction, we want this to be a learning experience just like the other times were. Engage with the other students without crossing any boundaries and maybe even see if any of that knowledge you get from your own mechanics is familiar here, okay? We’ll move you guys if we feel you linger here or there too long, but just go where you feel pulled. Also, there are some students who have little flags attached to their tables to signal they are most comfortable with questions, so look out for those but don’t shy away too much from the others. Got it?” Anne asks.

Everyone nods. She then gestures for Dr. Johnson to take the floor.

“And things get a little hectic, so over there is some PPE for y’all to use. I want this to be safe for them and for you. Cool?”

“Yes, sir,” Lewis says, and identical sentiments follow.

“Then let’s get started!”

Lewis is the first to break off and head toward the table. He grabs the goggles, a dingy rag, some sort of apron, and a pair of gloves and then makes a beeline for Iman’s table. Lance follows suit and that makes the first decision for everyone else. Charles sticks with Carlos as they grab their PPE and then head toward the closest table. There is a flag over it, but neither of the men say anything. They watch as one of the students takes apart their engine. It looks around the size of the ones inside of their cars, but something is different about it. Something off.

“Wait, did you grab the wrong piece?” A man, whose shirt has the name Stephen on it, asks.

Everyone pauses and looks to him and then to the engine.

“Uh, I don’t think s… Oh for fuck’s sake,” says the woman, Jennifer.

The curse is said so softly that almost all of them have to stop themselves from laughing, Charles has to cover his mouth and Carlos turns away, but you can see his body vibrating with silent laughter. Jennifer catches all of them and glares before walking off toward what looks like a storage space at the back of the room.

When shes out of sight they all laugh out loud. It takes a minute to pull it together, but they manage it.

Stephen turns to Charles. “You noticed it too? I saw you looking at it weird.”

This isn’t really his wheelhouse, so Charles feels himself get a little unsure of how to answer, but he reminds himself that these are students, and they expect some sort of failure when learning so even if he sounded silly it wasn’t like they’d look at him too harshly. At least he hopes.

“Um, yes. It looks like the one we use, I’ve seen it a few times and though it may not be the same, something about it didn’t seem right. Though I’m not fully sure what.”

Stephen nods.

“It’s definitely something that would stand out if you’ve seen them enough. It’s why she’s mad, she’ll usually catch it when we do it. But if ya want we can walk y’all through it. This is just us kind of playing around with ideas at this point, so we have the time.”

Charles finds himself excited again and he takes a few steps closer to the table.

“We’d love that. It’ll impress and confuse our mechanics if we come back knowing more than we did before,” Carlos says.

All the others introduce themselves and when Jennifer returns, they dive deep into what they’re trying to do. Though they only planned to half take it apart they disassemble it completely and get Carlos and Charles in on putting it back together. How they explain it is half dumbed down and half with the understanding that the pilots would have some knowledge of what they’re doing. Though everyone else has rotated, an hour passes before a producer pulls them away from the table. It’s with a little grumbling from both of them, but they get why.

The rest of their adventure is much the same, though for shorter bursts. Even the tables without the flags are more than open to answering questions they may have and as time goes by Charles realizes that with each table, he’s able to understand what the hell they’re talking about. And it makes him think back to all the times he’s been confused listening to his mechanics about a million things. It’s all clicking for him.

“Hey Sharl!” 

The voice startles him, and he turns toward it to see Lewis back at his sister’s table. The man is waving him over so Charles excuses himself and walks over. Daniel is making the table he’s at laugh at something and it’s probably some off the wall joke that sometimes has Charles looking at him like he’s lost it.

“Hi,” he says once he reaches the table.

“Hey. Saw you haven’t been here yet,” Lewis says.

“It was the next stop.”

“Mhm.” When Lewis says that there’s a look in his eyes that Charles can’t quite decipher so he doesn’t try to. He’s used to him keeping things a little close to the chest.

“Are you harassing that poor man, Lew?” Iman asks, without looking up.

“I’m not doing anything?” 

“Mhm, sure you’re not.”

“I’m not! Tell her I’m not harassing you, Sharl.”

Charles finds himself laughing at the two. It’s like something he and his brother’s would do. High pitched voice while defending themselves and all.

“He’s not harassing me. I promise,” he says.

Iman finally looks up, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

“You sure you’re not just taking up for him, Charles? He’s not that big and bad, I promise.”

“I’m sure.”

“Let me know if he does, I’ll deal with him.” 

She winks at Charles and then gets back to her work, explaining why she felt the need to lubricate a piece more than is usually called for. Her partners look unsure, but they go with it. As she does it, she explains out loud what it should do to the two pilots and Charles is having a hard time splitting between Lewis’ pouting - which is losing steam by the second - what she’s explaining and watching her. She’s so focused and even when the piece gives her problems she keeps going, barely getting frustrated. 

And when she works, her smile is genuine and bright. 

[nnnyxie]

More Fan!Izuku because it’s sO good-

Imagine Fan!izu x Streamer!Reader..basing this off of myself shamelessly🤭 basically reader is like a singer or something…like does choir(me🤭)and sings in bands(also me🤞) and musical theater(surprise, me‼️)..also plays an instrument…but something fancy like harp yk?(I Play the harp💅) And they do like cosy lil streams of just singing and playing their instrument and Izu as the busy lil hero he is just likes their voice it somehow enchants him??? Helps him relax and calm down and he just loves hearing it and rewinding to it after a long day and reader ofcourse a loyal Deku fan but because reader is ✨shy✨ they don’t show their face while streaming (I just love any kind of reveals of identity idk) and they also keep their background minimal to not give away anything about them but one das they just have a little fangirling moment showing off their new favorite Deku Figurine and hearing praise from them drives Izu insane(in a good way) and yeah idk hope that gives you a good baseeee

#𖢥 izuku anon

omg choir twinsies !!

(also i love the harp??? i have NO CLUE how to play but it’s just so!!!! ahhh!!!! it’s so pretty look and sound wise)

so yk that one artist that does the omnichord songs?? so like— that’s what you do EXCEPT!!

it’s not the omnichord!! it’s the harp!!!

rn i’m a teensy bit obsessed with lana del ray and mitski so!!! you mainly perform their songs <3

i wholeheartedly believe izuku is ‘i bet on losing dogs’ by mitski and ‘dark paradise’ by lana del ray personified!!! (lowkey projecting?)

our dear boy loves when you perform their songs. he’s tried listening to the original artists but— your covers just hit different yk?? your covers are just so pretty!!

he found you thanks to ochako and mina!! one day they were talking about streamers and youtubers they watch (because mina games obvi) and ochako talked about your streams and your channel!! she talked about how your musical talent was amazing and how soft your voice was!! izuku loves trying out things his friends like so he decided to give you a shot!!!

and he just fell in love— the moment you said ‘hi’, he felt like fainting.

from then on, he started falling asleep to your videos, and tuning into your streams when he had the free time.

from time to time you’ll do asmr streams. like whispering and talking about your day!! talking about some of the new things you’ve gotten or some of your favorite heroes!!

when you do these asmr streams they always somehow lead to you ranting about pro hero deku!!

izuku usually isn’t around when you do these asmr streams but today??? this night??? right now??? he can!! and he most definitely will!! he was lucky enough to have today off and spent the majority of the day binging your videos while catching up on sleep.

anyways

he was cooking dinner (i like to think that he cooks dinner for his mom when he visits) when he heard a ‘ting’ (he keeps his sound notifs on for work!!)

he went to check it andddd it was a twitch notif from your channel!! the title being:

asmr chat pt.15 ; p.o. box

he’s quick to open the app, immediately pressing on your streaming clip.

