#lense of truth

[yeonban]

Every time Pha.inon shows up there's at least one Tobiascore scene taking place with him and it's always something that ends up haunting me

[chaosgoblinhours]

Just here to say I love your tags on my Varis/Regula art, thank you. So glad to see more people being very normal about them 🙏

I’ll have more daily art of them coming until Sunday.

thank you for the tasty morsels i will totally be normal and not climb backwards up the walls for the rest of the week promise.

[stinkbugsmemory]

It's funny how over the years I've completely turned around on the "Ninten is Ness' dad" concept... twice

As a little kid I just assumed it was the case cause like, that's the kinda stuff you just assume as a kid. I also assumed Baby Mario was Mario's kid, etc.

As a teen, I got really annoyed whenever someone suggested it, cause it doesn't make sense, it's not canon, MOTHER 1 takes place in 1988 and MOTHER 2 takes place in 1999 at the latest, and Ninten is like 12 in MOTHER 1, so there is no way he could grow up to be Ness' dad at all- plus it's childish to act like the protagonists of the series need to be related as if that would add any meaning to the story, in fact it might even take away from the story

And now as an adult I am like, well, who cares? It's actually pretty fun. When you stop getting hung up on the canon argument (which falls apart btw when you consider Itoi also suggested you're free to think of Ninten and Ness the same person if you want, which likewise makes no sense in the story as presented in-game) and just relax a little, it's pretty entertaining to ponder the circumstances that would lead to Ninten and presumably Ana to grow up to be the kinda people that Ness' parents are.

Like, call it an AU if you will, if you can't stand the idea of calling it a theory or headcanon, but don't dismiss its potential outright.

...And that's not even close to the narrative fun of the companion "Lloyd Andonuts" concept 👀

[quaranmine]

Your word-of-god on my theory is driving me UP THE WALL!

Ok, so let me make a timeline here, let me know if I'm wrong at any point.

He leaves his campsite on the 12th for a day hike, taking minimal supplies with him. He gets hopelessly lost and takes temporary shelter under some low-hanging tree limbs for the night.

He finds the mountainside where he fell early on the 13th and, with a pair of binoculars, can see the creek in the distance. Let's say the rangers and medical examiner were correct, and he was heading to the creek because, at this point, he's probably in the early stages of dehydration (his presumed cause of death)

He tries to climb down safely, and we all know how that went. He makes it as far as he can on a broken leg and possibly numerous superficial injuries that wouldn't have been evident a year later for obvious reasons. He takes shelter under the overhang and... never leaves.

Grian reports Mumbo missing on the 16th when he misses checking in.

Grian leaves Colorado and subsequently arrives in Cody, WY to join the search on the 17th and is immediately forcibly subjected to a nap.

At this point, Mumbo has been under that overhang for the better part of five days. If he was already dehydrated, even mildly, before he even fell, and especially if he lost a medically significant amount of blood from any abrasions or lacerations suffered during the fall...

There is a significant probability that Mumbo was already dead by the time Grian joined the search.

Grian never had a chance of finding him alive, did he?

Damn...

OOOO

Okay so your timeline is a bit different than mine. But I'd like to note—my idea of what happened to Mumbo in general is actually pretty vague. It was one of those things where it didn't actually matter much to the plot since it would never fully be known. Also it made me sad to think about LMAO (imagine that.) Actually though? I had a draft of chapter 11 where when Grian was unknowingly retracing Mumbo's steps, it would be intercut with italics/otherwise clearly formatted Mumbo moments. So that you could see both of their stories converge. I scrapped it because I disliked the ~3 paragraphs I'd written for Mumbo and never came back to it.

So, the dates for this can be whatever you want (12th or 13th) since the specifics don't matter much. I think the main difference is that I didn't have Mumbo getting lost as the first step, I had it as the second. This means that I had Mumbo leaving the trail intentionally to get water, and getting lost on the way. In my scenario yes, the rangers were right about him heading to the creek.

I mainly had this idea because of my experiences with backpacking in Big Bend. Namely, it's just....very, very, very hard to bring enough water on a trip like that. So people bring water filters. When hiking the South Rim in Big Bend, you can refill your bottles at Boot Spring (though you shouldn't rely on it having water since it's the desert.) I have done this before. (Pictured: my dad lol)

I figured that Mumbo probably needed to refill his water (Grian stated he left no bottles at camp, not just that they were empty, so he would've brought comparatively a lot for a day hike. So maybe he planned on refilling them later in the day.) I figured that maybe he just....didn't want to completely overshoot his camp to go back to the creek he crossed a day or two before. Maybe he thought his off-trail route was shorter. Maybe he was confident he could find the trail again. It doesn't matter, all that matters is it brought him to the place where he fell. Or maybe, related to what you said—maybe he made this somewhat silly decision because he was already dehydrated.

From that point on, I think the rest of your timeline matches with mine. You are right that they wouldn't be able to tell any other superficial injuries a year later. Actually, I've got no idea if they would be able to tell it was dehyrdation that did it after that long. That's MY idea of what happened. But probably it would have been more accurate for the rangers to file it under a general blanket of exposure/infection from injuries/dehydration.

I can't say if Mumbo was dead or not by the time Grian joined the search. You're 100% correct that it's very possible. The only reason I don't confirm is that I don't know the timeline myself, nor does the timeline really matter that much, since even if he was alive when the search started, it would've only taken a day or two more before he wasn't. And since he wasn't in the search radius....You are right that Grian never had a chance.

But I think it's less sad that way, honestly. Devastating still of course. I just think it's worse to linger for weeks when nobody is looking in the right place.

[taichissu]

sobbing and crying and puking and thrashing around

stop taking away characters' glasses to show them becoming more attractive i'm going to eat drywall

[muraenide]

Some ramblings and thoughts on Octavinelle ch1.

I think Jade finds the MC very attractive in a non-conventional way. He finds Yuuta unique and interesting, even though Yuuta would most likely be considered an ordinary, even uninteresting, person in his own world.

Size had never really mattered to Jade. Even when he met Azul, he thinks Azul 'looks different', but different not in the sense that 'he looks funny' but more like 'he's different from me, different from everyone else, I've never really seen someone like him'.

Part of the reason why is that Jade essentially came from the depths of the ocean. In the ocean, at a depth of 300 meters, life starts to become more scant. Fishes in deeper parts of the ocean are mostly inactive and passive except when they had to hunt. Jade definitely came from a place deeper than a mere 300 meters and as a carnivore who's adapted to life in a place where food is scarce (which he also mentioned in canon), they eat at a very small frequency of one to three times a week. The rest of the time is spent curling up in coves or generally just wandering around aimlessly until his hunger instincts strike again. This means that for most of Jade's life in the depths, he sees and interacts with literally no one except for Floyd and his parents. It doesn't help that Jade's favourite attacks tend to be an ambush attack, to strike only at the most crucial time, resulting in, more often than not, instant death of his prey. This leaves very little opportunity for him to even interact with his prey, though there are times when Jade might toy around with them before delivering the final kill. It's not enough for him to learn about them. Leading an isolated life in the ocean allowed him very little exposure to not only surfacers, but also among his own peers.

