#or the middle of a ballet recital

[biffybobs]

Sleep is for the weak.

[droodlebug]

my biggest brag is being able to draw ballet stuff from memory on account of i do that. and you stare at your own body a lot it gets pretty baked in

[aquasoftware]

His baby. ⪩✿⪨

No warnings just Nanami being a dad (fluff) + ML.

Girldad!Kento, who pulls the classic "Go ask your mother." When his daughter wants something but eventually gives in, shaking his head with a slight smile once she brings out the big doe eyes and pleading combo. "I'll see what I can do." He says as he acknowledges her request.

Girldad!Kento, who supports his daughter's little dreams and gives her wads of cash to start her snack business at school, then once she quickly sells out, she finds hidden colorful sticky notes at the bottom in her big tote bag telling her how proud he is.

Girldad!Kento, who teaches his daughter how to save money when he finds out she spent most of her earnings on Doordash and Roblox.

Girldad!Kento, who covers his red face in embarrassment when his daughter dolls him up for a tea party, wearing a comically large powder pink tutu paired with a plastic silver crown as she records tik-toks forcing his two left feet to dance.

Girldad!Kento, who proudly wears his daughter's homemade bracelets that she made from a gifted hobby lobby bracelet kit to work anytime he gets handed a new one, not at all caring about the idiotic snickers he gets from his co-workers. Kento's favorite bracelet that he'll forever keep safe is one that has lettered black and white charms saying "Best dad."

Girldad!Kento, who never gets tired of the crafted macaroni gifts, whether it's on a card for his birthday, a picture frame for Christmas, or a macaroni necklace for Father's Day to him, it's always the thought that counts.

Girldad!Kento, who gets spoiled by his wife and his daughter, receiving two packed lunches for work. He was intensely observant of his daughter's latest interest, which this time became those junior cooking shows eager to try out a new recipe. Yet although it wasn't the best tasting food in the world, he still scarfed down his daughter's cooking as if it were his last meal.

Girldad!Kento, who awakens to the horrified cries of his precious child, begging "Papa, there's a monster in my room; can I sleep with you and mama tonight...?" He couldn't deny that, swiftly enough you both accepted her with open arms in your shared bed.

Girldad!Kento, who encourages his child to do a sport, feeling his heart melt as his little girl picks ballet.

Girldad!Kento, who spam calls you while you're at work so you can guide him through doing makeup for her ballet recitals. "That's the last step? Okay, I promise I'll get some videos for you, honey!" He reassures you, understanding that you don't want to miss a moment.

Girldad!Kento, who humiliates his poor daughter at the recital jumping up and screaming "That's my baby!"

Girldad!Kento, who never misses a PTA meeting or a parent-teacher conference meeting.

Girldad!Kento, who knew no amount of pep talks from you could prepare him for his baby getting her first period, halfway panicking in Walgreens, snatching up every sanitary napkin possible as soon as he got the text, picking her up from school early due to how bad it got getting her favorite comfort food to cheer her up afterwards.

Girldad!Kento, whose heart absolutely shattered hearing the sentence "Papa, I'm way too old for dolls now." What did she mean she was ready to give up Monster High and Barbie's? The saddened blonde refused to let his baby grow up even though he knew he had to.

Girldad!Kento, who almost sheds a tear when he finds out other cruel kids have been picking on her, calling her ugly, so instead of a typical lecture, he gave a warm embrace reminding her how beautiful she is.

Girldad!Kento, who will sob his eyes out at every single graduation, including elementary, middle, high-school, and soon eventually college, needing at least five boxes of tissues to himself at her middle school graduation, not even being able to fathom how he'd handle her high school graduation.

Girldad!Kento, who loves his daughter unconditionally.

8/28/24 11:59pm

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alba's Version) II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Something is missing

There is something missing, Alexia thinks that evening.

She isn't sure what it is but she knows there's something. Something should be at home but isn't.

It can't be Olga because she knows Olga is in Madrid with a client and won't be home for another week. Alexia misses her for sure, calling every night to make sure she's okay and ordering little gifts for Olga to find when she finally comes home again.

It's not Jaume because he's already in bed, fast asleep after a long training session after school. He's been doing well in school, solidly in the middle of the pack with all of his tests and exams. He's balancing everything very well.

The thought of her son fills her with pride. He's doing so well with his training too, leaps and bounds ahead of those in his age range and only seems to be getting better and better.

Alexia can already see, in her mind's eye, him debuting for Barcelona as a teenager. He's got the talent for it and the drive.

Playing for Barcelona is his dream, to be clad in the colours of the first team and play in a sold out Camp Nou just like Alexia did all those years ago.

She walks around her house, checking doors and windows are locked to try and work out what she's missing.

She checks the mantelpiece, in case a picture has fallen down but there's nothing.

All of Jaume's school photos are hanging up in pride of place for everyone to see. Nothing has fallen off. Nothing has appeared out of nowhere.

The only thing there is a layer of dust that should probably get cleaned up tomorrow when she has time.

But Alexia's not quite sure what she's missing as she heads back up the stairs.

Jaume's bedroom door is slightly open and she can see him snoozing happily through the crack like normal. Your bedroom door is closed.

That's normal too.

Your door is always closed. You always hide yourself away in your room, hidden from everyone else for most of the hours of the day.

Alexia sighs, shaking her head.

She's not quite sure what to do with you.

You finish school this year...

No, that's not right.

You finish school next year?

Maybe the year after that?

Alexia's not quite sure but either way you need to talk to her about your future, about what you want to do with your life.

Ballet is a nice hobby to have but Alexia doesn't know if you're talented enough to make it a job. Nothing has come home for you in a while and there's been no invitations to recitals and performances. To be honest, Alexia doesn't quite know if she's still paying for lessons for you because you never tell her about them.

It hardly matters though because soon enough you'll need an actual job and Alexia needs to know if you'll go straight out into the work force or if you're going to be going to university.

She isn't quite sure what you'd study but your self sufficient enough to know by this point.

Alexia can't remember the last time you've asked her for something but that hardly matters either. You've been independent for a while now. You know how to sort yourself out.

Alexia would just like to know in advance so she can plan her own stuff out like if you're going to need company when touring a university or if you're happy to do it by yourself.

She yawns, finally tearing herself away from your closed door.

It's very late and Jaume's got early morning practice that she's got to drive him to.

He could get himself there all on his own if he really wanted to. He's been very smug about his new bus pass, allowing him to meet up with his friends without Alexia shepherding him everywhere.

But, still, the mornings before football practice are something special between Alexia and Jaume.

Just the two of them in the car together.

They talk about everything and nothing.

It's the perfect time to catch up with her son, Alexia thinks. He's a very busy boy when school and friends and football is taken into account.

He does so much and has so little time so the car journey is always the best time to talk to him and find out what's been going on in his life.

It's a time that Alexia looks forward to every week but it's very early in the morning that they have to leave though so she really should be getting to bed.

Whatever conversation you and she should have can be delayed a little longer.

[vanmarkus]

I know we all love the idea of Eddie keep flirting with Steve and calling him pet names, because he thinks he can get away with it.

But I've been thinking about Steve casually calling Eddie baby without even registering what he's doing.

Like they are standing outside the van with the hood open and Steve just tutting at him like "Eddie, baby, you really gotta get your transmission checked, this is like the third time this month" and Eddie's losing his shit, mouth hanging open in shock, but Steve has no idea and it just keeps on happening after that.

Next time it happens, they are all over at Steve's, having a movie night and Steve has El and Max passed out on him, making him unable to get up from the couch without waking them and he just whisper-yells to Eddie "Hey babe, could you pass me a beer? Kinda tied up here" and Eddie just blanks and says nothing, but gets a bottle from the sixpack on the floor and Steve says "thanks" like it's just how things have always been between them.

And Eddie's working himself into a frenzy. Has Steve got no idea about what he's doing to him? Because Eddie's been lowkey crushing on Steve since he got mixed up in the whole Upside Down business and it just got worse when he woke up at the hospital to Steve holding his hand and giving him the brightests of smiles that there was, rubbing his thumb over Eddie's knuckles, whispering a soft "Hey there sleeping beauty, how're ya feeling?" while being completely oblivious to the suspicious look Wayne was giving them. And sure, hanging out with him nearly every day didn't help the situation one bit.

But this. This is going to be the death of him.