“hello everyone!” you whispered. only your desk showed. it had various bags and wrapped boxes on top. “i was sent gifts through my p.o. box and i’ve decided to open them on stream.” you ran your hands over a box. “we’ll open this one first!”

as you sifted through each gift, you grew increasingly excited. your fans knew you well— as they all had gotten you some form of pro hero deku merch!!

when it came to your last box, it was a sweatshirt. the fabric was soft and the perfect texture. the design— the design was your favorite. it was black with small, thin green writing of his hero name on the forearms. the upper left front of the jacket had a green outline of his hero helmet. the sweatshirt also had green accents— his signature green on all of this, of course.

“i really appreciate all of these! you all know me so well! ah! i’m seriously in awe of all of these!!” you smiled behind the camera. “i love deku, he’s my favorite hero. ever since he started out, i knew he’d be the best. he’s always saving everyone with a smile, and god— it’s amazing! he’s amazing! i don’t know him personally but i’m sure that he’s just as kind on tv as he is in real life.” you ran your hand over the outline on the sweatshirt. “i bet he’s just as cute too,” you laughed along with the chat. they knew about your big crush on the pro hero and would tease you about it during small talks like this. izuku’s face flushed and it grew hotter as he read through the comments.

oilspill.in.a.cup : manifesting the love of ur life for you bae!!!

veianna.sausagezzz : ur in love w/ him atp just find him nd kiss him

nylie.kei : VEIANNA THATS ASSAULT??

pinky✔︎ : wiggles eyebrows

you laughed as you read through these. “i’ll have to agree with nylie, here. no matter how pretty his lips are, i wouldn’t do that.”

izuku typed out a comment— not sure whether to send it or not. you two have developed a sort of parasocial relationship with one another, a one-sided admiration. though, now it isn’t exactly one-sided.

he decides to send it though. ignoring the absolute anxiety he’s feeling as he waits for your reaction.

midoriya.izuku✔︎ : i dunno, i wouldn’t mind one!

carpool.toenail : AYO!?

vieanna.sausagezzz : SEEEEEEE SEEEEE @/nylie.kei

oilspill.in.a.cup : MANIFESTED 😩🤌

nylie.kei : OHMYGODBSLEVSLDB

pinky✔︎ : IZUKU??????

“oh— uhm. oh.” you were flustered. honestly, you couldn’t speak. you were both extremely embarrassed and very flattered. and very happy that he watches your streams. “uhm i gotta go clean up— see you all later!”

edit;

omg i forgot to add an end note????

ANYWAYS!! had fun writing this heheheh

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (17) Chaos

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 17)

Summary: Mrs. Hudson is treating her tenants to an American dish, and lectures them about a special Constitution Day celebration.

Seventeen Years Old

Nana’s American pancakes were legendary. She’d learned to make them while she lived overseas, and whenever there was a special occasion, she served them. Unlike most countries, the UK doesn’t have a Constitution Day or National Day, but several days are celebrated. It varied from year to year, which of those Nana chose to honour. Our birthdays were never neglected like St. Patrick’s Day, or Wilberforce Day might be. Never knowing when we were graced with the sinful treat, made the surprise even sweeter.

***

“Rosie, dear. Give me a hand, will you,” Nana called from downstairs one Saturday afternoon in the middle of May.

Dad and Papa were reading in their chairs, but not for long.

“Pancakes,” Papa whispered when the sweet and familiar scent crept up from downstairs.

I hurried to assure Nana that I’d be right down to help her carry up the tray with pancakes, maple syrup, and fresh berries.

***

“So, what’s the occasion, Mrs. H,” Dad asked after his second pancake.

The moaning and praise of Nana’s skills had been the only thing breaking the silence so far, but now that the first hunger had been stilled, the time for revelation had come. To my knowledge, we’d never had pancakes on this date before.

“We’re celebrating Norway today,” Nana stated.

“Elaborate.” “Please,” Papa added when Dad sent him a disapproving look for being so terse.

“Well,” Nana said, and sat back in her chair, which meant we were in for a lecture.

Papa rolled his eyes, but he chuckled along with Dad and me, picked up a strawberry and dipped it in syrup before he slipped it into his mouth. Nana cleared her throat and continued.

“Last weekend, I watched the Eurovision Song Contest, and didn’t that turn out to be more chaotic than normal… Anyway, I was enthralled by the Norwegian performance. Quite powerful. I had heard an interview with the band earlier when they spoke of their Constitution Day, and it was most intriguing.”

She took a sip of coffee and looked at us to see if everyone was paying attention to her presentation of this Scandinavian saga. 

“They have parades all over the country, but not military parades. Far from it in fact. Children are walking the streets of the cities and the roads in the more rural places, while brass bands play the national anthem and other songs and marches. Everyone is dressed in their best clothes. Their national costumes are really something else. I looked them up on the internet. There are about 450 different kinds! Can you believe it?”

Nana was getting really warmed up now, and there was no way of stopping her. Not that either of us wanted to. Knowledge like this was fun and interesting.

“So, it’s mostly about the children and eating hot dogs and as much ice cream as possible. They obviously cheer and sing, while waving their flags, and in the capital, the royal family greet the children from the balcony. It was mentioned that from an outsider’s point of view, it may look quite civil, but the band could tell the listeners that when the children are to be picked up by their parents when the parade is over, there’s chaos beyond belief. Crossing the streets are almost impossible.”

I thought she had finished and cleared my throat to ask her about the song contest, but a stern look, made me shut my mouth and sit back in my chair.

“There’s also some obscure tradition with graduated students of a certain age, eighteen or nineteen, I think, but I didn’t pay that much mind. What I could gather from it was that it had mostly to do with too much alcohol and dressing up in red, blue or black coveralls with all sorts of patches on them,” Nana concluded.

“Thanks for the history lesson, Mrs. Hudson,” Dad said. “It’s quite refreshing to know that not all parades need to contain soldiers and weapons.”

We all agreed to this, but the question was now burning on my tongue.

“Nana? I thought you were boycotting the Eurovision this year.”

“Stated in a moment of passion, dear. I admit I’m a weak woman,” she said with nonchalance.

This retort resulted in a snort from Papa, and spilled coffee on the front of Dad’s shirt due to him choking on the brew.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[kandlewick]

ace trappola and deuce spade; the company's new hires and your new underlings office au, aged up au, gn reader

ace trappola - the lucky kouhai

It was unbelievably unfair how good Ace was at doing his job. It was frustrating watching him pull solutions out of his ass like they were simple answers that nobody was smart enough to come up with. He had just started this job and your boss was already singing his praises! And of course, Ace Trappola couldn't have been a humble guy, oh no, this guy was cocky. He soaked up all the praise like a damn kitchen sponge and walked around the office like he was a lucky charm.

The only lucky he was was lucky that nobody in the office wanted him DEAD.

Ahem.

Anyways, while you both were rarely ever in the same social circle in the office, it was only a matter of time before wires crossed and you two were slapped together on a project. A big project. Something the boss wanted to be absolutely perfect. And what was perfect for the job? His Ace (ha ha, get it! He would belly laugh with beer in hand at the faculty drinking parties) and you, his most trusted advisor. It would've been a fine assignment if Trappola hadn't completely screwed up his half of the job!!!!