It's pretty obvious that when Jade came to the surface, he was still just plainly non-human in more ways than one. He's literally just a wild animal wearing human skin, he's unfamiliar with the most basic living necessities on the surface and unable to blend into human society.

One other reason that makes him interested in Yuuta is that Jade has the opposite problem of Azul. He doesn't get gain weight or get bigger even though he eats plenty and rarely exercises. He's been stuck in a slim and slender form for most of his life, and since the Coral Sea's general population seems to perceive being fat as a negative trait, that makes him curious about Yuuta who is happy with his body as he is. It's the same curiosity as a cat who saw something strange showing up in a place they're familiar with. Though Jade might actually reach out and touch him whenever.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, bimbo-y reader, dumbification, praise, nerd nanami's a secret freak, fīngering, mdni.

nerd! nanami who eats you out while wearing his glasses. you told him this ‘method’ was far more efficient . . and, he could teach you more about the anatomy of the clit better.. oh, and the fact at how you said you always were a visual learner. you were always grateful for his tutoring sessions sure, but you couldn’t help but stare at him. not just at his eyes, but his noticeable bulge too that would always outline beneath his slacks. and yet now, here you were—laid flat on his wooden old desk as he’s buried right between your pretty thighs. “hm,” he’d grumble, sliding a swollen fat thumb down your glossy clit. nanami hears your cute breaths grow shallow along with the clanking dangles of your earrings and he huffs. “princess, pay attention,” and his eyes flicker down at your sopping needy entrance. “she’s important.”

“o- okay,” you wheeze out a tiny breath, and your eyes focus primarily on the head that’s buried between your legs. nanami pushes back the clear lenses of his glasses before giving your sloppy cunt a single tender kiss. a sweetened gasp rips away from your parted lips as you stare at him, watching intently as he closes his eyes shut, gradually sliding his tongue from top to bottom. “fuuck, ‘ken.”

nanami whistles softly against your dribbling folds while you’re wetly glazing his peachy, pink lips with your slick. “ah, the clit is such a mystery,” he’d purr, positioning his glasses. you’d then roll your eyes once he starts rambling all sorts of anatomy facts while eating you out at the same time. nanami’s pearly cold lenses repeatedly rub up against your thighs as he swiftly flicks his tongue, using his flat vast thumb to smear shapes down your slit. ���sooo many nerves inside this pretty thing. thousands ‘n thousands of nerve fibers,” and you moan, feeling him cup his pursed dripping lips around your clit. nanami feels you claw a hand through his blond scalp, digging through his thin blond tresses before he hums.

“but – let’s start with my personal favorite shall we, princess? the dorsal nerve..”

he found it cute how you were so whiny, struggling to hold still as your back brushes up against the dozens of incorrectly marked papers behind you. they were scattered everywhere on the desk, an entire pile—and nanami thinks you were just starting to answer things wrong purposely. “let’s see,” he softly coos, feverish breath colliding right against your eagerly twitching sex. you’ve got a good tugging grip on his hair, peering at how his flaxen blond strings entangle ‘n intertwine between your fingers. “she’s important why?”

a mewling sobbing moan was your answer as his glasses continued to glide and tickle against your skin. nanami raises a single brow, and as his chiseled chin’s just streaming down with shimmery sheeny slick, he tsks.

“u- uhh,” you whimper, tightening your grip against his silky threads of hair. truth be told, your mind was entirely empty. you weren’t thinking about anything except for that fact that his tongue was ferociously gliding up and down the streaming slope of your pretty pussy. it makes you gnaw on your lip, growing even more dumb all from the salaciously narrow strokes of his tongue. “because it stimulates t.. the clit?”

“no, dummy,” he whispers, and even his playful insults made your pussy throb. nanami felt the exact pulse trigger against the flatness of his tongue and you whimper. you could feel his coy grin twisting against his lips before he starts to slurp harder.

it’s loud . . and your eyes were already starting to roll back the second he eases a slender middle finger inside.

“the dorsal nerve helps innervate this spot,” and a treble squeak of a whine snatches out your throat once he teasingly nibbles against your clit. it feels good, and you could feel your body heat gradually heating up more and more. “wonder what goes on in that pretty head of yours,” and with another moan following out from your lips, he gives your wet entrance a soft direct spank. “nothin’. bet it’s just empty, right silly girl?”

“kentoooo, fuck—” you’d moan, maintaining a good grip on his hair. fuck, it was just the way you perfectly dragged out the two syllables of his name – and, oh was the prettiest melody he’s ever heard.

panting heavily, nanami starts to run the pointed tip of his tongue farther inside of your pussy. it’s like he’s a natural—and to be honest, you didn’t think he’d be the type to have such a skillful tongue. for the hours and hours he spends talking, but you were starting to connect the dots. maybe nerds could be just as filthy. . especially with their mouths. his tongue resumes to delve in and out rapidly, barely giving you any time to catch your irregular unsteady breaths. glancing down, you see him with fogged up glasses and a sleazy growing grin.

he’s smug.

your taste – it makes nanami salivate, and he’s even starting to drool past the corners of his lips. you had a treacly flavor to you, and it continues to please his tastebuds the more he swirls his tongue inside. he’s right between your thighs and it’s a pretty sight… you’re a pretty sight, and you can’t help but start to frantically grind your hips against his slack jaw. “forget the l- lesson. don’t stop.”

nanami gives the inner sweltering flaps of your cunt another loving kiss before warm fawn eyes fixate back toward you. “ohh, but princess,” and he could hear your soft gasps once he starts to massage his palm around your sopping heat. he’s maneuvering tender circles against your wet pussy before giving it a soft smack, hearing you whimper for more. you were soaked. . geysering pools of your slick coat his hand and it makes him hum in amusement. “if i do that, then you won’t learn anything,” and you could feel every sharp axon electrocute alongside each nerve of your body. your thighs were this close to snapping back shut, and he’s gotta pry them apart with two big hands. “wonder if my tongue’s jus’ makin’ you dumber,” and that’s riiight when nanami smears the bridge of nose against your cunt.

“nghh, kento,” your eyes widen, and each time his lips smack from pulling away to breathe—you could feel both of your ears ring. he’s filthy, and nanami was so hard that he even reached beneath the desk, slipping a hand inside of his unbuckled pants. you continued to drag your cunt against his face, covering the lower part of his dripping chin with every drop of your lewd polished essence before mewling. “fuck, fuuuuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“the woman orgasm,” he whispers in husky awe, his tone as smooth as silky silk. nanami lowly grunts, wrapping a hand around his veiny base before giving it a few solid pumps. oh, you turned him on. it was so bad that he couldn’t help but imagine being inside of you. fucking you on his desk, pushing your head into your red-marked papers in hopes that that could feed you some sorts of knowledge – all while showering you with a plethora of compliments of course.

you were pretty, but between your legs you were even prettier. as nanami continues to prattle endlessly, talking your ear off about whatever, his glasses end up falling and you grab them.

sepia hooded eyes narrow at you before he scoffs, taking a second to spit on your weeping cunt. “tell me, sweet thing,” and you’re whimpering, the arch in your back growing as your lips part awkwardly. nanami’s still fisting his cock with a single hand, slowly twirling his tongue inside between your glistening folds before applying faster and faster pressure. it’s repetitive, and you clench down on your jaw the second you feel him pop in his lanky ring finger. “how many nerves does it take to orgasm? quickly.”

as your lashes continuously flutter – you let off a sweet whimper. “around e- eight thousand?”