And it just keeps on happening. Steve murmurs "goodnight baby" into the phone before hanging up, he shouts "babe, come here, you gotta see this" when Lucas ends up stuffing fifteen oreos into his mouth (which is a new personal record) and whispers "hey baby, I'm sorry, I know you'd rather do something else, but I promised Mrs Wheeler" when they're watching Holly's ballet recital, waving at her from their seats when her eyes land on them.

It all comes to a head when Eddie's stupid van breaks down in the middle of fucking nowhere, on their way back from Indianapolis, after going there to buy a special boardgame for Dustin's birthday.

There's not a single car or house to be seen anywhere in a ten mile radius.

"Oh this is just great," Steve hisses as he jumps out of the car to walk around and Eddie does the same. He pops the hood and watches as a small cloud of smoke slithers out of it.

"Shit" Eddie swears under his breath. It looks bad.

"See baby, that's exactly why I told you to get it checked! Because I didn't wanna get stuck in fucking no man's land!"

"Look, I'm sure if we just leave it to rest a little..."

"Rest? Eds, come on, you know that's not how it works. We gotta walk up to the next gas stop and phone someone to tow it."

"Fuck, fine!" Eddie grunted. "But it gets dark in like twenty minutes."

They both know that they can't handle walking out in the wild after dark. Not after everything and not with all the nightmares that still tormented them most nights.

"Then I guess we're sleeping out here tonight." Steve says, dropping his hands on his hips. "You have pillows or some shit in the back?"

"Got a couple of blankets, yeah."

In the end they lay down two blankets on the bottom of the van and bundle up some old jumpers Eddie keeps in there for pillows. They lie there, facing each other in the dark.

"Hey... I'm sorry about all this" Eddie whispers, like his voice could disturb anyone out here in the middle of nowhere.

"It's okay, I just wish you'd pay more attention to stuff like this. I mean shit, babe, what if it's just you out here, huh? What then?"

"Steve-"

"I mean, I just hate to think about how shitty it would be, to be out here alone, in the dark... plus I'd worry myself sick not knowing where you are, you know?"

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not alone."

"No, no you're not alone" Steve agrees with a private little smile.

They settle into a companionable silence and Eddie's almost certain that Steve is just about to drift off, but he can't contain it in himself any longer; he has to ask.

"Hey Steve?"

"Mmh?"

"Why uh... why are you keep calling me...?" He can't bring himself to say it out loud without his face heating up.

"What?"

"Names." He settles, hoping that Steve would get it.

"Names?"

He's gonna make him say it, isn't he?

"Yeah like uh... baby."

"Oh"

Even in the darkness of the van Eddie can see how the colour darkens in Steve's cheeks.

"Does it bother you?" Steve asks after a beat and Eddie just sighs out a soft "no".

"Okay."

For a long moment it seems that this is all Eddie's gonna get, but then Steve shuffles a little closer and runs a finger along Eddie's palm before taking his hand into his own.

"It just felt right, you know? Calling you that. I dunno, it was like how it was meant to be."

"That sounds kinda romantic, isn't it?" Eddie's shooting for a joke, but Steve just sighs timidly.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

"Steve-"

"Eddie... can I?" He doesn't finish it, but Eddie knows he'd say yes to pretty much anything Steve could ever ask from him.

"Yeah" He breathes with a little nod and Steve scoots even closer, placing his other hand onto Eddie's cheek. He leans in and looks him in the eyes for an impossibly long moment, making sure he's got permission one last time.

Steve whispers a soft "baby" onto his lips before finally closing the gap between them.

[crsssie]

cherry red pies, pretty pink skies

word count: 1.5k || pt2 of sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

summary: Damian's sweet baby has her first ballet recital

"Dami, can you—"

"Don't worry." He hums, showing you the pamphlet he had picked up earlier. 

You never thought you'd be worried over ballet lessons. His sweet daughter was having her first recital, and he had cancelled a whole day's worth of plans in order to make sure that everything would go smoothly. You found it cute, though you were no less worried than he was. You could just never quite know what would go wrong in Gotham. The possibilities were endless... even with private security around the vicinity of the theatre.

You wonder if it's possible to be even more anxious than Damian.

"We'll be safe." He hums, hand reaching for yours as he runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you exhale.

"We'll be fine." You mumble. "We'll be fine."

"And if not then I get to shoot at Drake once."

"WHAT." 

Damian doesn't elaborate more on it, but when you catch a blur of orange in the dark, you get the general idea.

Well, at the very least, you feel a little more at peace knowing that someone is taking care of security. You wonder if Tim's out on the roof only to hack the cameras, though.

"Is he?" 

"No." Damian shakes his head, showing security the ticket. "Not this time."

You wonder just how worried Damian is over this entire situation, then.

"Are you worried that she'll mess up on stage at all?" You follow him to the center seats in the middle row, sitting down as he helps you down first.

"She's our blood. She's perfect even if she somehow does mess up. In that case, it would be improv, which we both know is something only the most talented can dream of doing."

You hold back at laugh at Damian's words. 

"Besides. We've both seen her practicing. She'll be alright." His hand covers yours, tapping gently at your fingers.

"I think she'll be fine." Cass hums as she slides next to the two of you, small bouquet in her arms, Bruce following shortly after.

"She's going to do the best out of all her peers." Damian rolls his eyes. 

You can only laugh.

In a way, Damian isn't wrong. Out of all those in her age group on stage, only your daughter somehow manages to remember the routine from start to finish, and when it's the end, you can barely contain your excitement to greet her. Damian follows after you with the flowers he had put in the trunk, small bouquet of congratulatory flowers in his arms as you pick up your precious baby girl and spin her around.

"You were great, baby." You grin, bouncing her in your arms.

"Thank you, mama." She mumbles. "Hi daddy."

"Hi, princess." Damian imitates a light curtsey, offering her the flowers. "Well done on your performance."

"Thank you, baba." She mumbles, cheeks flushed as she takes the flowers from her dad. "I didn't mess up."

"I know." He hums, holding her hand. "We're proud of you."

Your moment is interrupted when she spots Cass, eyes lighting up as she reaches from your arms for her. You hand her over with a gentle roll of your eyes, and Damian watches as she babbles nonsensical things that Cass entertains, flowers handed to her as she continues, thanking her in the same breath, going back to speaking.

"She takes after me for all that talking." You grin, patting Damian's hand as he rests it on your elbow.

"She's much more formal than her peers." Damian scrunches his nose. "Perhaps due to my influence."

"It isn't a bad thing." You wave as you watch Tim and Jason walk in. "You guys missed the whole thing."

"Oh, no we didn't" Tim shakes the camera in his hand, popping out the SD card and tossing it to Damian. "All on video with photos."

"Much appreciated." Damian nods. 

You wonder if Damian's family adores your little girl a little too much. She greets the rest of her uncles with a grin, excitement that only a child can experience making her little body shake with excitement. At one point, Dick calls to let you all know that dinner was ready at the mansion, and you offer to take your little girl from Cass.

"I wanna stay with aunt Cass." She pouts.

"What if she's tired?"

"Baba will carry you." Damian opens his arms for her, and she leaves Cass' embrace reluctantly. "Good girl." 

"Sorry about that." You laugh. "She was excited that you watched her perform."

"Thank you for inviting me." Cass hums. "She'll be great."

"I'm sure it's because she saw that photo of you doing ballet that one time while visiting Bruce. She's been enamored with the idea ever since." 

Cass only hums, glancing to the side as she waves at your daughter — who's still looking at her.

"I'll take her off your hands tonight after dinner." Cass laughs. "I'll bring her back tomorrow."

"Well, it is her summer vacation." You sigh. "Baby, you wanna stay with Aunt Cass for the night?"

"Can I?" She blinks up at you expectantly, and you look up to Damian.

"Do you want to?"

"It would be nice..."

"Then yes." He hums. "Don't trouble her too much, alright?"

She nods, grinning at Cass as she smiles back.

You have dinner with the rest of the family, their soulmates all present, handing your daughter small gifts of celebration as she thanks everyone with a polite nod. She reminds you very much of Damian, and from what Talia had told you when he was a baby, your daughter seems to be the exact image. At the very least, you hope that she'll grow up without the trauma that Damian had to experience because of his blood. He does a great job at keeping her separate from his life in the streets of Gotham. 

You wave goodbye to the family as your daughter gives you both a small kiss goodbye, promising she'll be good for Cass for the night. You have a feeling that means she's going to stay up past her bedtime practicing ballet with Cass again, but as long as she doesn't stay up too late, she'll be fine.