"What do you mean it was sent in an email!" He screamed, eyes wide as he frantically dove in to his seat, fingers quickly typing on his keyboard. You could feel the panic and tension rise in the room with every passing second.

"I told you, Ace!" You grabbed the back of his chair and shook it, the wheels groaning in protest, "I told you yesterday over email that your numbers were wrong! What made you think you could use last year's quarters for this years budget! Do you know how much has changed the past few months!!"

Ace quickly hid his head in his hands, too embarrassed to look as you pulled up the email, gesturing at it wildly with your hands, "How are we supposed to turn this in!!"

"Overtime...?"

"UNPAID OVERTIME!!!"

deuce spade - the unlucky kouhai

...sometimes you wonder how Deuce Spade had managed to get hired here. Not that there was anything wrong with his work ethic or his personality but if anything went wrong in the office, it was usually Spade's fault. It was rather heartbreaking actually because you could tell that he worked hard! really hard!! but things just never seemed to work out for him... so for the most part, your colleagues would reduce him to the office gopher, sending him out to get drinks or file paper work, the stuff usually reserved for interns. You could tell that while he appreciated everyone's patience, he was feeling a little upset and bitter about being treated as someone so bottom of the ladder.

And today was one of those days.

It was a humid summer day and it was only exasperated by the office's AC breaking down which left everyone a sweaty and miserable mess. Honestly, you were about to call it quits for the day, more then ready to jump into your shower to wash away all the sweat and grime, but the sound of your boss screaming and the frantic apologies of Deuce were loud enough to startle everyone in the office. You cringed and watched as the man nearly chased the young employee out of this office, slamming the door shut as soon as he managed to slip out. Deuce nearly tripped over his own feet in his effort to get away, dropping his manilla folders and scattering them across the floor.

"There he goes again..." Someone said in a low whisper, "but today of all days? He has the easiest job here and he still manages to screw it up."

"What do you think it was this time? You think he spilt the boss's iced coffee on his paperwork again?"

"I bet he filed something wrong...Seems like an easy enough thing for him to mess up."

You frowned at your coworkers harsh criticisms and watched as the youngest employee bent down to pick up his work. You could tell he was shaking. From tears? or was it anger?

You were quick to drop your things and rushed over to him, ignoring your deskmates as you bent down and began helping, picking up the papers that had managed to scatter out of his arms reach. Deuce watched in barely contained surprise as you handed them over to him, a small smile on your face as you gestured for him to take them.

"Here," You smiled as Deuce reached for the documents in your hand, "Why don't I help you out a bit?"

Deuce's eyes widened at your offer but he was quick to shake his head, his cheeks dotted with a light flush, "Oh no, senpai! I can't ask that of you! I have to work overtime today to make up for the mess I made and I'd feel horrible if you had to be stuck here all night with me..."

You were quick to wave him off although you appreciated his thoughtfulness, "No, really! It's ok! What kind of senpai would I be if I left you by yourself?"

[deathbxnny]

☆《Hsr men with a Nene Kusanagi!Teen!Reader》☆

-----♡

A/N: So I accidentally lost this request, because I wanted to save it as a draft and accidentally posted it and deleted it in panic... but thankfully, I play project sekai religiously (I'm a die-hard Kanade main!♡) and know the character very well, so I'll just recreate it here... I'm really embarrassed and sincerely apologise to the Anon who sent in the request!<33

Featured characters: Blade, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gepard

Content: Platonic relationships, teen reader, hsr men are fatherly figures here, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

》Blade

Blade didn't think much of you at first and generally was even a little annoyed by you being assigned to him to take care of, due to his closed off nature. But with some time, he began warming up to you much to his dismay and eventually accepted his fate with you being in his life now.

He doesn't really care for slot of your hobbies or talents, especially as they aren't battle related. But if you seemed proud of something, he'll give you a head pat and a nod of acknowledgement as praise. He likes to hear you sing as well, whilst he cleans his swords, since it helps him relax.

Blade doesn't mind letting you behind him, whenever you two meet new people. It's a way to keep you safe and to make sure you don't get overwhelmed. He's very intimidating and generally keeps people away from you this way, something he secretly does on purpose for you.

-----♡

》Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan didn't think twice in taking you in and just accepted you due to the circumstances you were in. He didn't treat you any different from the way he treated Yanqing, but he ofcourse also kept you shyness in mind. He found you quite adorable and it didn't take you long to warm up to him either.

He praises you for your many talents and supports you in any way he can, finding your singing and acting especially fascinating. He'll make you join cultural events, so that many other people will be able to see and praise your skills as well. He's just so proud of you and it shows.

He finds the way you hide behind him due to your shyness, whenever you meet someone new, quite cute and amusing. He might gently tease you for it, but also push you to be more confident by speaking to the person as well. He won't ever force you to do anything you aren't comfortable with however, ofcourse.

-----♡

》Dan Heng

Dan Heng takes you under his wing due to a sense of duty. He was asked to do so and therefore he will, but he didn't expect to actually warm up and bond with you eventually. You two are very quiet and calm people, so it was easy for you to get along and co-exist next to eachother.

You two often ended up spending alot of time in the archive room together, where he taught you all about the data banks and you in turn taught him how to play some video games with you. He was confused at first, but soon found himself to be rather good at it somehow. He listens to you sing and watches you act, before nodding like a proud father would in acknowledgement.

Dan Heng isn't necessarily good with new people either, so he'll avoid people with you. He doesn't mind you hiding behind him either and will make sure to end the conversations fast enough, so you don't get uncomfortable or overwhelmed.

-----♡

》Gepard Landau

Gepard took you with slight hesitance, mainly because he was unsure if he could handle taking care of a teen. But due to your quiet and shy nature, he quickly learned that there was nothing to worry about. You two bond over music, especially with Serval around, as she made sure Gepard warms up to you quicker by spending alot of time with you.

Whenever Gepard is unable to take care of you due to his work as a Captain on the front lines, he makes sure Serval takes care of you, which she gladly does. He enjoys watching your performances with his sister, where you sing and dance happily on stage for everyone to see your great talents. It fills him with ease and content, knowing that you're comfortable with him and his family. He also praises you alot for your talent and supports everything you do fully.

He doesn't mind talking to new people for you, when you first meet and in general might even prefer it due to safety reasons. He'll make sure to end interactions quickly however, when he notices you being too uncomfortable or nervous.