“smart girl,” he coos, and you felt a stir of butterflies rummage through the lower pits of your stomach at the praise. nanami’s practically french kissing your cunt, using allllll types of tongue. effortlessly, he’s thrusting his tongue in and out, locating every pivotal part inside before he abruptly stops stroking himself. he groans, feeling a vein run down his shaft before he gives your cunt it’s final departing kiss. “c’monnn, let go for me. cum on my tongue, princess.”

as your lips cutely stretch out further, curling ‘n contorting into a shocked oval shape—you tightly grip onto his blonde strands. “fuuuuck,” was all you could reply with, and you could still hear nanami grumbling out nonsense under his breath. even a nerd with his mouth full.

sloppily, his tongue wanders everywhere, reaching near every crevice and swirls its way around your clit before dipping itself right back out. there was not a single thought programmed in your brain—except for the fact that if his tongue was like this, you only wondered what his dick felt like. the thought alone makes you let off a crooning whimper as a lightning wave of pulses throb between your jittery legs. you were so close that the taste of your inevitable orgasm was simply sweet.

it’s as sweet as vanilla frosted icing, and the second you started to uncurl your toes, you felt it.

a cute whimper ripples out of your hoarse vocal chords as you remain to cling onto his glasses. nanami subtlety squints up at you with the most cunt-drunken grin before he lies his tongue all the way flat. “mmph,” and with a sloppy squelching slosh, you hear a finger of his loudly ‘pop’ out of your soddened slit. nanami was moving his head back and forth, the fabric of his tie tickling against your skin whilst you’re coming undone. your harmonious-sounding orgasm lasts for a good nine seconds, echoing through the thin walls of his dorm before he sighs. nanami’s starting to see why you preferred this more than his lectures—

“thaaaat’s it,” he smears his sheeny-slick lips against the opening of your pussy. you’re drooling wet, jaw dropped with your eyes bulged out of their sockets as you realized you came on his tongue.

nanami’s tongue completely wiped out any sorts of review that was supposed to be jotted inside your brain. instead – you’re just dumbfounded with cartoony heart eyes forming in your dilated pupils the more you stare at him. you wanted more, you wanted him. nanami gently caresses down your tender pulsating entrance before giving it a soft pat. it’s a pat that then turns into a sloppy ‘mwah’ with his lips, and it makes your heart race. with droopy eyes, you watch as he runs a hand through his neatly parted hair. unkempt, but still handsome.

“silly girl,” he scoffs to himself with a scolding head shake, and within seconds later he leans in, giving you a chaste kiss. you moan, wrapping your arms around him. nanami grunts, swiping his tongue around the sugary sweet lip gloss that glues against your lips before he slowly spins you around.

“is this part of the lesson too?” you sheepishly hum, still feeling hot ‘n heavy from his lips being on yours just a moment ago. with a tiny gasp, you feel nanami gingerly press up against you, gently grabbing your waist. you ached for more, and you didn’t care about the private session anymore.

“partially,” nanami rasps, and you feel him lean further in, resting his chin against your shoulder. nanami stares at your body and he puts his glasses back on before sighing. with a hand gently pushing you forward – making you arch fully, the blonde grunts. “we forgot the other important part of the lesson though, ‘m afraid.”

with a cutesy shake of your ass against his grey crooked slacks that barely clung onto his hips, you bite the inside of your cheek. you feel something brick hard behind you that doesn’t exactly feel like a book. “a- and what’s that, ‘ken?”

nanami slowly licks the left side of your neck and you moan once he lifts up your leg, bringing his lips up to your ear. “penetration, princess.”

second lesson?

[ahmed-gaza12]

"The moment Palestinian journalists and photographers burned as a result of a direct Zionist bombing targeting their tent inside Nasser Hospital in Khan Yunis, south of the Gaza Strip.

The bombing was deliberate, extending to those who conveyed the truth through their lenses and cameras, turning their tent into fire, smoke, and screams.

They were targeted in the heart of the only remaining humanitarian space, within the premises of a hospital that was supposed to be safe.

At that moment, not only were their tools burned, but also the truth they tried to deliver to the world.

A tragic scene added to the series of crimes committed by the occupation against civilians, confirming that the free voice is one of the targets of this aggression."

[fascinationstreetmp3]

You know, Real Rashid, I'm pretty good at my job, a bright young reporter with a point of view. Interviewed a fallen Catholic archbishop, four Enron vice presidents. And if they've got something to hide they always start with some kind of disguise. Not literally, not some dumb Halloween costume, gloves, contact lenses. They tell jokes, they're charming. And then at some crisis point, when I get close, it drops away, and I see a flash of the truth.

Eric Bogosian and Luke Brandon Field as Daniel Molloy INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

[p1girlfriend]

for good luck | LH44

CW: public kiss, first time going public, Lewis being smooth and sweet, lots of press & cameras, soft smutty tension

You were supposed to stay low-profile. Just a few paddock passes, some garage time, the usual vague girlfriend-in-the-background protocol. You knew the drill. But Lewis…

Lewis never really follows the script.

So when he walks up to you on the grid, helmet under one arm, race suit zipped to his collarbone, cameras following his every move—your breath catches. There’s something different in his eyes. That look. Mischievous. Decided. Soft in a way that’s always just for you.

“Hi, baby,” he says, casual, like there aren’t dozens of lenses clicking around you.

“Hi,” you whisper, trying to keep the smile from taking over your whole face.

And then—without hesitation—he leans in and kisses you.

Not a quick peck. Not a stage kiss. A real one. Warm, unhurried, his gloved hand sliding to your waist as if he couldn’t care less who’s watching.

There’s a gasp somewhere nearby. Maybe a photographer. Maybe someone from his team. But all you feel is him. His lips. The way his mouth lingers like he’s been dying to do this forever.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a dazed silence.

You blink. “Lewis…”

He grins, wide and glowing. “It’s for good luck.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “You sure about that?”

He’s already backing away, slipping his helmet on, that megawatt smile still visible. “You’ll see,” he calls over his shoulder, walking toward his car like he didn’t just soft-launch a relationship bomb on the entire F1 media team.

And just like that, the cameras go wild. The paddock explodes. You stand there, dazed and kissed, while half the internet starts rewriting their race predictions based on your lips.

But deep down, you know the truth.

It’s not for good luck. It’s because he’s yours now — publicly, permanently, irrevocably. And Lewis Hamilton? Always drives with style.