"How late do you think she'll be up until?" You mumble to Damian as he holds your door open for you.

"I'd argue anywhere around 11 to midnight." He nods as he closes the door for you.

"I hope she has fun, then." You chuckle, watching as the manor's doors close once more.

"We'll have our fair share of fun."

"Ugh, I can't wait to get a glass at home."

"Would you like to look through what just arrived? Drake dropped it off before patrol to me."

"You know, for someone who claims to just tolerate him, you sure do rely on him for a lot." You turn your head to glance at him, and he sighs. 

"Siblings."

You found that Damian was highly sentimental after marriage. From the wedding invites to the clothes he wore first when he met you, he knows every moment and minor detail of you. In your room, other than the shelves of mangas he collected as a teen, he also keeps photobooks of the two of you through each year, and all six failed engagement ring attempts are framed on the wall in the living room. You are lucky, you think. Your hopelessness had paid off... or rubbed off. You hadn't known it was possible to be so enamored with someone. Maybe his brothers rubbed off on him.

"Do you want a snack with the wine?" Damian hands you a glass, lips curled upwards gently as you grin at the package.

"I'll be fine. You kept it in the delivery box?"

"You like opening boxes." He hums, settling next to you on the couch as you open the box to find a booklet.

"Oh, from our wedding?"

"These were the behind-the-scenes that Drake got." He hums. "I did not enjoy that he got to see you first on the day of the wedding, but he did give this to us... even if it is years late."

You smile, patting Damian's shoulder gently as you flip through it with him, humming as you point at certain photos, watching as Damian texts Tim to send him the digitals later. You raise brows at certain people, and he tells you each one's name, lips quirking up in amusement when you roll your eyes at some of your friends. You wonder if the development would have happened had you not taken the risk and asked him to be your plus one to the wedding so long ago.

You yawn at one point, and Damian's hand rubs circles on your back.

"Bedtime, habibti?"

You yawn more in response, nodding slowly as you cover your mouth. "Bedtime. Are you going to frame any photos from it?"

"Most likely the one in the back. We should get a family portrait sometime as well."

"Yeah?" You start getting up, pausing mid-way to yawn. Instead, Damian picks you up with ease, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, Dami."

"Anytime. Rest well, habibti."

"Mm... you too, beloved."

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who proposed to you under the eiffel tower. it was a weekend full of romance and love, so many activities and promises filling your schedule that it didn't seem strange at all when he took you to the eiffel tower in the middle of the night; but when he knelt down and held your hand, you swore that the whole world had disappeared and that only you and Taehyung existed — he made everything disappear, except your love. “i want these days to repeat themselves until the end of our days. will you marry me?”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who writes in your wedding shoes and you in his. it was a small idea he had the night before the wedding: like a good luck charm, Taehyung suggested exchanging signatures on your shoes, as if showing everyone that you, even before getting married, had already shared a long journey of life together. “it’s like a symbol of good luck. to show that we will always walk side by side and be there for each other no matter what.”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who takes photos of both of you in shop windows. it was a custom that Taehyung created when you were still dating: it was a simple, banal, even sweet way of marking not only your date but also your clothes; huge photographs of you as a blurred couple became special to both of you, as if announcing to everyone that not only were you together, but you were also constantly going out — the flame of your relationship never went out, not even when you got married. “i can count how many times we went out to share our love and how many times i loved you in public. there is nothing more beautiful than that.”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG that takes you to see romantic plays and recitals. weekend nights became more exciting when Taehyung showed up with two tickets to the new play that was showing at the city theater; they were hours of pure love, faked between rehearsed lines and precise movements, but, nevertheless, beautiful and credible — so credible that Taehyung could only compare your relationship to theirs. “i have tickets for a new ballet recital. it's about two lovers who are destined to be together, just like us. let's go?”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who offers you a locket with your wedding date inside. the golden thread glittered in the sun, enchanting the world with the love that Taehyung felt for you; inside it, a small white fabric was stained with a very strong blue paint: a part of the shirt that Taehyung wore to the wedding and the pen that you two used to sign the reality of a dream. “so that the happiest day of our lives can provide a little strength and happiness on heavier days.”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who always shows you a rainbow because he believes that it is the gods celebrating your love. Taehyung believed that the happy colors of the rainbow were a reflection of your history: seven stages that led you to the present, seven encounters that fueled you during your dating times, seven promises that were the basis of your relationship — it seemed like number seven was your number and all the colors were the joys you brought to each other. “it’s us once again. look how the red and purple shine. it just makes me love you even more.”

HUSBAND!TAEHYUNG who swears that your love transcends physical death. even in your wedding vows Taehyung stated that there was no end to your love: physical death was just the end of a new stage for you; you and Taehyung would constantly meet again, not giving any value to the physical body when your souls spoke louder and he knew that nothing could separate you — not even death. “like a circle, our love is continuous without any gaps. in this and all realities.”

[chrisbesitos]

Okay heres another Ballerina!reader x Dealer!chris idea:

Reader is WORN OUT from recital practice, but cant rest until she gets that ONE specific part just right (totally not projecting) so shes working on it for HOURS at home (even with the bloody feet, belive me, its a regualr thing) and REFUSES to stop

idk if that makes any sense but yea

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀you're in love

( warnings: angst (a little bit), mentions of blood, cursing, fluff.

( synopsis: chris helps you when things get harder and you can't stop practicing your choreography for the recital.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰͡⠀🩰 𝅄 💸⠀͡꒱

Perfectionism. You always were a perfectionist, at school, at university and at ballet. You have the urge to be perfect and thus fuck with your head, because you don't think you can stop until your good enough. Sometimes it seems like you never will be enough and this hurts, causes not only mentally bruises, but physically too.

Well, you're accustomed to this, because it's how your brain works. Even though the pain is killing you, consuming your feet and legs like a plague. Take a deep breath and keep going, that's what you always says.

It's been hours since you're trying to do a step of your choreography perfectly, but for some reason, you can't do it right. Well, not the way you want to do. Your phone buzzing on the floor takes your attention, almost making you fall in the middle of a pirouette, you groan as you lower down to grab. It was Chris, calling you for the fifth time.

"Damn, doll. I've been calling ya', where have you been?" Chris asks through the phone, you huffs opening the cap of the bottle, taking a few sips breathing hard. "What ya' doin'? I'm fishin' some deals, wanna eat something?"

"Thank you, baby, but now I can't." You reply, holding the phone with the shoulder against your ear. You shift your feet, feeling your fingers sore, you groan in pain. "Shit." You murmured.

"Ya' good, doll?" He asks, concerned about his girl. You nod, forgetting for a moment he's not seeing you.

"Yeah, I'm just practicing now." You bite your lower lip, you need to go back to your training. "Uh, baby, what about you brought us some food? I'll have finished when you arrive here."

"Fine, doll, mind if I choose?" You deny, so Chris okay it and turned off.

You finally could go back to your practice, now putting your phone on the mute. You can't stop more, not even for calls. Chris takes more than a half hour to arrive at your place, you didn't even notice when he gets in. The smell of fresh burgers makes your stomach groans, it's been hours since your last meal, but you didn't realize you were starving until now.

"You still doin' that shit? You said you'll be ready when I get home." He says, putting the bags on the kitchen table, he looks at the living room. The couch was out of his usual place, the tv paused on the song of your choreography and you.

You were kinda a mess. Your hair is tied in a messy bun, strands of hair sticking in your sweat forehead and your cheeks red.

"Did you get attacked by a rabid raccoon?" He chuckles, you roll your eyes ignoring him. Chris raised his eyebrows at her sassy behavior, sipping his soda. "Stop that shit, let's eat."

"In a few minutes, I need to finish this." You say, turning the music on again. Chris sits in the corner of the couch, watching you do your choreography. He smiles, he loves to watch you dance, your delicate movements and the way your body moves, drives he crazy. "Fuck!" You scream, visibly frustrated with your dance, Chris frowned his eyebrows, you were perfect for him. He rested his cup on the ground, lifting from the couch to move towards you.

"What's wrong, huh? You were perfect." Chris says, cupping your cheeks with his hands. Tears were pricking in your waterline from the frustration of failure, Chris sighs pulling you closer to his chest, caressing your back with his fingers. "You're doin' great, babydoll."

"I'm not perfect." You sob on his chest, Chris shakes his head moving you to the couch, he sits and puts you on his lap. He holds your chin, making you look at him with your tearing eyes. "If I stop now, I'll not be good enough." You say, trying to get out of his lap, to get back to your practice, but Chris holds your waist, holding you hard.