-----♡

A/N: I hope this was okay! Thank you and sorry again to the Anon of this request!<33

[hhighkey]

Nanami Kento Headcanons

AGE GAP SERIES - GENERAL

f!reader

series: how you met,

the most perfect man

you’re a good amount of years younger than him let’s say between 5-7 years for our sake but i feel like you gotta be old enough to drink for this man to consider

be prepared to be courted

like properly taken out on dates, sent flowers, constant calls, and check-ins

you’ll never be left on the dark with this man

never opening a door around him i am convinced

i saw someone say he’d keep his hands on your waist as someone’s passing by to move you and ugh yes

lowkey dads you

will straight up scold you if you’re being a brat or doing something risky

sometimes he’s a little too mature for your liking, you’re upset and just looking for an argument and he doesn’t argue. he wants to communicate- you’ve never had that before and it’s foreign

he can be impatient about detrimental things, childish things, but he’s always patient with you

or tries to be patient… will always listen to you ramble and try to see it from your side. but he’s like wow that’s such an immature way of thinking and just has to deal with it

i imagine if you vape it pisses him off sm he’ll just rip it out of your hand and scold you idk why i had this thought

you’re literally his perfect girl

he adores you in every way

calls you dear and honey

always walks behind you when going up stairs so no one looks at your ass

always brings a jacket when you two go out, regardless if he needs it because you always do even when you insist you don’t

he’ll go to the bar with you and your friends ofc if you ask, but he’ll feel out of place. he’s more of the fine establishments type person where everyone’s dressed up and that’s where he’d prefer to spend his time off with you besides home

loves spoiling you

loves watching you get flustered as you’re not used to it- pretty jewelry and bags make you red in the face

you’re just always trying to tell him you don’t need all that stuff like you’re good!

friends joke he’s your sugar daddy (he borderline likes it too)

you’re a civilian as i can see him needing a constant to come home to

loves when you are just hanging out and you lay your head on his lap so he can play with your hair and keep you close

but that means you’re stuck worrying a lot

sometimes turns into him having to console you and support you over his career more so than anything else

which you feel so guilty but you’re too young to deal with the emotions and be able to set them aside to support him

but you try- like shoulder massages after a hard job, sitting with him in silence until he’s ready to talk

you see him all bloody once as he had a tough job, gojo got you from school (pls why do i see you being a grad student) or work

and you’re traumatized seeing him beat up like that- he’d wait days sometimes to see you again to rid of major injuries

you don’t know how to handle it. you don’t know if you can handle it but you love him

sometimes the age gap does take its toll on both of you

you still love going out, drinking, making dumb decisions not ready for the real world whereas he’s cynical about life, works tirelessly

i would say that’s where all the arguments stem from

his frustration with your actions and lack of care towards yourself. you can barely cook to save your life, you hardly do laundry, and you’re deathly hungover when he wants to get breakfast

why doesn’t he want to get black out drunk with you? he doesn’t want to go to girls night? or why is he still at work late? you’ll blame gojo for that one

it probably forces y’all to sit down and really talk about what you both want out of the relationship

which is each other

i wanna write so much age gap stuff for him

nsfw

dom! pleasure dom like always complimenting you and singing you praise about how good you feel

if he’s your first- he’ll take that very seriously

gentle with you like you’d break in his arms

walks you through everything he’s doing

preps you so perfectly, making you finish with his tongue before he even touches you, is very big on foreplay always

is more for your pleasure than his own

large :)

stretches you out, your gasping for him as you grasp his biceps

calls you princess in bed

“such a good girl.”

“so tight for me.”

“you like that?”

“feel so good around my cock.”

“c’mon princess, come for me.”

teases you so much, has you begging for him to fuck you, touch you, let you finish

king of aftercare with baths and cuddles aw

[buglord-isaac]

Price Gaz fic

(Gift for @vic-draws-sometimes based off his recent art)

The private 141 celebratory dinner that Lazwell had organised was going even better than Gaz had imagined. The combination of many glasses genuinely good wine, the suits that everyone was wearing, and the relaxed and happy conversations they were having over food was proving to make them all forget about their recent missions.

Soap was patched up from his beating, but appeared to be enjoying himself as he chatted to Ghost, who had a full black suit and a simple black mask on. Alejandro and Rodolfo had been invited too, and were busy singing whatever song would come on in loud and obnoxious voices that would make everyone laugh. Price and Gaz had spent most of the night bantering with Lazwell, who seemed to genuinely be enjoying herself. However, when her wife finally arrived, her focus shifted away from Price and Gaz.

John had been complimenting Kyle on how he handled the mission since they got back, but alcohol turned his praise into overdrive. While Kyle didn’t much enjoy being praised by others, John’s praise always made him soft and filled him with a certain type of ecstasy. They were both into each other. They both knew it. But John had always seemed uncomfortable with the power imbalance they had with Kyle being a Sergeant and John being a Captain. Kyle didn’t care. He enjoyed it. He wanted his captain to take control, but whenever they would get close to kissing, Kyle would make the mistake of calling him ‘sir’ and messing everything up.

They had been dancing around each other like this for months now. Getting painfully close to each other and not being able to follow through. They were close to that part of the cycle again, where they were insanely close. John was speaking his praises about Kyle’s sniper skills close to his ear, in his deep raspy voice that sent tingles down his spine. Their legs were pressed against each other, Kyle looking down at John’s hand as the fingers tapped against the wine glass he was holding.

It was insane, the amount he wanted his captain. As the whispering continued in his ear, his mind wandered to thinking about how good it would be for him to whisper that to him in bed, their bodies touching, John holding him down as he used him how he wanted. No self doubt. No power imbalance. Just them.

“You say all this praise to me, and yet you fail to remember that you survived a helicopter crash.” His voice was soft, betraying his feelings. His chest was so very tight. “Big strong man…”

He had to remember not to say Captain… don’t say it… don’t say ‘sir’. No matter how much he wanted to. It would ruin the mood. He was so close.

“You’re walking a fine line, Kyle.”

“And what is that line?”

John leaned more into Kyle, his hand moving down to his lower back and slipping his fingers ever so slightly under his suit jacket.

“A line I am far too tipsy to care about… a line I wouldn’t want to cross without your permission…”

“And what if I want to break that line? Demolish it. Make it so that line doesn’t exist at all anymore?”

“Don’t tempt me, Kyle…”

Kyle could feel his breath down the back of his neck. He was so close that he could feel the hairs on his face tickling his neck and cheek.

Don’t call him sir…

“I’ll tempt you all I want, John.”

He moved his head so he could speak more into his ear. “And I want you.”

He heard a click as John gritted his teeth, and a little guttural groan. That must’ve done it.

“Fucking hell, Kyle…”

“How about we get some air? Outside. Somewhere where no one can see us?”

John groaned again, but sat up properly and sighed through his gritted teeth.

“Fine. I need a cigar anyways.”

“I’ll join you in a few minutes. Go enjoy that cigar.”

John looked him up and down for half a second, then stood. Kyle watched him leave the room and shuddered, his heart racing beyond comprehension. He wanted him so badly…

Kyle waited exactly three minutes before going to join John outside. He was down the side of the building, well away from the main thoroughfare of the walkways. He was sucking the end of his cigar with his eyes closed, taking in every molecule of smoke. It seemed to relax him. When he touched his captain’s arm, he whipped around and grabbed his wrists, the cigar still between two of his fingers.

This took Kyle by surprise, but it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise by any stretch of the imagination. He looked up at John, who had a soft, thoughtful expression on his face.

“Open your mouth, Kyle. Tongue out.”

Kyle obeyed, and watched as John came close, breathing the smoke currently in his lungs into his mouth in a thin but powerful stream. He could see it escaping his mouth and floating up, clouding his vision slightly, but he didn’t care. He felt the moustache brushing against his lips, then felt John’s lips on his, pushing his tongue back into his mouth and following it with his own. The taste of smoke and wine mixed so perfectly in their mouths.

He was so professional with his kisses. His body pressed Kyle’s against the wall just as his legs started to falter, catching him. When he separated from the kiss, they both breathed out smoke and watched it dissipate in the air. John took another breath of the cigar, then put out the fire by pressing it into the wall near Kyle’s ear. He heard the sizzle on the brick. Somehow it just added to the tightness in his chest and stomach. He was so enamoured with his captain… the kiss put him on cloud nine.