©p1girlfriend

[bluelockmaniac]

📽 "𝐂𝐔𝐓! ... 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐓!?"

ft. actor!itoshi rin x costar!reader

synopsis. it was finally time to 'act out' the long awaited kiss scene with your celebrity crush, itoshi rin! but when the director yells 'cut!' . . . you both don't stop?

notes. gn!reader, 1.1k wc. popping back in for a bit hehe :)

three months and at least twenty-five near heart attacks later, you were finally about to film the long-awaited kiss scene with none other than the man of your dreams– itoshi rin. and, as fate would have it, it would be your first kiss too! killing two birds with one stone had never felt so terrifyingly thrilling.

having been chosen to co-star with the famous actor in a conventional romance movie had already been surreal enough, but now, after what felt like an eternity of rehearsals and stealing glances at your celebrity crush, it was finally time to place your pretty lips right where they belonged– on his.

the set was filled with blurred murmurs as the crew made their final adjustments, the cameras maneuvered to align their lenses perfectly, the lights flickered as the technicians adjusted them to a soft glow. surprisingly, you were not feeling nervous (rather, excited) though the same could not be said about rin who was seated on the plush prop couch in the middle of the carefully arranged living room set, his fingers drumming impatiently against the cushion.

you took your place behind the apartment door, knuckles barely grazing the wooden surface as you waited for your cue.

the movie director then cleared his throat into his fist and raised the clapperboard. “quiet on set,” he bellowed, and the room instantly fell silent. 

“ready,” thump 

“set,” thump 

“action!”

and the scene commenced.

you knocked on the door and a heartbeat later, rin’s voice floated from the inside– low & collected. 

“the door’s open.” 

short. simple. but most importantly, steady. it seems like he had finally settled into character.

twisting the doorknob, you stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind you. the air between you shifted the moment your eyes met rin’s cerulean gaze. you looked away almost immediately, heat creeping up your neck. pretending to be in love with him wasn’t very difficult when, in truth, there was no acting at all.

“i didn’t think you’d actually come.” rin’s voice was calm. he placed his mug down on the table, then threw his arm over the back of the couch as you approached and sat next to him.

“you called, didn’t you?” you turned toward him, tilting your body slightly as you took the time to scrutinize his face. his expression was unreadable, but you knew the script. furrowing your brows, you breathed out a soft huff. “liar,” you murmured. “you knew i was going to come.”

a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. then, without hesitation, his arm dropped from the couch, sliding effortlessly around your waist as he pulled you in, closer, until you felt the warmth radiating from him. 

“yeah,” he admitted, “i did. you’ve always been easy to read, after all.”

your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your composure. barely. “cocky as always, i see.”

you scooted closer to him, the space between you turning into nothing as you buried your face into the warmth of his neck. your hands moved to rest on his chest, and you inhaled the familiar, rich scent of his cologne before sighing softly. 

“i missed you, kai,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin.

secretly you wished there would come a day when you could whisper rin instead, not his character’s name.

there was a long silence and you contained your excitement for what’s to come like the competent performer you are. after the silence had stretched long enough, your trembling fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and you pushed yourself up. your eyes glistened with professional tears and your voice cracked at just the right moment. 

“i said i missed y–!”

the rest of your line was stolen.

without a word, rin’s hands found your face, fingers firm as he pulled you in, and then– his lips crashed onto yours. it wasn’t gentle. not hesitant either. it was rough and a bit reckless, too. it portrayed his scripted (or was it?) longing for you after 'years of absence' perfectly. his lips moved languidly against your own, and when a quiet whimper escaped you– definitely part of the script (cut yourself some slack, it was your first kiss for god’s sake)– you felt him shudder slightly.

your arms snaked around his neck as you began reciprocating the kiss more eagerly, with one tear cinematically slipping down your cheek. rin’s hand skis down to hold your waist while his nose brushes against yours fleetingly every now and then. it may be wishful thinking but with the way he’s passionately kissing you, you start to think that perhaps rin hadn't been acting this whole time. just like you.

“beautiful… perfect…” the movie director whispered under his breath, wiping a tear of pride as he casts glances at the camera crew filming the two successful stars. with a deep inhale, he readied himself, gripping the clapperboard. 

and–

“CUT!” his crisp voice rings through the set, signaling the end of the scene.

but you don���t pull away.

and neither does rin.

rin took pride in his career as an actor. he’d always been a professional, detached, the kind of actor that did what ought to be done and moved on. no strings, no unnecessary connections. but that was all prior to this because gosh hell would have to freeze over before he lets go of you now.

your lips were magnetic, and from the way you crawl onto his lap, fingers tangling in his hair, kissing deeper, he knows you could feel it too. a soft gasp escapes him as he lands back against the plush pillows of the couch, your weight on top of him, but neither of you seem to care.

the director blinks.

huh. odd. maybe you two didn’t hear the signal, though he was certain his voice was loud enough. “CUT!” he tried again, his voice slightly louder.

but you two were in your own world, too lost in each other to register the world around you.

“i-i said CUT!”

still, neither of you budge. the cameras kept rolling, the crew remained silent. someone sniffles in the background. perhaps, the director thinks, this is even better- like real lovers. you two depicted the raw emotions suspiciously well.

and so, when the film was released, that extended moment (the one where neither you or rin heard the call to stop) was actually kept! the movie was a massive hit, and you two may have started dating after this (the only justifiable course of action after the stuttering and embarrassment that came from you two after the realization).

of course, the director’s frantic shouting had to be muted post-production with advanced editing platforms. oh, and–

the part where rin had accidentally moaned your real name instead of your character’s? yeah. that was cropped out completely.

-

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform

[neyafromfrance95]

i always wondered what would be the most satisfactory way to wrap YOU up and lowkey assumed that the finale would not be some sort of perfect culmination to the whole story.

and boy, was i wrong...

the finale of YOU s5 was perfect. it surpassed my expectations for a great ending bc it went beyond the show's assumed formula and became a self-aware, raw and surprisingly feminist meta commentary on the show itself, joe goldberg, his victims and the real world realities of the victim/predator dynamics.

throughout the season, i wondered what was the point of introducing a character like louise. was it to show once again that joe will always find a flaw in his "soulmate" and continue the pattern of his predatory behavior?

yes, but more importantly, it all clicked and made sense when the finale revealed the point of louise to be about HER, not joe.

louise is not a random chick whose life and story is split in "before joe and after joe". she is an echo of beck. through louise we see that beck was not just a tragic heroine in joe's story, she was someone who left an impact on people in her life such as louise.

she is not the perfect victim or heroine. she has some moments of internalized misogyny, thinking that she is smarter than those women who fall for toxic men. she believes that she can fix joe. she fantasizes about being saved and dominated by him, giving him control to build her up bc she does not know who she is and has self-esteem issues, struggling to love herself without a lover's validation.

in some sense, she represents joe's perfect victim; in some sense, she represents the audiences who romanticize him. and she is the one who snaps out and sees herself clearly, thus seeing joe as he truly is and becoming his ultimate reckoning.

and with her, we see joe as he is as well. a pathetic misogynist with mommy issues who does not accept anything he deems selfish in women he preys upon. a predator who kills his prey once she does not reflect the image of himself to him he wants to see. someone who does not take accountability for harming others, always making excuses for himself. his mask is finally off, he is naked.

once louise confronts him and takes her voice back, demanding joe to admit the truth, the story takes off the romantic lenses that reminded more or less intact throughout the show and turns into a pure horror of brutality and violence.

but joe can not kill louise. metaphorically, it's bc he does not have power over her anymore, she found her own power in herself. power that is found through self-acceptance and love for all the victims who were silenced by joe. she declares that she is not bronte built in his fantasy, she is louise.

i actually teared up when louise had a vision of beck autographing her books and then it cut to an older lady, showing the lifetime that was taken away from her.

in the end, we recognize what joe refuses to recognize - that he is responsible for his loneliness. yet, he is not wrong when he breaks the forth wall and confronts the audiences for participating the culture that blames the victims and gives power to the abusers.