"You're good enough, doll. You're perfect f'me." Chris said, cleaning your tears with his thumbs. You sniff with a little pouty in the lips, Chris chuckles cupping your cheeks. "You're the best, babydoll." He kisses your nose.

"I don't feel like I am." You whisper, leaning your head to Chris shoulder, he sighs and massages your scalp. "I'm so tired, my feet hurt." You murmured.

"How about you stop for tonight? Tomorrow I can help you with this." He caresses your thighs through the pantyhose.

"You're gonna dance with me?" You ask, lifting your head with a smile on your lips and your eyes sparkling. You always ask Chris to dance with you, but he always denies.

"Of course no, ma." He rolls his eyes, shifting on the couch with you on his legs. You huff, crossing your arms on the chest, Chris laughed undoing the ribbon from the pointe shoe you were wearing. "I said that I'm gonna help you, not dance with you."

"You're so annoying." You say, removing the claw clip of your hair and putting it aside on the couch. Chris tugged off both of your pointe shoes, gently putting on the ground, he rubbed your feet and your fingers.

"I can leave with this." He shakes his shoulders. "Uh, doll? Your feet are bleeding, is that supposed to happen?" Chris asks with a concerned look at you, he frowns his eyebrows when you slightly nod.

"It happens sometimes, it's okay." You say, caressing his shoulder, you offer him a gentle smile, saying that's everything ok. He rubbed your legs, still worrying about your bloody feet.

"Let me take care of this, 'kay?" He kisses your jaw, gently putting you on the couch.

Chris cleaned the blood from your hurt feet, putting curatives on your fingers, he also put ice and massaged until the pain was gone. He didn't let you walk to the kitchen table, he brought the food to the couch and put on tv your favorite show, he makes sure you're comfortable and good. After finishing eating, he ran you a bath with your favorite products — he's favorite also, because he loves how you'll smell after shower — and he didn't let you move a finger, because he does all the work and you don't complain.

In your bedroom, laying on the bed and under the blanket with all of your stuffed animals on the floor, Chris caresses your thighs with his finger, kissing your lips passionately. Your hands resting on his chest, scratching a bit with your nails, a smile grows in your face when he breaks the kiss.

"You're really not gonna dance with me?" You ask, with a little pouty in your lips.

"Not doin' that shit, go to sleep." Chris says, rolling his blue eyes and lifting to turn the nightstand lamp off. The last sound in the room before the silence was the sound of your laugh, before Chris held your waist and pulled you closer.

he's just a boy in love (but he doesn't know lol) ;)

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2

taglist | masterlist

[lvndrptchwrk]

Inarizaki team reacting to a ballerina s/o please. Like the had practice earlier and came late to their game, and they had to throw a sweater over their ballet attire to watch them play.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : kita, suna, atsumu, osamu, aran x gn! ballerina! reader

((i really liked the idea of them reacting to you arriving right in the middle of their game while wearing the ballet attire so literally all of them react to that happening, as well as some other headcanons ! i hope i did them all justice ! also excuse how late this was, i literally was fighting for my life trying to write this lmao))

┏━━━ ━━━┓

Kita Shinsuke

♪ always does his best to attend your recitals and watches you practice.

♪ if he cant attend, he'll always try to get a recording or meet you afterwards with a bouquet of flowers for your hard work.

♪ ensures you properly stretch and maintain a healthy diet, often meal preps for the both of you so he knows you'll eat.

♪ takes the time to research ballet techniques and moves so he can try to understand what moves you do when you dance and if you need practice on any dances

♪ secretly enjoys it when you come to watch him practice but worries when you arrive in ballet attire because he knows you're tired

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

The game had just reached a technical time out with Inarizaki reaching 16 points in the first set. The team had gotten off the court for a water break, but Kita had noticed you watching them.

He always seemed to notice the littlest of things. He jogged over to the barricade, drying his face. "You made it." He commented, giving you a big smile. "Of course, you know I'm always going to try and watch all your games." You say, and he finally notices your attire.

"Did you just come from practice?" He asks, and you can sense the lecture about heading home to properly change and taking time for yourself before going to watch his games coming, but luckily you were spared as Atsumu called him back over. "Good luck out there Shinsuke." You waved him off, but he refused to leave you without a quick hug.

The smell of his cologne lingered, and you finally got the chance to relax while you watched Inarizaki play and win the match. When they finished, Kita jogged back over to you with a smile on his face. "I thought you wouldve gone home and changed. That seems uncomfortable to wear." He notes, watching you shuffle in your spot.

" Well, I wont just pass on the opportunity to watch your game! You did amazing today, by the way. Now, we can both go home and unwind from today." You pointed out, and he sighed. The idea of walking you home and possibly unwinding with you, relaxing on the couch with a movie on after a long day seemed very appealing to him.

"Alright, let me grab my things and we can go home together."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Suna Rintaro

♪ has some of the songs you practice to saved so he can listen to it and imagine you dancing

♪ was he roped into being your practice partner because of his flexibility? yes.

♪ has several recordings of your practices and recitals and watches them when he misses you

♪ is guilty of ditching practice a couple times (but never any actual games) to watch you dance

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

It was one of those days where Suna just had to practice. Preliminaries were coming up and fast, and as much as he'd love to watch your graceful figure dance, he'd have to do that another day.

Thankfully though, you had other plans. Finishing your practice early had allowed you to finally watch him practice, and not the other way around. You never minded him watching you, your dance mates loved having him around, it just wasn't often that you got to see him practice and you were taking the chance.

You had reached the gym he was at, where he was in the middle of a practice match against another school. You stood by the doors, simply opting to watch while wearing your ballet attire and his hoodie. Just as the other team had called for a break, he looked over at you, and his whole face lit up.

He dashed over to you and engulfed you with a hug, hiding his face in your shoulder. "Thank god, these idiots were about to start driving me crazy." He whispered, and you let out a laugh as you hugged him back.

"Well practice finished a bit early for me so I figured I'd watch you practice for a change." You told him, and he eyed your outfit. "You should change, isn't that uncomfortable?" He asked, and you shrugged. "Nah, I'll just change after you finish practice for the day."

Before he could say anything else, Atsumu called him back. He gave you a quick hug before returning to the game, and you watched as he played intensely. It's almost like he was showing off. After the game, he practically ran to the lockers to grab his things, and was at your side in minutes.

"Let's go home and eat some jelly sticks, we deserve a treat today."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Miya Atsumu

♪ is your biggest supporter aside from your family, and definitely had missed a couple of practices to watch your recitals or practices.

♪ always comes with a sweet treat for you to enjoy afterwards, even if its not the best option.

♪ does his best to help you practice and stretch, uses that as an excuse to hold you tbh

♪ is always in awe about your balance and mobility, has picked up a few moves that improved his volleyball performance

♪ always coming handy with a comfy change of clothes or ice packs just in case!

♪ has a 6th sense for spotting you in the crowd, no matter what the situation is

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

He silenced the audience once more as he went to serve. His ability to practically mute the entire stadium for his serve still astounded you to this day. You watched as he performed another service ace, the crowd going wild.

It'd be rather rude if you tried to call for his attention while he was concentrated, and you were willing to watch him play.

That thought flew out the window when Atsumu whipped his head to smile and wave at you before his next serve. You jolted and waved back, wondering how he managed to see you. None of his other teammates were looking, and you started to think that he had a radar for your presence. You wouldnt be surprised if he did, considering he was somehow always aware of his brother as well.

After winning the game, he bounced over with a huge smile on his face. "Ya saw me win right?! When my serves practically knocked them over?! And ya saw mah sets to Samu and Aran?! And-" He rambled on about his game, as if you werent there watching. He finally stopped to take a drink, and noticed your attire.

"Wait, did you come straight from practice?! Ya shouldve gone home and changed first, and wait- is that mah hoodie?!" He exclaimed, turning red at the fact you had worn his hoodie. You smiled and just gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, of course I came right after practice. I'd never miss the chance to see you win Atsumu." You commented, wiping the sweat off his forehead with your sleeve. He grew bashful at that, trying to stutter out a response.

"C'mon blondie. Go meet back up with your team so we can go home."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Miya Osamu

♪ listens to your dancing playlist while he cooks!

♪ like atsumu, he brings you food after your practices and recitals (he usually cooks it!)