John breathed out the smoke again and watched it dissipate again, then his eyes focussed back onto Kyle. One hand made its way around Kyle’s waist once more, and he saw absolute adoration in the older man’s eyes. He was just as in love with him. He knew it. His hands moved up and rested gently on the fabric on John’s chest. He could feel his heartbeat under the fabric, very faintly, but he could feel it.

“Are you sure about this, Kyle?”

So caring… that’s one of the reasons he loved him so much.

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

John didn’t seem to need any more reassurance. He kissed Kyle again with even more force than last time, grabbing hard onto his waist as if he’d try to get away. Finally, Kyle let himself relax and revel in the moment. He wrapped his arms around John’s neck, feeling the lifting of his arms lift up his suit jacket. John took this opportunity to untuck his undershirt and slip his hands fully up underneath it, making his back tingle with the skin-to-skin touch. He was in heaven.

John’s lips left Kyle’s own, moving to the side and kissing from his cheeks to his jaw to his neck, making him groan a little “sir~”. He wanted to hit himself for that… it just slipped out. But his Captain didn’t stop. He kissed his neck, bit it, sucked it. The whole time, his hands were running up and down Kyle’s back, grabbing his waist. He seemed to be losing himself.

“Tell me…” John kissed his neck again, not even able to finish a full sentence. “Tell me to stop…”

Kyle closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Don’t! Don’t even think about stopping.”

Price growled and bit down on his neck, taking the skin between his teeth and leaving a mark there when he released it. He moved up next to Kyle’s ear and bit his earlobe before whispering in a raspy, growling voice.

“I want you too, Kyle.”

[onboardsorasora]

I've been writing this since I posted Part 10. @hitgirl0707 thanks for outlining this with me. It's almost 2k words, it's like I couldn't stop myself. *singing like Haley Williams* how did we get here?? Our liddol crackfic got a mind of its own guys!

Part 1 | Part 10

Part 11

To say Max didn’t sleep a wink was an understatement. He was worried. Those idiots better have taken care of Daniel. He was going to kill them maybe.

Finally, early in the morning he got a message to the groupchat from Lando that they were back at his place and Daniel was sleeping. Lando even sent a photo of Daniel curled up in his cat nest still in his party clothes sans shoes. Sassy was sniffing his hair and Jimmy was curled in his chest.

Max knew a drunken pass out when he saw one and just knew Daniel was going to have a killer hangover later. He was so annoyed, so mad. But he was relieved because Daniel was home at Max’s and he looked no worse for wear.

He was able to sleep a little and woke up early before his next meeting with Christian and Adrian. He spam texted Lando until he responded– the message was unintelligible, but all that mattered was that he answered.

He tried calling Daniel but it didn’t seem like he was going to answer. He was about to hang up when the facetime connected and he was greeted with Sassy’s face sniffing the screen. She chirped at him, a sound he was getting used to.

“Hey Sassy Girl, did you answer the call? Smart girl!” He praised, getting a mrow in return. Sassy eventually shifted from the phone and he saw Daniel was laying curled on his side with his arms over his eyes. Sassy sniffed and licked his forehead a little and he groaned pitifully in response.

“Daniel, how are you feeling?” Max asked softly but the worry was there. Daniel shifted his hand and Max could see a peak of nose and soft brown eyes.

“Maxy?” Daniel whined and Max’s heart clenched.

“Daniel, I’m here.”

“...hurts.” Daniel mumbled and tried to shuffle to get comfortable again but groaned instead. Jimmy bumped his head against Daniel’s arm.

“Daniel, you need to drink some water and some electrolyte juice, maybe. You’ll feel better, I think.”

“No…” Daniel murmured and sniffled and Max’s grip on his phone tightened. He was going to kill his friends.

“Daniel, it's the only way you’ll feel better. I promise.”

Max didn't have time to continue to beg Daniel to get up and ingest anything. He needed to head out if he didn't want to be late. He whispered apologies and told Sassy and Jimmy to continue to look after Daniel, he ended the call after hearing what sounded suspiciously like a whined ‘miss you Maxy’. He wasn’t allowing himself to acknowledge it, Daniel wasn’t coherent right now.

Max was clearly unsettled, Christian noticed and pulled him aside after the first meeting. He’d kept checking his phone, he received no messages from Daniel and the messages in the group chat weren't confidence inspiring.

"What's going on Max?" Christian was looking at him concerned. "Is everyone alright?"

"I need to leave." Max was blunt, Christian got more worried.

"Why what's wrong?"

With a sigh, Max explained everything. How Daniel was magical adept and was staying with him. And how he might be sick and no one was available to take care of him. 

"You can't just leave because your friend is hungover Max." Christian rolled his eyes. 

"Christian you don't understand. He couldn't even answer my calls. Sassy answered the phone. I know how it sounds but you have to believe me."

Christian didn't look moved at all and Max felt his heart sink into the pits of his stomach. His phone rang, Lando was calling him– finally.

"Lando! Please give me good news?"

"So like, Sassy keeps chirping. What does that mean?" Lando sounded pathetic on the other line. No doubt he wasn't going to drink again for another year.

"What do you mean? What else is she doing?" Max watched as Christian raised an eyebrow.

"Well she kinda led me to the cat nest. Daniel's still asleep I think. But Sassy keeps chirping at me and sniffing Daniel's hand."

"I dunno mate. Check his tattoos, maybe?"

Max watched as Lando's head moved off camera, he could hear Sassy's chirps; they didn't sound promising. Max tried to hold onto his fear, especially which Christian watching his every response.

"Uhm." Lando's voice squeaked with panic. "The rose looks pretty pale. Is that supposed to happen? It's pretty droopy too."

Lando's panicked eyes engulfed the screen.

"Show me!" Max demanded and bit his lip when the camera flipped again and Lando wrenched back Daniel's sleeve to show his tattoo that was indeed pale and sick looking. Christian looked over his shoulder and together they watched as the rose lost a petal.

"Max what do I do???"

"Well I'll be damned." Christian murmured in shock.

"Christian, I need to go." Max tried again, hoping some form of proof of urgency would help.

Christian sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Fix this then come back." 

Turns out, travelling is still a nightmare even if you have your own plane. Things like clearance and pulling staff from days off became a hindrance. But what was the point of being rich if you couldn’t throw money at your problems? And that’s how Max was on his way home. 

Max was livid, and he let his ire be known in the group chat. Lando was groveling with memes, Charles said sorry (it was more like ‘sprrh’ but the spirit was there). And Alex was trying to recreate a timeline of events. 

None of that, however, made his dread any less when he received a text message from Michelle. It was just a link and ‘???????’. Which could never be good.

And it wasn’t. Because on his screen was a video of Daniel’s rose blooming and glowing with strobe lights and EDM blaring in the background. The caption was pretty simple, expressing shock at the moving tattoos and you could hear Daniel giggling in the background. They didn’t show his face thankfully.

Max groaned, because fuck. 

He didn’t need to look at the views or likes to know that this video had gone viral; how else would Michelle have seen it on the other side of the world? The phone rang in his hand and he answered it while dragging his other hand down his face.

“Max, what the fuck?!” Michelle was, reasonably, upset. It was painful to explain that he hadn’t been there and that Daniel was suffering. He could see the distress and distrust churning in her eyes. Eventually she let him go after he promised updates, it took nothing less than actual vows for her to believe him.

When he finally made it home, he truly didn’t know what to expect. The cats welcoming him back with loud meows and chirps were not it. He followed them to the cat nest where Daniel still layed, there was a bottle of water and gatorade sweating beside him but both were unopened. 