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ behind the frames, matt sturniolo

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis. in which while making out with matt, his glasses get in the way and you have to take them off mid make-out.

warnings. making out, matt with glasses (loml)

word count. 837 words.

authors note. i’ve been waiting to write about matt with glasses for so long.

the soft hum of the fan filled matt’s room, blending with the occasional muffled laughter from nick and chris who were in the kitchen. you were perched on his bed, leaning against the headboard, your legs stretched out while matt sat next to you, his knee bent and his other leg stretched out. his phone was in his hand, his thumb idly scrolling, but it seemed like he wasn’t paying attention to it. his glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, catching the warm glow of the bedside lamp.

you couldn’t help but stare at him. the way his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, the way his glasses added a sharpness to his otherwise soft features—it was unfair how good he looked without even trying.

he must have felt your gaze because he glanced up from his phone, one eyebrow raising slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, but you couldn’t fight the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

he tilted his head, his lips quirking into that signature smirk that made your stomach flip. “doesn’t seem like nothing.”

you shrugged and rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

matt set his phone down, darting his tongue out to wet his lips as his smirk grew. “alright, spill it. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

for a moment, you hesitated, but then you let the truth slip out. ��just how good you look in those glasses.”

his eyes widened slightly, and then he laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “oh, yeah?”

you nodded, a little bashful but unable to look away from him.

before you could second-guess yourself, he leaned in, his hand settling on your thigh as he brought his face closer to yours. his lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, but when you didn’t pull back, he pressed in deeper.

the kiss was slow and unhurried, as though he wanted to savour every second of it. his lips were soft, and the faint smell of his cologne made your head spin. your hands reached out instinctively reached out, fingering tangling into his shirt as you tugged him closer.

matt shifted, his hands going to your hips and before you knew it, he was pulling you onto his lap. you straddled him without a second thought, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him.

he hummed against your lips, his hands sliding up your back and settling there, holding you close as the kiss deepened. his glasses pressed slightly against your face, a faint distraction from the way his mouth moved against yours. his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the soft strands and tugging lightly. he let out a quiet groan at the sensation, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you felt his breath hitch as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss even more.

but the glasses—they were still there, slightly crooked now from the intensity of the kiss. they pressed awkwardly against your nose, making you pull back for just a second. matt’s blue eyes opened, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“what’s wrong? did i do something?” he asked, his voice husky but soft.

“no, no. it’s just your glasses.” you murmured, your hands slipping from his hair to gently slide the black frames off his face.

matt blinked as you set them aside on the nightstand, his now-unobstructed eyes meeting yours. without the lenses in the way, his gaze felt raw, vulnerable, and so ridiculously intimate that it made your heart skip a beat.

“they were in the way,” you added softly, your thumb brushing against his jaw.

his lips quirked up into a small smile. “guess i’ll allow it.”

you barely had time to laugh before he pulled you back in, his hands cupping your face as his lips captured yours again. this time, it was more urgent, his kisses deeper, hungrier, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore.

his hands slid down to your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to send a spark through you. you shifted slightly in his lap, and the movement drew a low groan from him, one that made your cheeks burn and your stomach turn in the best way.

"do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he murmured, his voice low and rough as his hands gripped your waist.

"what am i doing?" you teased, your voice breathless, your lips brushing against his.

he chuckled softly, the sound deep and almost wicked. "driving me insane," he muttered, his lips trailing along your jaw. his hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pulled you even closer, the movement sending heat rushing through your body. "i can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, his voice dropping even further as his eyes met yours, dark with desire. "the way you kiss me, the way you touch me…i need you so badly. you don't even realize what you're doing to me."

the intensity of his words made your breath catch, and before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands guiding your movements as if he couldn't get enough. the rest of the world faded away as you melted into him, every touch, every kiss igniting something deeper between you.

[97linelover]

Coming back to you - Jeon Jungkook

summary: you loved him while he was away, you loved him from far away. And now hes finally back.

Being in a secret relationship with Jungkook as his Make up Artist is not that easy, especially when you´re just waiting for his return.

pairing: idol jungkook x reader

genre: love, return from the military, cute, they´re just so in love

author's note: how can the time already be over? I´m so happy. I wrote this, this morning so don´t be to harsh on me :D

The BigHit building buzzed with quiet excitement, a kind of electricity in the air that only came when something huge was about to happen. Tomorrow wasn’t just another day—it was the day.

After what felt like an eternity, Jungkook and Jimin were finally being discharged from the military.

And you? You had the most important job of all.

Not only had you been BTS’s trusted makeup artist for the past few years—working with them through albums, concerts, and chaotic shoots—but you were also Jungkook’s secret.

Your secret relationship with him had started quietly, somewhere between powder brushes and soft eye contact in mirror reflections. Late-night texts turned into long walks. And before you knew it, he was yours, and you were his.

But today, there was no time to be sentimental.

“Y/N, do you have the list?” Namjoon called out from across the practice room, balancing a clipboard in one hand and holding a streamer in the other.

“Yeah, I’ve got it!” you answered, double-checking your notes. “And I picked up the cake this morning from that bakery Jungkook loves. Banana-flavored, right?”

Hoseok grinned, walking past with a handful of balloons. “You’re seriously amazing. He’s going to cry.”

“I hope not,” you laughed. “His contact lenses won’t survive that.”

Taehyung entered the room next, lugging a giant cardboard box full of decorations. “I got the banner! And the photo wall materials. Should we do it next to the window, or—?”

“Let’s set it up where the lighting’s better,” you said, already heading to help him. “You know how picky Jimin is about pictures.”

As the others moved around you, hanging garlands and preparing the playlist, you quietly checked off tasks in your head.

✅ Cake

✅ Drinks

✅ Decorations

✅ Playlist

✅ Gifts

Oh—and Jimin’s bag. You had picked it up for him, along with his uniform accessories. You made sure everything was perfectly folded, tucked into a duffel by the door, ready for tomorrow morning.

You paused, brushing a bit of glitter off your sleeve, glancing toward the small gift you hadn’t dared show the others. A small silver bracelet with Jungkook’s enlistment date engraved on it… and yours, next to his, in smaller print. You’d worn it every day since he left. Tomorrow, you’d finally give it to him.

You exhaled slowly, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

It didn’t feel real yet. But tomorrow, he’d walk through that door. The wait would finally be over.

And no one—not even the fans—knew the truth behind your excitement.

Tomorrow, the world would see BTS’s Golden Maknae return.

But only you would see the man you loved come home.

The HYBE building had never felt like this before.

There was always movement—staff hurrying, stylists adjusting lighting, choreographers shouting counts from practice rooms—but today was different. Today, it felt like a storm was brewing.

The Golden Maknae and the angel-voiced Park Jimin were coming home.

And you? You were right in the eye of the storm.

“Y/N, where are the black ribbons? They were in Box B!” someone shouted behind you.

“Box B is in Studio 3!” you called back, clutching two cups of coffee, a checklist, and a roll of tape in your other hand.