♪ very particular about ensuring you eat and will probably spend time preparing all your meals

♪ really enjoys it when you also watch him practice and come to his games, tries to hear your voice in the crowd

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

The game was practically over by the time you arrived. Inarizaki had the game in the bag, with a 7 point difference. Osamu had his head in the game, but no amount of concentration could make him miss the sound of your voice, cheering him on. Atsumu had taken notice and teasingly said, "Looks like yer special audience is here." The silver haired boy looked over to see you, in a hoodie over your ballet attire and a big smile on your face as you cheered for him.

Well damn, now he has the need to show off to impress you. Good thing he's already pretty good at that.

He spent the rest of the game doing just a bit more than usual and trying to be cool, which of course had you looking and laughing for the couple of goofs he did. After the game, he came over to you and rested his forehead on yours. "Hey, didja see me?" He asked, a bit too eagerly.

"Of course I did, couldn't take my eyes off of you when you show off like that, ya dork." You chuckled, cupping his face and watching him turn red. You could see Atsumu and Suna laughing at his embarassed state, with Kita and Aran trying to hide the fact they were also laughing. Dorks, all of them.

"C'mon 'Samu. You're sweaty and my muscles ache. Let's get some food, yeah?"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Ojiro Aran

♪ i feel like he took a couple of ballet lessons as a kid, so he knows a bit about some moves and helps you practice!

♪ this man would also give great foot rubs (i mean this in a non sexual way, hes just very caring)

♪ would gift you with ballet accessories to ensure you are as comfortable as you can be while dancing

♪ definitely tried to hide you from the rest of the team, along with his ballet past, but failed when you kept showing up to practice in ballet attire

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

To be frank, Ojiro was sweating. And not from practice. You see, Ojiro Aran is a very private person.

Sort of.

He's the straight man of the team, always forced into weird antics that makes him question his sanity. Truly, he wonders if he joined the circus instead of a volleyball team with how they act at times. It's partially the reason why he never tells him about his own personal life outside of volleyball. That, and they never ask.

You were one of those unspoken topics of his life. Don't get him wrong, he adored and loved you! But oh god if the others found out about you, the questions would be never-ending. And he already deals with so much from them.

So seeing you sitting with his coaches on the bench while he was playing had spiked his heart rate. Especially when he hears Atsumu say, "Who's the cutie sitting with the coaches?" The entire team takes a glance over at you, who just waves excitedly at Aran. The ace takes note of his hoodie covering your ballet attire, and suppresses the urge to stop and admire you. He can do that after he wins the practice match. But for now he needs to make sure that no one else tries to talk to you or hit on you.

He practically bowls over the twins as he makes his way to you after the match. "Hey beautiful love of my life partner whomst I love! Let me go and grab my things so we can leave!" He says a bit too loudly, making the others stop and stare at the two of you. His face was red, both from practice and him processing what he'd said, but it made you laugh. And as long as the others knew that you were his, he didn't mind the others knowing a bit more about him. The smile on your face as you got up to hold his hand was worth it.

"Sure, 'Jiro. Here's your water. You did very good today, ace. Now let's leave before the others start questionin' us, yeah?"

┗━━━ ━━━┛

[bobemajses]

Baruch Agadati dancing as a rabbi in traditional Hasidic garb, late 1920s.

Baruch Kaushansky was born to a Jewish family in Bessarabia in the Russian Empire in 1895. Traveling to Palestine in the early 1900s, he gave himself the name Agadati and began to entertain the local Arabs and Jews with his folk dances and solo ballet recitals. He eventually stayed to become a leading choreographer, painter and film director in Tel Aviv. His bohemian stylings -- one performance featured him openly urinating on the back wall of the stage -- often scandalized the middle class. In 1924, Agadati choreographed a popular Israeli dance known as Hora Agadati. A balletic character folk dance, it mixed the sturdy Dabke of the Palestinian Arabs with Moldavian and Yiddish folklore, which Agadati brought to Tel Aviv from his homeland.

[ww2yaoi]

[In honour of Webgott Wednesday, here's the first scene of the other Webgott WIP I have on the go whose working title is too deranged to mention. Anyways, enjoy.]

Spring of 1952. San Francisco, California.

Joe and Web have a tradition.

In the middle of the week, every week, Joe closes up the shop for lunch and meets Web halfway to the Chronicle building in the park across from City Hall. Joe brings sandwiches he buys at the kosher deli next door and they eat and drink coffee and complain about work until their hour is up.

Today is no different. Joe finds Web in their usual spot on a wooden bench by one of the fountains, the afternoon sun beaming down and bathing the pavement in buttery light. Joe loves San Francisco in April. The air is warm and featherlight, the breeze comparatively cool with seaspray, and the soupy summer fog has yet to swallow the Bay whole. Everything feels new after winter’s damp and windy gloom, and Joe is briefly reminded of Austria, of its misty mountains and glass-like lakes. It had been a springtime of rebirth after a long, hard war.

Well, mostly.

Web is always a sight in his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray tweed today, his tie a deep maroon. He’s taken off his jacket and folded it across his knee, the sleeves of his starched white Oxford rolled up to reveal his hirsute forearms. This is his uniform now. The last time Joe saw him in ODs was probably when they disembarked in New York Harbour at the tail end of 1945. He thinks Web might have burned them.

“Hey,” Joe says.

Web beams like they didn’t just see each other this morning. “Hey.”

He hands Joe the cup of coffee that was resting on the bench beside him and Joe sits down in its place. He sets the bag of sandwiches by his feet and grabs Web’s usual order, a pastrami on rye with extra pickles.

“How was the cable car?” Joe asks like he does most weeks, passing Web his sandwich and grabbing his own, corned beef with lots of mustard.

“Swarming with tourists, as per usual,” Web says with a grimace, unwrapping the paper from his sandwich.

Joe smirks. “Y’know, some lifelong San Franciscans would consider you a tourist.”

“Ugh, don’t insult me,” Web says, shooting him a look. He takes a generous bite of his sandwich then talks out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want from me? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Yeah, but everyone can tell you’re from New York.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you think you’re better than everyone else. The New York wafts off of you like the odour of a finely aged cheese.”

“You did not just compare me to stinky cheese.”

“Hey, I specified ‘finely aged.’ Didn’t I?”

Web rolls his eyes. “Just eat your fucking sandwich.”

Joe snickers, then takes a bite of it, chews and swallows. “How’s the paper?”

Web just shakes his head. “This election is going to be the death of me.”

“It’s seven months away,” Joe says, a pocket of corned beef in his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean the whole office isn’t worked up about it,” Web counters. “Journalists…” He trails off. “My editor is breathing down my goddamn neck.”

Joe wipes mustard from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his finger. “Well, that’s what happens when you miss deadlines, Schatz.”

“Astute observation, Lieb.” Web glowers, but Joe knows he’s just being difficult on purpose. Always the same song and dance with him. “The article isn’t right yet.”

“Which article is this again?” Joe takes a sip of his coffee. “The one about the, uh, the mayor’s daughter’s ballet recital?”

Web smacks Joe in the chest. Joe was expecting as much, and he grins at having gotten a rise out of him.

“Uh, no,” Web says insistently. “I’m writing about the steelworkers union.”

“Right, the steelworkers union.”

Joe takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully. Web had probably told him about it at one point or another, probably after sex. Web has always been too talkative for his own good around Joe, but he’s especially rambly after an orgasm. Joe likely hadn’t been listening. It’s enough to keep up with the virility of a twentysomething in bed, he doesn’t need a fucking dissertation afterwards.

“How’s business at the shop?” Web asks, changing the subject.

“Slow.” Joe picks at his sandwich wrapper. “You’d think people’s hair had stopped growing.”

Web laughs. “Well, hopefully, that’s not the case. We’d probably get evicted. Maybe it’ll pick up this afternoon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Is Sal still getting on your nerves?”

Joe makes a pft sound. “Does the day of the week end in Y?”

They finish their sandwiches and coffees in companionable silence, watching as people stroll through the park with their dogs or their children who aren’t old enough to be in school yet. A well-dressed housewife walks past them pushing an expensive-looking pram. A little boy in overalls, no older than two, toddles behind her, pulling a toy truck on a string. She smiles politely at them, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat eye sunglasses and her lips a rubious red. A scarf battens down her kempt blonde curls, tied around her head with a neat bow beneath her chin.

Mom, tot, and baby are making their way to the adjacent fountain when a baby blanket hanging out of the bassinet falls to the ground. A soft pink crumple, bleached by the sunlight against the gray pavement. The woman fails to notice and her little boy pays it no mind. They continue on their walk, unaware that anything is amiss.