“Oh Daniel.” Max cooed, kneeling on the outside of the blankets and pillows. Daniel still hid his face from presumably the brightness of the living room. Max looked around, unable to locate Lando, which was probably for the best right now.

“Maxy…?” Daniel murmured, pained and unsure.

“I’m here. Can you drink some water for me?”

“Maxy, hurts so bad.” Daniel’s voice wobbled. Max’s heart clenched.

“I know Daniel, but you need to drink. You’ll feel better.” Daniel groaned pitfully and Max sighed. He crawled into the cat nest and gently maneuvered Daniel to rest against him. Daniel buried his face into Max’s chest, nuzzling his sternum. “If you drink some for me, you can go back to sleep and I’ll order pizza. Does that sound good?”

Daniel hummed and Max proceeded to help him drink half the bottle of water and half the gatorade. 

“What about your work?” Daniel rasped and Max waved him off, they didn’t need to talk about that. Lando came out of the powder room then, looking like death warmed over. No doubt he had been praying to the porcelain gods.

“Max, you’re here! Thank god!” Lando sagged with relief and threw himself onto the couch. “Wait, how are you here?”

“Doesn’t matter–” Max cut himself off from saying that they had a problem. Even though they did. He shook his head and focused on the task at hand, which was taking Daniel to his bed in the guest room. They didn’t quite make it and hand to beeline for the toilet where Daniel pitifully released what remained churning in his stomach. It wasn’t a lot but his body didn’t know that apparently. Max petted his hair while he dryheaved and then helped him into the soft sheets after. The cats padded and curled around him worriedly, and Max took that as an ok to leave the room to talk to Lando, Sassy would get him if anything.

“Mate what the fuck?” Max hissed at Lando, who shrunk back into the couch to hide. 

“Mate, I dunno. I’m sorry. We didn’t even leave him for too long.”

“Long enough!” Max pulled up the video and shoved it into Lando’s face. Lando paled further and looked like he was about to be sick again.

“Well, fuck.”

“All you had to do was keep him company, Mate. That isn’t so fucking hard. For fuck’s sake man!” Max ranted, dragging his hand through his hair in agitation. 

“He thought you were like his ex! Who was super controlling and wouldn’t let him go anywhere without him!” Lando cut in, Max froze.

“What?”

“Yeah, when I told him we weren’t going he got all sad and stuff, Mate. You can ask Alex and Lily, started talking about how he thought you were good. I defended your honour by the way! Thankyouverymuch-ow” Lando cradled his head in his hand.

“His ex was controlling?” Max whispered, the clench in his chest was back.

“Yeah, apparently he didn’t want Daniel singing. And Daniel had to stay home when he was gone. Couldn’t go anywhere. He was so upset Max, we couldn’t not go.”

“I’m not mad you went out, I don’t care about that. I’m mad he was left alone and got drunk. Who knows what else could have happened. What if someone slipped him something? What if more than this video is on the internet?!” Max was pissed, he wanted to teleport to Perth and meet this ex, he just only wanted to talk. Truly.

But he couldn’t do that so he had to settle for yelling at Lando.

“I’m sorry…” it was faint and both men turned around to see Daniel leaning against the wall in the hallway. He looked pitiful and sad, maybe a bit withdrawn. 

“Daniel– you should–” 

“I’m sorry– I should have known better. I shouldn’t have– Sassy says you don’t normally come back so quickly. I messed up your plans again didn’t I?” Daniel sagged against the wall. Max rushed over to help him with wide eyes. Lando stayed on the couch– once again out of his depth.

“Daniel–”

“I’m so sorry Max! I didn’t mean to, I promise! Please don’t be mad.”

Max grabbed Daniel’s shoulders, dipping his head to look into Daniel’s sad downturned eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I came back because I wanted to take care of you. I’m not mad at you, I promise.” Max held his pinky between them. 

Daniel searched his eyes for a moment, staring deep into Max’s soul with his haunted brown cow eyes. Before he hesitantly raised his own pinky and hooked them together.

Part 12

[unironicironic]

I saw Twisters yesterday and..

Boy oh boy is it yapping time, I have mostly high praises to sing, but there were a couple things I wasn't too thrilled with.

If you haven't seen it yet and/or want to avoid spoilers, feel free to scroll on down because believe me when I say that going in as blind as possible is the way to go with this film.

All good? Alright, perfect. To keep things relatively short and sweet, this will be a bit of a quick fire type thing. So first up, the good.

The references, man oh man the references. There were plenty of lil nods to the og but some that really stood out:

Right off the bat, in the original when it was showing the WB logo and had the dark clouds, along with that melody or motif or what have you during the opening? Yeah it did exactly that, jingle and all

The Dorothy, as Kate and her crew are testing it to make sure it works in the beginning scene, it's implied that it's been used before

Speaking of the Dorothy, the device itself and the sensors look EXACTLY like the ones in the first movie

Kate says she's "not back" when Javi welcomes her back to chasing, like the original crew does Bill In the later part of the movie

Kate rocks a white tank and tan pants like Jo in the scene where they're at the rodeo and a tornado catches them off guard; as a double, this references the scene in the og where the main crew are at a drive in theater and a tornado surprises them

On a similar note, at some point Kate wears a shirt that looks a good bit like that blonde kid's shirt at the end of Twister when he and his family come out of their shelter when the EF5 lifts

The effects, namely for the tornadoes themselves, absolutely phenomenal. No movie will get it perfect, but I've gotta say that Twisters came pretty damn close to absolutely nailing it right down to a T. There were a couple times you could tell it was CGI but whew for the most part it was seamless

The accuracy, you can absolutely tell that the production crew really cared about keeping things as accurate as possible, in terms of storms, supercells, etc and how they work. I'm willing to bet they had meteorologists on standby to tell them how things work, how things would play out, etc etc. Also the ground scouring when it shows the damage done after larger tornadoes??? HELLO???

The soundtrack, I'm not usually one for country music but holy FUCK there were some absolute bangers, I often found myself tapping my feet to the songs or trying not to hum along (especially when Owens' crew shows up with "Ain't no Love in Oklahoma" going in the background, WHOOO that's a good one). Not to mention, the songs added onto the scenes they were in, often making them a bit more emotionally impactful

The actors and respectively the characters, the actors played their roles phenomenally and really sent the ball out of the park. I never really pay attention to the actors but I should've known they'd deliver when I saw everyone agree online that they'd pack a punch. And the characters, man they really added hella depth to each character, making them all feel incredibly fleshed out and relatable in a way

The intensity, hooo man did things get intense when shit hit the fan and tornadoes were bearing down. There were a good few times I sat there with my eyes glued to the screen, unblinking and watching what was going on. I was practically clutching my pearls tbh

And now, of course, the not so good. Oddly enough though, I don't have much negative to say about Twisters aside from the whole "destroying tornadoes" thing and how it seems a bit like a romance film blended into a natural disaster move. Obviously, there's no way for people to disrupt or completely stop a tornado like they eventually did in the movie. There's no way for someone to send stuff up into a funnel and get it to disappear like Kate did, ESPECIALLY if it's an EF5. Now as for the romance thing, it's Hollywood. Of course they're gonna try to throw some sort of romantic hullabaloo in there, I should've saw it coming but man it gets old sometimes.