You hadn’t slept much last night. Honestly, you hadn’t really slept well in months.

Because even though Jimin was like a little brother to you, this wasn’t just about BTS returning to full strength.

It was him.

Jungkook.

You hadn’t seen him in person for months. Sure, you exchanged the occasional encrypted text. . A grainy selfie with his buzzed hair and sleepy eyes.

But nothing beat standing in front of him, close enough to hear the way he said your name like it meant more than just three letters.

Only the members knew. RM had found out first—he always did—and eventually, the others caught on. It had been unspoken between you all: protect this secret at all costs. Dating an idol as staff wasn’t just frowned upon. It was forbidden. A one-way ticket out the door.

But the moment Jungkook told you he was willing to wait, you knew you’d do the same.

And now… that wait was finally over.

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled you back. He was standing at the entrance of the practice room, holding up his phone. “They just arrived. They’re on their way here!”

A chorus of reactions erupted.

“Ten minutes?!”

“Did someone check the microphones?!”

“Where’s Jimin’s jacket?!”

You were already moving—handing over coffees, adjusting decorations, shoving Jungkook’s duffel bag just slightly to the left so it would be the first thing he saw. Your heart was racing in your chest, matching the rhythm of footsteps echoing through the building.

Only minutes now.

You felt Seokjin gently nudge your shoulder as he passed. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will be. When I see him.”

Hoseok smiled knowingly. “You’re glowing. He’s going to lose his mind.”

Suddenly, the building’s atmosphere shifted.

The elevator dinged.

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

And then: footsteps.

You stepped back, breath held, heart hammering, eyes locked on the hallway outside the studio.

The door opened.

Jimin entered first, smiling wide, dressed in his military uniform, looking tired but happy. He opened his arms, greeting everyone like the prince he was.

And then came him.

Jungkook.

Hair slightly longer now, military cap in hand, uniform perfect. His eyes scanned the room—and when they landed on you, the world stopped.

For a split second, the chaos faded. The balloons, the cake, the flash of cameras, the staff whispering—all of it disappeared.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

His eyes softened, just a little. The corner of his mouth lifted. That tiny look only you ever saw.

He was home.

His scent hit you before anything else. That warm, clean smell mixed with something distinctly him—even after such a long time.

Jungkook made his way through the room, hugging each staff member, bowing deeply, thanking them one after one. His smile was beaming, but his eyes were tired.

You stood near the back, pretending to adjust a mic cable that absolutely didn’t need adjusting.

Don’t shake. Just breathe. Don’t look like a love-struck idiot.

He was two hugs away.

Then one.

And then—

“Y/N,” he said softly, and you turned just in time to see his arms open.

There was no time to think.

You stepped forward, and he pulled you in for a quick hug—shorter than the others, less obvious—but his hand lingered just a second longer on your lower back. His breath ghosted near your ear as he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear:

“I missed you.”

Your heart nearly stopped, but you smiled politely, nodded, and stepped back, eyes lowered. “Welcome back,” you said quietly, your voice way too calm for the storm inside you.

He gave nothing away, not even in his expression. Golden Maknae mode fully activated.

You tried to focus as Jimin waved everyone toward Studio A, where the livestream was set to begin in fifteen minutes.

“Let’s go!” Namjoon called. “We’ll run audio while they change jackets.”

Everyone moved in sync.

You stayed close, like always, clipboard in hand, headset in place, watching them through the control booth window as they sat down, fixing their collars and joking about how weird it felt to be out.

And Jungkook—he kept glancing at the glass. At you.

You stood behind the main camera now, pretending to go over notes with the lighting team.

But you weren’t fooling anyone—especially not yourself.

Your whole body buzzed. You were giddy, jittery, anxious, overwhelmed.

He’s here. He’s actually here.

The way he had looked at you—the softness, the heat, the unspoken history between you—none of it had faded. It was all still there, hiding in his glances, in the calm stillness of how he carried himself.

And god, you wanted to run to him. Just for five minutes. Just to say everything you weren’t allowed to say.

But now?

Now, he was BTS’s Jungkook again. And you were just the staff.

So, you did what you always did: you kept working.

Even if your fingers shook.

Even if your cheeks burned.

Even if your heart was screaming his name.

The studio lights were warm and bright, casting that perfect glow on Jimin and Jungkook as the livestream began.

They looked… different. Grown. Sharper. Stronger.

But their laughter was still the same—soft, contagious, filled with inside jokes and memories you could only imagine from the past 18 months.

Jimin leaned forward, eyes sparkling as he teased Jungkook about almost crying during their farewell ceremony.

“Ya! I didn’t cry,” Jungkook argued, his voice deep, playful. “It was allergies.”

“Sure it was,” Jimin smirked, nudging him. “Military dust, right?”

The staff chuckled behind the cameras. You stood to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, pretending to check your phone. But really, you were just watching him.

Every smile.

Every gesture.

Every time his tongue peeked out as he laughed, or when he tucked his hair behind his ear—things you used to see up close, in quiet hotel rooms and stolen moments.

It was torture and comfort all at once.

And you didn’t even notice you were staring until someone cleared their throat beside you.

Namjoon.

He didn’t say anything—just raised his brows with a knowing smirk. His arms were crossed too, and his eyes flicked between you and Jungkook before returning to you.

You blinked, flustered. “What?”

Namjoon leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “Your face is giving you away.”

You felt your cheeks heat instantly. “I’m just—monitoring. You know. Makeup, lighting…”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Very professional.”

You elbowed him gently, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Shut up.”

Namjoon smiled wider but backed off with a small shrug, as if to say, I won’t tell… this time.

You needed to breathe.

“I’ll be right back,” you mumbled, already stepping away. “Bathroom.”

Namjoon didn’t stop you—he just nodded knowingly as you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your ears.

Once in the hallway, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes.

You had handled months of separation. You had handled secrets and silence and waiting.

But handling him, in the same building again, so close and yet so untouchable?

That was something else entirely.

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet compared to the buzz of the studio. Your heart was still racing, your skin still warm from the way Namjoon had looked at you like he knew. Like they all knew. Like he was just waiting for you to break.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out here. A few minutes? Maybe more. The voices and laughter from the livestream had faded behind closed doors, and your own thoughts had taken over.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

He’s right there.

And yet—you couldn’t touch him.

Not really. Not yet.

You exhaled slowly, about to head back inside when—

Footsteps.

Heavy boots, confident steps. You knew them instantly.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

Jungkook.

The moment your eyes met, the air shifted. The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. Too full.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he was making sure you were real. His uniform jacket hung open now, and his hair was slightly tousled from pulling off his mic.

And then—he smiled.

Not the public smile. Not the one from the livestream.

This one was just for you.

“You ran away,” he said softly, voice rough from laughter and emotion.

You smiled back, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Maybe.”

He took a few steps closer, then stopped—checking the hallway quickly, like old habits kicking in. Still cautious, still hiding.

But when he was sure no one was around, he reached for you.

You didn’t hesitate.

You crossed the last step between you and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as he held you tight—so tight like he was afraid to let go.

God, he felt solid. Warm. Real. Like every second of waiting had finally led here.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against his shirt, your voice barely holding steady.