Before Joe can even say anything, Web is getting up from the bench and jogging over to the abandoned blanket. He scoops it off the ground and approaches the woman, getting her attention by gently tapping her on the elbow. She turns and Web presents the blanket to her like some kind of fairytale fucking prince, eliciting a wide, white smile from the woman, her teeth square and straight like a row of Chiclets. She takes off her sunglasses and places them on top of her head, probably to get a better look at Web. Joe can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

The civilian world isn’t like the Army. In the Army, a pretty face like Web’s might get you relentlessly teased, or cause the men to take you less seriously until you prove otherwise. On the outside though, it’s all anyone seems to care about. People are always accosting Web, asking him for directions or chatting him up in line at the theater or next to him on the train. In the rare instances they go out to the Old Crow or the Black Cat, Joe has to keep a firm grip on him, in case some flit tries to take Web off his hands.

Web and the woman are chatting now, glancing down every so often to look at the baby in the pram. They’re far enough away that Joe can only pick up fragments of their conversation above the rushing of the fountains. Joe catches the words ‘daughter’ and ‘paper’ and ‘sweet.’ He fishes for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his button-up and lights one, just so he has something to do with his hands. The smoke churns in his chest and the back of his neck prickles.

The little boy is shyly clinging to his mother’s skirt. She bends over and picks him up, balancing him on her hip. Web is smiling even wider now than he was when Joe first greeted him this afternoon. He waves hello to the little boy. Joe takes another sharp drag of his cigarette as Web says his goodbyes and then walks back to the bench where Joe is still sitting.

“Nice family,” Web says, plopping himself down again.

Joe doesn’t say anything. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground and tries to look preoccupied. Web checks his watch. He gathers up their sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and puts them into the paper bag to be thrown away. He’s still faintly smiling to himself as he does it. It’s just enough to make Joe’s anger boil over.

He scoffs. “Jesus, Web. Didn’t know you missed flirting with broads that much.”

Web’s head immediately snaps to the left so he can look at Joe. “What? I wasn’t flirting,” he insists. “I was just trying to be nice, and she was very clearly married.”

“Then what the hell are you smiling about?”

“Her kids! Her kids were cute,” Web says, raising his voice. He promptly lowers it as more parkgoers pass by them. “The little boy, Peter, and the baby, Judy. Christ, Joe. You know I like kids.”

Joe looks at Web. Web looks back at him. His eyes are so goddamn blue. Sometimes Joe thinks if Web were lying to him, he would be able to see it in his eyes, spot the untruth somewhere in that clear crystal blue, like a droplet of blood in water. Right now, however, all he sees is the person he loves most in this world, begging him not to be an asshole for once.

Joe’s jealousy fizzles out, mild embarrassment rushing in to take its place.

“Alright.” He shifts, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders, and fiddles with his cigarette. “Y’know, I did hear something about you in Holland, depleting the company’s Hershey bar supply by giving chocolate to every sad Dutch kid you saw.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The corners of Web’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smirk, and Joe knows his attempt to break the tension has worked. “You know about that? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Hoobler maybe.”

“Hoobler.” Web repeats the name thoughtfully, like he’s testing it out on his tongue after not saying it for a long time. “Well, in my defense, the Krauts were starving them.”

“Wow, my fuckin’ hero. Where’s your Silver Star, Web? Is it in your sock drawer with your Purple Hearts?”

“Shut up,” Web says, but there’s barely any bite to it. “How has this not come up in the last however many years?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe we talked about it and forgot.”

The truth is, they don’t reminisce deeply about the war very often. It comes up every now and again. Sometimes they linger on the more lighthearted memories, like a particularly funny joke Luz told or the summer afternoons they spent swimming together in Lake Zell. Anything weightier than that spells trouble for the both of them. Web becomes unspeakably angry when he talks seriously about the war, while Joe feels like he could cry ten years worth of tears.

Half a decade ago, Web had given Joe a rough manuscript of his recollections to read. Joe had barely made it five pages into the thing. He’d quickly realized that if he knew the full extent of Web’s pain, he’d never be able to disentangle himself from his own. Since then, they’ve tried not to reopen the wound, although Joe supposes that implies it closed in the first place.

Web checks his watch again. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Well, then, you better go.”

“Alright.”

Web squeezes Joe’s knee — about all the affection they can get away with in public — and gets to his feet, coolly draping his suit jacket over his right shoulder like he thinks he’s Frank Sinatra or something.

“Thanks for lunch, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Dave.”

Web turns and smiles at him, walking backwards in the direction of Market Street to catch another cable car.

“Ich liebe dich,” he says in German, in case anyone is listening. “Du bist mein Leben, meine Familie, mein Lieber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves him off. “All the same to you, kid.”

Web laughs, boisterous and beautiful, then finally turns his back to Joe. Joe watches him go, then heads off in the opposite direction.

[This fic is currently at 28k and hopefully I will finish it AT SOME POINT.]

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2023: 15-Lost A Bet (SUB)

Damian wouldn't say he hated someone, but he hated Marinette. She was a new employee at Wayne Enterprise and she was a giant distraction. He would catch himself watching her.

'This has got to stop!'

"I want to make a bet with you." Damian announced as Marinette walked by his office.

"Fine." Marinette spoke, "What do you get if you win?"

"If?" he chuckled.

She smiled, "What if I win? I'm very competitive."

"I would prefer you work in a different section." Damian spoke, "What do you want?"

'Pfft. That's all he wants? Me out of his way? I'm not telling him I'm leaving to a different section in two month; he can suffer.'

"I want you to take me to the Wayne Gala." Marinette announced.

'I knew it! She is just like all those other girls.'

"And before you start flattering yourself, " Mari spoke, "I want a way in, to promote my own fashion line. Being with you helps."

"so you are using me as a business tool." he stated.

"Isn't that what every woman who dates your father does?" Marinette asked, "Promote their next ballet recital, movie premiere, Broadway show, or modeling catalog? I figured you Waynes were use to it."

"He dated those woman." Damian spoke, embarrassed by his father's background of woman.

"Oh." Marinette whispered, "Well, I'm not asking to date you. How about an invite then? You won't even have to talk to me, if you don't want to. Let alone e stuck with me for the entire night."

"Agreed." Damian smiled.

Damian sighed in frustration. Marinette had won their bet and certainly was using the gala to her advantage. He never expected her to come so dressed up. Being in the office was one thing, but seeing her in a gown was another. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was a social butterfly, much like his father. She spoke to everyone without a worry. It became a bigger problem when other guys kept offering her a drink. It seemed like the whole gala had their eyes on her.

Damian growled and made his way over to the middle of the crowd. He put his arm around her waist, immediately gaining her attention.

"Marinette." Damian spoke, "I have been looking for you.

"Mr. Wayne." Marinette answered back.

He smirked, "It is after hours."

Mari gulped, "D-Damian."

Marinette looked away, but he could see the faint blush on her cheeks. Damian smiled at her reaction. Several guys took note that the Ice Prince was smiling at the designer and quickly made their way to another side of the room.

"My stepmother wanted to see your latest creation, I believe." Damian declared.

"Oh?" Marinette questioned.

Damian kept his arm at her waist and guided her through the crowd.

"Are you ok?" he whispered.

"Yes." she whispered back, "Were you just trying to get me awy because if so, I didn’t need your help."

'I was trying to help!'

By her pout, he could tell she was upset.

'I don't know why she would want to be with those idiots anyways.'

"Thank you again, Marinette, for making my dress." Selina spoke, seeing her.

"Of course." Mari smiled, "I enjoy making your outfits."

Damian remained silent, realizing that Marinette already was acquainted with his step-mother and likely her friends.

"How was the mob?" Selina asked, taking a sip of champagne.

Marinette shrugged, "A few customers, but other than that, a few trying for a good time."

Selina watched out of the corner of her eye as Damian gripped his glass a bit too hard. She smirked.

"You should take one of them up on their offer." she suggested.

"I should?" Marinette asked confused.

Selina looked over to the mob, ignoring Damian's glare.

"The hell she should." The Wayne heir growled.

"Marinette is a single, desirable young woman, Damian." Selina answered back, "She has needs as well."

Mari looked down at the floor, blushing red.

'I certainly wasn't expecting my sex life to be somehting my bosses' family talked about. I wonder what made Selina change her mind. Before, she was telling me never to leave with someone from one of these things.'