My final verdict? A solid movie, regardless of whether or not you've seen the original. I can already tell it's going to hit the top of some charts for movies, and for very good reason. And if you're gonna watch Twisters, 100% see it at a theater. It's so much better that way, pricier but much better because it's kinda unifying in a way. There were a good few times that everyone in the room was laughing, and it was just overall a good time.

So I rate it a Tyler Owens in the rain out of ten.

[annahxredaxted]

Music to my ears

2/?

pairings: milo/sweetheart Tw: cursing: super light possessiveness [singer AU, using Doja Cats songs]

•••

this Greer guy is persistent. he talked forever ranting and being talkative about God knows what until finally he cut to the chase.

"Point is, I'm willing to give you an album deal, I want to by your next 10 songs. The price is negotiable all I want is 10 percent of your income from said songs." he offered, a kick in his accent as he finished, leaning back in his chair.

sweetheart sat there, thinking. That's all they could do, they pondered the offer, their mind running circles around itself.

"Deal." is all they could say, I mean what did they have to lose? maybe their dignity but that's pretty much it.

milo smirked, holding his hand out to them, they took it and shook his hand. he had a hell of a grip he’s probably amazing with his hands—

"Dude why would you think that." they thought before rolling their eyes at themselves

"I look forward to working with you, Sweetheart." the words rolled off his tongue with the sultriest of intentions, his deep piercing eyes, gazing into theirs, his half-assed attempt to keep them open made him absolutely stunning.

"Likewise." they muttered, standing to their feet as they were walking away Milo cleared his throat,

they turned to see him, standing. they turned their head in a questioning gaze.

"i think you look outstanding tonight." he blurted out. sweetheart stood there, not thinking clearly.

"i don't need your flattery, Greer." they spat, the walls of their emotions going higher and higher.

"Is it flattery if it's true?" he asked, crossing his arms once more, that stupid grin never leaving his face.

They didn’t know what to say, they stuttered before he grinned, and winked. 

“I’ll you later Sweetheart..” milo wished them well and was quickly on his way.

•••

Milo hopped in his car, starting the ignition and just sitting for a few moments. His waking thoughts were completely consumed by them, he couldn’t get them off his mind.

He sang their music and watched them preform, liked their instagram from a burner account- just so he could see them.

He sighed before calling Asher, his associate and co-worker. It was true milo was the head producer but he never thought of himself that way, he always thought of almost everyone as equal. He thought of it as everyone has a different job. But they’re all important

“Heyyy!” Milo heard Ashers prolonged greeting from the other line

“Hey ash, I’m driving back to the studio, have that deal ready to be sent over to them as soon as possible.” Milo commanded, with a light tone, making it known he wasn’t mad or anything just tired.

He heard asher grunt of agreement and a slight “mkay”.

“Thank you, I’ll be there shortly, bye.” Milo said before hanging up and throwing his phone in the center console.

His head ached with the thought of them. He couldn’t bear to listen to their beautiful voice anymore. He would combust if he saw them anymore.

If he heard them sing the songs they did- that genre they flaunted and praised. He’d die then and there.

He shuffled the radio, to some old country bullshit, he feared if he put on a a-list genre, or pop, rap, or anything even remotely close something of theirs would come on.

And he’d hop out of the car and dash to them. He’d tell them everything- but he couldn’t- they’d think he was weird, or creepy. So he kept to himself.

•••

Sweetheart rode back to their home, immediately after milo left. They couldn’t stand him.

He acted so much better then them.

As if! They were so successful and had great music and all he has going for him is his company, and his hands.

“What.” They said out loud- flabbergasted at their thoughts

They made a turn and pulled into their house, quickly making their way upstairs. They didn’t bother shower, they got in their comfy clothes and hid under their blanket.

What were they hiding from? Their thoughts.

It’s not like milo was gonna pop out and say “BOO!” but they were delirious and tired.

They began hysterically crying with laughter.

“He does have really nice hands.” They admitted before sighing a sigh of relief. Relief that the day was over, and they weren’t face to face with Milo Greer.

A few hours went by and they didn’t fall asleep, they waited and waited but no dozing off was occurring.

Why was that?

It felt almost as if their subconscious was trying not to dream about milo. But like of course they wouldn’t do that! Right? right.

Maybe they would- but not a huge deal. People dream about people all the time. So why did it bother them so much?

Probably because he was super hot- and super unavailable. There’s a rumor going around that he’s off the market. But no one knows who it is? Or if it’s true for that matter.

•••

Milo sat in bed, continuously adjusting his pillow, and himself for that matter. The thought of them heavy on his mind.

He thought about the way they moved tonight, the way their body moved to the rhythm of the music that poured out of their breath.

Their syllables ran off like liquid. And he loved being in the crowd when they sang and looked so at ease.

He knew people stared at them, their dancers, or band members. And definitely the people that came to the show for them.

He wanted to gouge out the eyes of anyone who looked at them with lust.

But that wasn’t his place. He wasn’t their boyfriend or anything like that. He was their business partner for now. But it won’t always be like that. He didn’t have that place. It wasn’t up to him to be protective or possessive over them.

But god he wished it was.

•••

Taglist: @itsdaifuku @verrverii @darlin-collins @youisagayhooman @shellssstuff @mrsmiagreer

[good-beanswrites]

HI 🎬 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE AHHH It did get eaten so I'm really glad you sent it again!!

It's interesting, because this movie night could take place right before T2 begins, and act as a little celebration/preparation night. But also, I like the thought of doing it after T2 closes, since they'd have their verdicts in mind while they watched the videos...

No matter when it takes place, this round of videos would definitely be more tense, but at least some of that would be lessened by the fact everyone was involved in filming. While the first movie night was a way to break the ice and have a little fun, this event feels more solemn. It's definitely used as a pick-me-up after such an ordeal -- a way to offer tons of praise and support and understanding to their fellow prisoner before/after a time where they had to pretend to hate one another.

Haruka, Mahiru, and Amane's require some serious time afterwards to talk and recover. LMAO I love the thought of Yuno's video resulting in some cheers as well as some "yes ma'am"s 😂 But I think despite her honesty, actually seeing her in those situations would cause the prisoners to understand her much deeply that before. (And I like to think she tries to bond with Amane over having multiples of themselves in the video :D) Mmm, and having a little moment between Muu and Fuuta would be so nice here. As bad as he felt seeing her be a victim in the T1 video, now he feels bad for her for a different way -- he can relate to her situation more and knows her pain.

Ahhhhh I want everyone to meet and hang out with Shidou's family so bad ;---; Although they're still not allowed to leave the facility until the experiment is over, everyone immediately starts making plans to hang out. Mahiru asks their favorite foods so she can have him over for dinner. Haruka asks if they have any similar hobbies/games so he can play with them. Amane doesn't say anything, but listens really closely to all the conversations. And yeah, by this time Jackalope would have received too much pressure to ignore the paperwork surrounding Amane any longer. While he's at it, they make him look into Haruka and his sister as well.

I wanted to make a John joke so bad you don't even know 😭😭😭I'm definitely going to sneak some teasing in post-neoplasm because I just think that's so funny and the others would never let him live it down OMG (I saw another post about it, but maybe secretly Red thinks it's fun -- despite hating the actual name John, he's excited to actually receive a nickname after Mikoto has given so many out to others)

But no matter how serious it gets, they'd be able to dance and sing along with some of the upbeat videos! The singer themselves may encourage the others to join in, since it would take some of the heaviness off of watching themself like that. It's such a bizarre situation, but they embrace it and find a little fun where they can.