His hand slid up your back, resting gently at the nape of your neck. “I thought about you every damn day,” he said, low and rough. “Every day, Y/N.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes searched yours, and you knew—he wanted to kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not here.

So instead, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m home now,” he breathed. “We made it.”

You nodded, tears pricking behind your eyes. “Yeah. We did.”

And in that quiet, stolen moment—hidden between the walls of the company that wouldn’t approve of any of this—you finally breathed again.

Together.

The livestream had ended with cheers and laughter. Staff clapped, cameras powered down, and the room buzzed with post-shoot energy.

Jungkook and Jimin were surrounded by staff, all offering congratulations, handshakes, pats on the back. They took it all with grace, but their eyes were tired—especially Jungkook’s.

You stood off to the side again, pretending to review the footage on a monitor while your heart pulled in two different directions.

He was right there.

But you couldn’t go with him.

“Let’s go eat!” Taehyung called suddenly, grinning and throwing an arm around Jimin. “Gopchang and soju, my treat!”

“Ya, your treat?” Seokjin scoffed. “We’ll be waiting until next payday.”

Jimin laughed, tossing his cap onto a table. “I’m in. I want fried chicken and kimchi stew.”

Namjoon turned to Jungkook. “You coming?”

Jungkook looked up, glancing instinctively in your direction.

He didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t have to.

The way his eyes softened, the tiniest flicker of disappointment flashing behind his expression—it was enough.

You gave him a small smile, one you hoped said I’m okay. Don’t worry.

Then you turned to the others, keeping your voice light.

“I’ll stay behind and help with cleanup. You guys go ahead.”

Jungkook opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Maybe to argue. Maybe to ask you to come anyway. But he didn’t.

He just nodded slowly and picked up his jacket.

That moment burned a little. You wanted to go. God, you wanted to sit beside him at the table, hear him laugh, feel his knee brush yours under the table like before. But that wasn’t your place. Not publicly.

Then—

“Wait,” Jimin said, suddenly pausing at the doorway. He turned to Jungkook, then to you, then back to the group. “You all go. Jungkook and I will meet you later.”

Taehyung blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Jimin just shrugged with a sly little smile. “I forgot my bag. And I need to stop by Y/N’s place to grab some stuff.”

He looked at you. “You’re going home, right?”

You caught the look in his eyes. The message behind the casual tone.

He was giving you a way out. A cover.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m heading back now.”

“Perfect,” Jimin said, already nudging Jungkook. “We’ll meet at her place first. I’ll bring chicken. And beer.”

There was a moment of pause before Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “You two are suspicious.”

“We’re tired,” Jimin said dramatically, already ushering Jungkook away. “Let us rest first. Then we party.”

Namjoon laughed. “Fine, fine. But don’t take too long. And don’t fall asleep!”

As the others disappeared down the hallway, you and Jungkook fell into step behind Jimin.

Your fingers brushed for just a second.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to pull away

Jimin was true to his word.

He showed up at your apartment 30 minutes later, arms full of takeout bags and a six-pack of cold beer. Jungkook trailed behind him, freshly showered, in a hoodie and sweats—but he may as well have walked in wearing a crown for how your heart reacted.

The apartment filled with warmth and laughter. You ate on the floor around your coffee table, beer cans opening one by one as Jimin told story after story from their time in the military.

Jungkook didn’t say much—he was too busy watching you. Every glance. Every smile. Every time you laughed a little too loud at Jimin’s jokes, his eyes flicked over to you like he was memorizing it.

And you felt it too.

That magnetic pull between you. The silent countdown behind every look. The we’re not alone yet tension curling in your stomach.

Jimin leaned back eventually, yawning loudly. “Alright,” he groaned, stretching. “My social battery’s gone. I’m heading out before I pass out on your floor.”

“You sure?” you asked, even though your heart was racing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jimin said with a knowing look. “You two probably need some… catching up time.”

Jungkook threw a pillow at him, laughing. “Hyung!”

Jimin dodged it, grinning as he grabbed his jacket. “Just lock the door behind me. And don’t be loud.” He winked. “Your neighbors probably like their sleep.”

You flushed. Jungkook groaned.

And then the door clicked shut.

Silence.

Just you and him.

The second the lock slid into place, you turned—and Jungkook was already there, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and then—

You kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Months of distance crashing into one kiss that felt like breathing again after being underwater too long.

He groaned against your mouth, his hands slipping under your shirt, warm and searching. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he pressed you back until your spine hit the wall.

“I thought I’d go insane without you,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“You did,” you whispered back, tugging his hoodie off, breathless. “We both did.”

His mouth was on yours again in a second, hungrier now, like he couldn’t get enough. And you didn’t care. Not about the job. Not about the rules. Not about tomorrow.

Just this.

Just him.

Home.

The moment your back hit the wall, it was like a dam broke.

All those months apart — every aching night, every word unsaid, every kiss only imagined — crashed down in the space between heartbeats. Jungkook kissed you like he was starved, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first because he wanted all of you at once.

His hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, the slope of your neck. You pulled him closer, needing him closer, clinging to him like the last thread of something sacred.

“Bedroom,” you breathed between kisses.

He nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes dark with need.

You barely made it.

Clothes disappeared in a rush — hoodie over his head, your shirt peeled off, jeans undone with fumbling hands and impatient mouths. He paused only once, looking down at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“God,” he whispered, fingers brushing over your bare skin like he was afraid you’d vanish. “You’re real. You’re here.”

You nodded, heart pounding so loud you could feel it in your throat. “I waited for you.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, just a little. “I’ll make up for it.”

And he did.

Jungkook took his time — worshipped every inch of you like a man trying to memorize a dream. His mouth left a trail of fire down your neck, your chest, the dip of your waist. He moved like he knew your body — where to touch, where to kiss, how to pull that soft gasp from your lips that drove him crazy.

His skin was warm against yours, hard muscle meeting soft curves, and every second was filled with whispered confessions between tangled sheets:

“I missed this.”

“I missed you.”

“You’re mine.”

“You always have been.”

And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t just physical — it was everything. A reunion. A release. A promise.

Your bodies moved in sync, slow at first, deep, unhurried. Like time had stopped just for you two. Like the whole world had faded except this one room, this one night, this one love.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and ragged.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, moving faster now, lips capturing yours again. “I’m not letting you go again. Not now. Not ever.”

And when you both finally shattered — together, breathless and trembling, your bodies slick with sweat and love and months of longing — he held you.

Tight. Close. Like he still didn’t fully believe it was real.

And in that silence after, the only sound was his heartbeat beneath your ear, fast and steady.

“Mine,” he whispered again, kissing your temple. “All mine.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to

You woke to warmth.

Not just the kind that came from sunlight pouring through the thin curtains — but the kind that came from him. Skin against skin, tangled limbs beneath your blanket, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against the back of your neck.

Jungkook.

His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, bare chest pressed to your back, his leg hooked lazily over yours. You could feel the slight rise and fall of his body, his heart beating softly behind you.

For a moment, you just lay there. Eyes closed, lips parted in a sleepy smile, memorizing the feeling of his body against yours again. It was quiet. Still. Like the world had pressed pause.