Before Marinette could ask, Damian grabbed her and pulled her out towards the garden.

Selina smirked as she watched them walk away.

'Now, where's Bruce? He owes me $100.'

Selina spotted Tim and made her way towards him.

"Do you know were Bruce is?" she asked.

"Uh, I think he stepped out for a breath of fresh air." Tim answered, "Why?"

'So he already got bored and left to roam. Did he really think no one will notice him gone?'

She sighed, "Tell him he owes me $100."

"Wait!" Tim exclaimed, "What?"

"Yeah. We had a bet." Selina replied.

"Hold up! Is this about getting Damian a date?" he questioned.

"Yep." she spoke.

"Dammit!" Tim whined.

"Why are you upset?" Selina asked, "Do you not want him to be happy?"

Tim pulled out his wallet and handed her $100.

"He asked you to pay me?" she rebutted.

"No." he pouted, "He made another bet with me that you would succeed. I thought you wouldn't."

Selina laughed and took the money.

"Who did you set him up with?" Tim asked out of curiosity.

"The designer." she smiled, "He seemed really upset with her getting attention. I told her she should take advantage of the cesspool and go home with one of the. Your brother grabbed her hand and took her outside after that. Thanks, Tim."

Tim watched in shock as she walked away. He had no idea his younger brother had a crush on their new designer.

'Didn't expect him to be the possessive type. Scratch that, Talia waltz in here like she owns Wayne Manor, all the time, and Bruce still lets her, as long as she behaves. Looks like Bruce, but has Talia's attitude. I need to stop making bets with Bruce.'

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think it makes sense to think that Marinette has taken/is taking ballet classes off-screen (both in canon or as a headcanon)? Why or why not for each? I had this idea once I realized that she wears ballet flats and considered all the ballet-esque ways that she moves in and out of costume, even to reorient herself during her Clumsy Moments™.

From a fandom is for having fun perspective? Go ahead and make her a dancer!

From a canon/world building perspective? There's no way that she's currently doing ballet and I'd be hesitant to give her a history of ballet outside of maybe a few classes for fun as a little kid. Ballet is simply too much of a time sink for it to be a good fit for Marinette. I never did ballet seriously, but I knew others who did and a quick internet search backs up my memory that you're looking at around 10 hours a week at a minimum once you're in your teens and we're talking year-round here. Ballet doesn't have an off-season.

Trying to make Marinette balance that on top of her friends, being Ladybug, and her other hobbies feels like way too much. How would she ever find the time? Plus any sort of team-based hobby is a terrible fit for a superhero who needs to rush off at a moments notice. What happens when an akuma strikes in the middle of a recital?

I would only make her a ballerina if you got rid of her design hobby because, to be a good designer, she would need to have spent a ton of time working on developing those skills. Time she probably wouldn't have if she was a ballerina unless she was the kind of kid with no friends and a major focus on her career goals which she's really not. However, replacing design with ballet feels like a disservice to her character, so I still wouldn't do it. Her big thing is supposed to be physical creativity. I'd go with some sort of engineering, baking, or any other physically creative hobby before ballet. (That's not to say ballerinas can't be creative, but choreography is a very different type of creativity from what Ladybug does.)

The only character I'd consider giving ballet to is Chloe because I think she needs some sort of hobby and I could see that being a good fit. Ballet has a pretty strong association with wealth and snobbery because it's an expensive sport to pursue. Between the shoes, the outfits, and lessons, you need some serious cash!

Anyone with more knowledge of ballet is welcome to chime in to support or counter my arguments! I'd be especially curious to hear thoughts on ballet mixed with Marinette's clumsiness as that seems like a bad fit to me, too, but I don't know enough to make that argument.

[reveluving]

Can you do one where Batmom loves doing ballet? Maybe with her in the ballroom dancing, and the kids come in. Cassandra immediately goes to join her and the boys want to try so batmom and cass try to teach them? And then at the end Bruce sneaks in and watches then fondly?

P.S. I love your work :)

a/n: to whomever sent this request last year (+ a couple of others), I am so sorry for only doing this now lol BUT! y'all know I love a fluffy batfam moment! 💗💗💗 changed it up a bit and also, thank you so much!!

warnings: fluffy fluff! (ballerina!cass !!!)

check out my batmom m.list !

Cass is an expert of many things, but your absolute favourite has to be her love for ballet!

It was no surprise how much she's incorporated her ballet knowledge into her fighting style—not to the point where anyone could see the similarities between Cass and Orphan, but just enough to give her certain advantages that the rest didn't have.

The first time Cass gave you the invitation to her recital was when she stopped by the café as usual one fine afternoon.

You had expected a form for a trip that needed your permission but no, it was so. much. better.

Not only was Cass' name handwritten in gold ink, but she was going solo for that matter?

You immediately tackled her into the biggest, most bone-crushing hug you could muster. Nothing Cass couldn't handle, though, in fact, she reciprocated your own happiness, grinning and giggling as you wouldn't stop gushing about how proud you were and how you needed to call Bruce, even if it was still office hours.

And you did just that!

Bruce thankfully didn't have any pressing matter when you rang him up, picking up the phone in one hand and idly checking some reports with the other. He stopped caring for the papers in hand though, not when he could hear how excited you sounded.

"We're invited to Cass' first recital next month!" You squealed, the soft of giggles of your not-so-little girl didn't go amiss on the line, "You have to clear your schedule."

Bruce grinned, both at the news and your sudden seriousness. You didn't have to tell him and you knew it, for he immediately wrote the date on a piece of paper to be passed to his assistant later on.

Cass also took the opportunity to share the news with the rest of the family, with all of their congrats and compliments ranging from Alfred and Damian's detailed praises for her appreciation in such fine art, to Dick's chaotic but meaningful cheers in all caps lock, with a side of triple fire emojis.

All in all, it was almost overwhelming for her—no matter how subtle Bruce tried to be in moving the old, almost depressing paintings out of the manor's ballroom after learning about her hobby, or how you'd bring over a single chair in the middle of the room to watch her new move without hesitation, or how Alfred made sure the manor's ballroom was always squeaky clean for her own use, she would be in awe of how fate brought her here.

A place where she not only fought for the safety of others, but also a place where she could finally make a name for herself the way she wanted.

Despite your protests, Cass helped you around the café that day, too happy to just sit down when she could channel that energy by lending a hand. You were thankful for the extra pair of hands though, for you wanted nothing more than to celebrate with her at home.

It was only fitting to bring her to the ballroom, the person praising her now was Alfred, who had came in with tea to pair with the extra cookies you brought from the café.

There was really no other way to channel your own joy other than to dance with her—from pirouettes to a grand jeté together. You learned from the best after all, how could you ever say no when she once shyly offered to teach you how to properly plie once upon a time?

With the classical music paired with Alfred's claps and the three of you laughing, it wouldn't take long for the rest of your family, besides Bruce, to investigate as soon as they're home. Some readily came with gifts, others were ready to properly congratulate Cass as texting did little to no justice. But seeing how much fun you were having, they believe it was best to at least wait till the music ended.

But ever the perceptive child, Cass was quick to notice the newcomers and immediately waved at them. They all huddled around her, with Cass growing flustered by the sheer attention she was getting in one day. She did somewhat expect a positive reaction, but not to this extend, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

You and Alfred watched the sight fondly, your smiles growing bigger when one of them had asked her to teach them a thing or two. And just like chain reaction, almost everyone was trying it out. It was hilarious, to say the least, seeing them, ranging from tall, buff, serious and just almost out of place, glancing at one another as they sought the girl's approval for their plie.

"I wasn't aware of a party." You sucked in a breath, the unexpected arrival of your husband taking you by surprise, let alone when his arms wove around your waist and then kissed you on the crown of your head. You leaned into him, caressing the back of his hand before letting his intertwine his fingers with yours.

"It's only fair," You sighed, not wanting to tear your eyes away from the tooth-rotting moment before you. You felt Bruce's chest vibrate on occasion, no doubt amused to see some making it a competition to see who was best, "Our girl deserves it."

Our girl.

As if on command, Bruce's hand lightly brushed over your tummy. You didn't stop him, only to gasp when he proceeded to tickle you and shared a laugh. You threw your head to the side, giving him the opportunity to nuzzle into your neck and be in your own world just as your children was.

To say Cass was in heaven was an understatement, and though her life started rough, she had always thanked the universe for shining her to the path that actually mattered to her most.