I also just realized they'd get to watch Undercover!! It's the first time they get to hear Es sing and they're very impressed, and also enjoy seeing everyone together after separate filming. The visuals are pretty basic, and I think it'd be mostly teasing one another about the uniforms or looking like a sad wet cat behind bars...

Once again thank you 🎬!! These were so amazing and big brained 👏 I really appreciate you taking the time to write them out and send (twice ;-;), and I know a lot of others have enjoyed reading them as well!

[karolincki]

Empty Shell

I wrote this for @jaskierwhumpweek day 4, Exhaustion

Warnings: suicidal tendencies, child neglect/abuse, minor character death

Read it on Ao3

------------------------------------------------------

"Julian!"

Julian was hiding in his closet as his father's angry voice rang through the estate. His entire body was trembling.

Earlier, he had been playing in the gardens, something his father had forbidden, but all the plants and animals were just too fascinating to not look at. Julian had been careful, not letting anyone see him, but then he had lost track of time.

A maid had been sent out to look for him and when she had found him in a field of buttercups she immediately had run to tattle on him to his father.

Julian hiccuped and tried to suppress his sobs. Why wouldn't his father let him have a little bit of fun?

He began to cry in earnest when his father finally found him.

—

As Julian got older his father only got stricter.

No talking when adults are speaking. Always listen. Don't run. Pay attention. Stop crying.

But the stricter his father got, the more rebellious Julian became.

For every boring meeting he spent twice the time out in the woods. He learned to play the flute in secret. A stable boy showed him how to whittle a rudimentary flute. The sound was awful, but it was Julian's. He created that.

Creating became Julian's new outlet. He began to draw, to sing, to write, to play.

When his father found his notes of poetry, he told the servants to burn them all and to make sure to burn each future paper they saw.

His drawings would have found the same fate if Julian hadn't hid them with the stable boy.

He didn't cry when his father made him watch how the servants burned his very soul. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Only hours later in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep, he broke down, crying bitter tears of betrayal.

—

Julian was fourteen when he kissed the stable boy for the first time. Patryk was already fifteen and seemed to know all the secrets of the world.

Patryk was the one to introduce him to the lute. It had gotten little damaged, so a bard had left it behind.

The first time Julian stroked one of the strings, it felt like his entire being changed. That one single sound called out to him like nothing had before. In that very moment he knew who he wanted to become.

He spent every single moment of his free time learning how to play the lute. Patryk always told him he had real talent, so when he felt he was good enough he went to his father to tell him about wanting to become a bard.

His father of course thought very little of his idea.

"You are viscount and you will get those silly ideas out of your head right now. Never speak of this again."

Julian had expected that reaction, but it was disheartening anyway.

Julian was fifteen when his father found the lute.

He was fifteen when his father saw him kiss Patryk.

He was fifteen when Patryk was bound to the pillory and whipped until his cries fell silent.

It was the last time he saw Patryk.

—

That day something broke inside of Julian. He had always held hope that one day things would turn around. Not anymore.

Where there once had been a boy who always smiled, there now was an empty shell.

Julian went through the motions of each day as if he was controlled by something else.

He sat quietly in meetings, never spoke out of turn, and always obeyed.

His father began to praise him for his diligence and his obedience.

"Finally we can make a proper Pankratz out of you."

The old Julian would have felt sick hearing those words, but the current one only smiled. His soul was gone, but at least he had his father's love.

—

Julian slept most of his free time.

When his father forced him to go to parties to meet proper young ladies, he went without complaint. He smiled and flirted through the entire evening, even when he felt like death warmed over.

Julian did what his father asked, he put on a mask and played the part of the perfect son and as soon as he was alone he fell apart like a puppet whose strings you cut.

He was always exhausted, but no matter how much he slept he never felt rested.

His father became impatient with him.

"Be more proactive, smile for real for once, stop being so lifeless."

It was the only request he couldn't fulfill.

Julian thought to himself that if he could fall asleep and never wake up again, then that would be ideal.

—

Julian was sitting under a tree.

His father had told him to get out, do something, anything really, just not sit at home.

So Julian went and walked until he couldn't see his father's estate anymore.

The wind was rustling through the leaves and bees were buzzing all around him, but Julian noticed none of that.

A bee landed on his hand. Disinterested, he watched it for a moment before he shooed it away.

Life truly was bleak.

Something nagged at the edge of his mind. Something that had been dormant for way too long. It annoyed Julian and he tried to get rid of it, but the feeling of urgency grew.

Finally he registered what his subconscious had picked up on. There was singing in the distance accompanied by a lute.

Julian's heart began to race. He shouldn't be here. His father would be angry. He would punish him again and yet Julian couldn't move.

Around the bend in the road a person appeared. They were dressed in colourful clothes and a ridiculous hat adorned their head. Julian held his breath.

As the bard, for it must be one, came closer, the song became clearer. It filled Julian with emotions he didn't want to feel, hopes and dreams he never wanted to think about again.

Tears were clouding his vision and his heart ached like it hadn't done in years.

The bard nodded at him in passing, not interrupting his song for even a second.

Julian was shaking.

He later wouldn't know what made him do it, but he called after the bard.

"Good sir, where did you learn your trade?" If the bard noticed how much his voice shook he didn't let it show. He stopped his singing but never his playing.

"In Oxenfurt of course!" the bard called back. "I am a master of the seven liberal arts. Now I travel through the lands and sing to my heart's content."

With a deep bow that looked so theatrical it might have given Julian's father a stroke, the bard disappeared into the woods.

His music stayed with Julian, though.

Julian's heart was racing. Fear, hope and panic battled inside his chest and paralysed he sat on the ground.

He had to do something.

He shouldn't though.

Dragging his feet, he rushed back home.

His father was gone on a visit to a friend and the servants didn't pay attention to Julian.

He threw a bunch of his clothes together in a bag and vomited into the chamber pot.

Grabbing everything of value he could carry and sell, he rushed out of the house while his head screamed to turn around as long as his father hadn't found out yet.

It was late. The merchants had already closed for the day and the farmers were home, so Julian managed to evade most people and hide behind a cloak he stole from a servant on his way out.

The docks were busier, full of drunken sailors and Julian marched straight to the person that looked like the most sober captain.

"I need passage to Oxenfurt."

The captain looked him up and down critically.

"Aren't you the little lordling?"

Julian resisted the urge to flee.

"I have enough money to make sure you never say that again."

The captain grinned and broke out laughing.

"Alright little stowaway, no noble has ever entered my ship if the Lord asks."

The passage to Oxenfurt was miserable.

Julian was sea sick for the most part and eaten alive by anxiety. What on earth was he thinking?

As soon as they reached Oxenfurt he booked the first inn he could get, bathed, and slept for an entire day. When he woke the next morning he forced down some breakfast and went up to the university.

He was feeling queasy. His legs were liquid and his stomach was ready to expel what little food he had managed to choke down.

The entrance was buzzing with students who were looking to sign up for the winter semester and before he knew what was happening he got swept up in the masses.

Was he insane? He hadn't played the lute in ages and was constantly exhausted, how could ever hope to become anything?

And yet, he didn't turn around. His heart raced, raced to the beat of the song of the bard and too soon yet still not soon enough he stood in front of the woman signing them all up.

"Name, please," she drawled.

Who was he? Who was he supposed to be? He couldn't sing up with Julian Pankratz, he didn't want to be that person anymore.

"Name, please."

"Jaskier, my name is Jaskier."