With the people she was meant to be with.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[iheartjameshetfield]

Having kids with early/mid 80’s James 🤭

like yeah he’s young but there’s nothing that makes happier than his little family 💗

AHHH THIS IS SO SWEETTTTT

we all know damn well that the kid would be an accident 💀. he was fucking petrified when you told him the news since he was almost 1000% sure that he would fuck this kid up the same way his dad fucked him up.

you tried to reassure him multiple times throughout your pregnancy that he would be the best father there is, and you’d be there to help him, but he had no trust in himself whatsoever. the only thing that he knew for sure was. that no matter how hard it gets, he would never leave and put you and your kid through the same thing he went through.

even with all this, he was still the best person to have by your side during your pregnancy. he always tried to make sure that you’re comfortable, placing a pillow behind your back, head, and legs or he’d cover you with a blanket. he would get you whatever you’re craving, and if it wasn’t in the house, he would go and get it from the supermarket no matter the time.

he would constantly read books about parenting and pregnancy, making sure you get the best treatment. whenever you’d pat your belly, he’d get worried that you pat a little harder than you should, telling you to be more careful.

i feel like he would be the type of person to talk to your unborn child, like whenever he disagrees with you or just saying smth sweet to the baby like “we can’t wait to see you” or “see that? your mom wants to name you paul” he laughs as he makes fun of you with the baby.

when the child is born, hes definitely the type of dad to force everyone to wash the hands, wipes, and sanitize at least three times each before letting anyone touch the baby, including you.

for the first month or so after you give birth, he would always be the one to get up in the middle of the night for the baby, telling you to get your rest. after a while, he is literally prepared to play rock paper scissors with you at 3 in the morning to see who’ll get up.

you know that trick that almost every dad does when they toss their kid like 5 feet up in the air and catch them, giving all the moms a heart attack? yeah, he invented that trick. you’ve probably seen your baby in the air more than you’ve seen it in someone’s arms or the stroller or smth.

i truly believe that when the baby babbles, he babbles back. like the baby would say smth in gibberish and james would mimic the baby, conversing in their own language. or james would also respond with stuff like an exaggerated “no way!!” or “what else happened, tell me more”

he probably would’ve been rooting for a boy. he would be sooooooo excited if you had a boy, already planning on causing a lot of mischief with him.

he would teach his son how to play sports and guitar and all the stuff he’s interested in. james would race him and play wrestling games with him and pretend to lose.

even though he wanted a boy, when his little girl came, he would instantly change his mind, hoping that every future kid that comes would be a girl.

from day one and he would shower her with kisses and gifts, making sure she gets treated like the princess she is.

james definitely has tea parties with his little girl. he’d let her put hair clips in his hair, paint his nails a messy pink and accessories him in plastic beaded necklaces and bracelets. or whenever they’d play with dolls, he would speak in a high pitched voice like a girl’s voice after his daughter would force him to.

james would show up at every ballet practice and recital ever, refusing to not show up at a single thing. he would pick her up and drop her off at her practices, loving how his little girl comes running to him with open arms during every break she has. he’ll never miss the look his daughter had in her face when she spotted her parents in the crowd during her show, her eyes glinting as her smile brightened.

when she’s done with her dance, she’d leap into her father’s arms, you and james cradling her in a hug. “you were amazing princess. that was awesome!!” james would compliment her.

i feel like no matter what gender the baby is, they would want to be just like their dad in every way. the long hair, the band shirts, his guitar skills. whenever you see james around the house, you’d spot his little carbon copy waddling behind him in a custom ‘Metallica’ shirt and sunglasses that practically swallow your baby’s face.

when his kid is a little older, he’d want you to bring them to one of his shows, wanting his kid to see him on stage. he’d even show off his toddler to the crowd, showing off the newest member of the hetfield clan to the world.

this is me speaking off of real experiences btw

[moonlightsturns]

Center Stage Support

inspired by the best ofc: @muwapsturniolo

The faint hum of activity surrounded you as you sat in front of the mirror, carefully tying the ribbons of your pointe shoes. Your reflection stared back at you—a mix of nerves and determination written all over your face. Tonight’s recital wasn’t just another performance. It was the culmination of months of hard work and dedication, but it was also something more personal. You weren’t just showcasing your love for ballet; you were representing the beauty of being unapologetically yourself.

The stage had always been your safe haven, a space where your culture and artistry could intertwine in ways that were undeniably yours. But this time, the stakes felt higher. Why? Because Nick, Matt, and Chris Sturniolo were sitting somewhere in that auditorium.

A few weeks ago, you never would’ve guessed the triplets would agree to come. The idea popped up during one of your usual late-night FaceTime calls with Chris. He was lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, while you sprawled across yours, venting about the endless rehearsals that had taken over your life.

“So wait,” Chris interrupted, “you’re telling me you’re this tired because of ballet?”

“Yes, Chris,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s a recital. Not that you’d know, since you’ve probably never been to one in your life.”

“Okay, ouch,” he shot back, laughing. “But no, I haven’t. Are they, like, super boring? Or…”

“They’re amazing,” you said firmly. “But you’ll never know unless you come. I mean, unless you’re scared of sitting through something classy for once.”

That got him. Chris smirked. “Scared? Me? Nah. Send me the info. I’ll bring Nick and Matt too. Make it a whole thing.”

You didn’t think he’d actually follow through. People always said they’d come, but life got in the way. It wasn’t until earlier tonight, when you peeked through the heavy red curtain, that it hit you—they were really here.

The boys were sitting in the middle of the third row, looking as out of place as you’d expected but unmistakably supportive. Nick was holding a slightly wrinkled bouquet of flowers, probably bought last minute at a gas station. Chris was glancing around the ornate auditorium, clearly taking it all in, while Matt was busy fiddling with his blazer, looking like he wanted to escape.

Despite the nerves that always hit before a performance, seeing them there steadied you. They showed up. For you.

The lights dimmed, and the room fell silent as the first notes of the music played. You took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage.

Everything faded away—the murmurs of the audience, the flutter of the curtain—until it was just you and the music. The routine was second nature by now, each move ingrained in your body. A graceful arabesque here, a smooth plié there. But tonight, it felt different. Each movement wasn’t just an expression of technique; it was a reflection of who you were.

Your culture and identity were in every deliberate motion, every defiant pirouette. Ballet wasn’t just an art form for you—it was a way to prove that beauty and grace weren’t confined to a specific mold. You weren’t just performing; you were making a statement.

From the corner of your eye, you caught glimpses of the triplets’ reactions. Chris was leaning forward in his seat, his mouth slightly open in awe. Nick, ever the composed one, had a small smile on his face, though his eyes gave away how impressed he was. Matt kept nodding at all the right moments, like he was silently hyping you up with every leap and turn.

By the time the music swelled to its crescendo, you felt weightless. The final move—a flawless fouetté en tournant—was met with thunderous applause as the lights dimmed and the curtain fell.

Backstage, your fellow dancers were buzzing with excitement, but your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t stop thinking about how they’d shown up, how much it meant to you that they were there.

When you walked into the lobby after changing, you spotted them instantly. Chris was the first to see you, practically bounding over. “That was insane!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Like, what?! How are you this good?!”

Nick followed, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I, uh, didn’t really know what flowers to get, so…”

“They’re perfect,” you said, grinning as you took them.

Matt stood slightly behind the others but nodded earnestly. “I don’t even know anything about ballet,” he admitted, “but that was incredible. You crushed it.”

Chris wasn’t done. “You didn’t tell us you were, like, professional-level good! Seriously, you should be in some fancy company or something.”

You laughed, feeling your face heat up. “It’s just a recital, Chris. Chill.”

“No way,” he insisted. “When you’re famous, I’m telling everyone I saw you first.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll be bragging about this for years. ‘Oh, you know her? Yeah, we were there before she blew up.’”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t stop smiling. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Chris grinned. “Yeah, but you love us.”

And you did. Seeing them there, cheering you on, made everything feel worth it.

As the four of you walked out into the cool night air, Nick glanced at the program he’d been holding. “Okay, but real talk—what’s an arabesque? Is that the thing where you, like, balance on one leg?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Close enough, Nick. Close enough.”

Chris turned to you, his expression softer now. “Seriously, though. You were amazing. Thanks for inviting us. I don’t think I’ve ever been this impressed in my life.”

Hearing that meant the world. The recital wasn’t just about showing your love for ballet—it was about sharing a piece of yourself with people who truly cared.