And then you felt him shift — just slightly — and his lips brushed the top of your shoulder.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, voice low and raspy from sleep.

“Mmm,” you hummed, turning your face toward him. “Barely.”

He smiled into your skin, nosing gently against your neck. “Good. I didn’t want to wake up alone.”

You rolled over slowly to face him. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes. His face was soft, eyes still heavy with sleep. And god, he looked so good like this — vulnerable, real, yours.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you said softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “I’ve never slept so well in my life.”

You laughed a little, pulling the blanket higher. “Probably because you’re not being yelled at by a sergeant anymore.”

“True,” he said, grinning. “Also helps that I’ve got the best pillow now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

The words hit you straight in the chest.

And then he leaned in and kissed you — slow, sleepy, warm — the kind of kiss that tasted like comfort and home and everything you’d missed. His fingers brushed along your thigh, but there was no urgency now, no rush.

Just closeness.

You pulled back, barely, your noses still touching. “Do we have to get up?”

“Eventually,” he said. “But not yet.”

You nestled back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut again. “Okay. Just a few more minutes.”

He tightened his arms around you, voice barely audible as he kissed your hair. “Take all the time you want, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

So our babys are nearly 7 again, it´s unreal how fast the time had passed.

[daisynik7]

[M4F] Husband Catches You Listening to Audio P*rn, Teaches You a Lesson [Soft Mdom] [Established Relationship] [Mild Degradation] [Praise] [Overstimulation] [Multiple Orgasms] [Creampie]

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), sex toys, mutual masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, sex without a condom, creampie, overstimulation, soft dom!Nanami, breeding kink, mild degradation (use of slut and whore), praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names (honey, sweetie, sweetheart, princess, baby)

Summary: Nanami comes home early from his business trip and catches you doing something naughty in your bedroom. Author’s Note: Inspired by all the audio porn VAs that I listen to! Special shoutout to @mrsackermannx for raving about AugustInTheWinter with me. If you have not listened to him yet, PLEASE check him out, he’s incredible. Also, I’m clearly very delulu for Nanami currently, considering this is the third piece I’ve written for him within a week, but hey, this is my outlet! So I hope you enjoy! MDNI divider created by @/cafekitsune. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

Your skin is sweltering against the sheets, sweat damp on your forehead and neck. Thighs are apart, vibrator buzzing on your clit, sleek with lube and arousal. You’re home alone; Nanami doesn’t return until tomorrow morning. Still, the thought of the audio porn playing on speaker makes you shy, so you have both earbuds in, listening to the sultry tones of your favorite voice actor moaning expletives directly into your ear. Such a good girl, oh fuck. You feel so good, sweetheart. Take that cock for me. You are so fucking tight, holy shit. The added sound effects of thwapping and wet squelches in the background immerse you into a state of erotic bliss, gushing for the second time tonight from the sensation of the toy pulsing on your throbbing bud.

“What do we have here?”

You jolt up when you hear your husband’s voice from the doorway, startled to see him standing there, leaning against the frame with a serious look on his face. His spectacles are on, covering his eyes, which you can tell are boring into you in this lewd position. 

Popping your headphones off, you hide the vibrator under the pillow, as if he hasn’t already caught you red-handed. Closing your legs, you bat your eyelashes, feigning an innocent expression. “Honey! What are you doing here?” More heat rushes into your cheeks, scorching hot from your recent orgasm and current embarrassment.  

He steps forward, sitting at the far edge of the bed, avoiding your gaze by staring at the floor, acting disappointed. “I managed to catch an earlier flight. Wanted to surprise you.” Dramatic, he turns to face you, eyes narrowed through his tinted lenses. “It appears that I am the one being surprised.” 

Biting your lip to hold back your laughter, you crawl towards him, naked from the waist down, your panties discarded on the floor near his feet. He’s not actually upset; having been together long enough and in tune with each other’s emotions, you can tell that he isn’t seriously mad at you. This is a role he indulges in occasionally: stoic, strict husband with a mean streak when things don’t go his way. And you know exactly where this will lead to, so naturally, you play along. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t think you would be coming home tonight. I just thought I’d have a little bit of fun.” You massage his shoulders, nuzzling your face to his nape, giving him a loud smooch. 

He shifts around in the bed, confronting you. “What were you listening to?” There’s legitimate curiosity in his voice, and now genuine guilt builds in your chest upon his question. 

You swallow hard, anxious to admit the truth, too ashamed to lie to him. “Um, I was listening to porn. Audio porn.”

He raises a brow at you, confused. Then, he says, “Let me hear it.”

Reluctantly, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, resuming from where you paused. Wet slaps blare through the speaker, then a man’s voice, moaning, “Ah fuck, let me hear you. Let me hear you moan on my cock. Let me hear you take this cock. Yeah, like that baby, take it just like that.” 

You bury your head in your hands, absolutely mortified as the pornographic dialogue continues. The audio comes to a halt when Nanami stops it, silently tapping at the screen. You’re still hiding in disgrace, squeezing your legs together tightly to conceal the evidence of your supposed sin. The tension is palpable, with neither of you speaking or making any sudden movements. You’re dying to know what he’s thinking, simultaneously terrified of his judgement. 

He clears his throat; you peek through your fingers to catch him loosening his tie around his collar, removing the glasses from his face. He’s blushing, brows tight with contemplation. “Did you come to this?” he asks, almost breathless. 

You lower your hands, fisting them into the sheets beneath you, nodding. Anticipating. 

“Show me,” he demands, eyes at your lap. Too eagerly do you spread your legs, displaying your sopping cunt to him, staring at his lips part slightly, a barely audible growl resounding within his throat. Your uneasiness gradually slips into arousal, aching to be touched, even punished, by your formidable husband. He bows, licking his mouth, inspecting you like prey he’s about to devour. Flicking his eyes to yours, he mutters, “You’re a dirty slut for listening to this filth. Have you no shame?” He kneels before you, unbuttoning his dress shirt, exposing the white tee underneath. Chiseled chest and abs carved into the fabric like fucking marble. 

Losing composure, you blurt out, “No shame, absolutely none. I’m fucking filthy.” Your pussy aches, toes clenched, thrilled. 

“I can’t stand you listening to another man’s voice while you get off. It makes me sick thinking about it. Makes my blood fucking boil.” His tone is menacing in way that titillates every inch of your skin, has you shuddering from the low growl at the end of each sentence. 

“Are you going to punish me?” you goad, saliva collecting on your tongue, heavy with lust.

“I can think of something better.” Reaching for your phone, he navigates through it, finding your voice recorder app. He taps on the big red button, setting it beside you. “From now on, you only come to my voice. Got it?”

You swallow hard, almost chocking on your spit when you respond, “Yes. Yes, baby.”

He grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he cups your cheek tenderly. “Good girl.” His thumb traces the outline of your parted lips, your mouth inviting him in. But he doesn’t, leaning back on his wrists, observing you with the obvious bulge protruding from his slacks. “Get that vibrator. Show me how you do it.”

Obeying, you search for it under the pillow, retrieving it to rub the tip up and down your folds, finger on the trigger. “There you go,” he encourages, a cocky smirk on his face, slowly unbuckling the belt around his waist, sliding it from the loops and tossing it aside. “Tease it a little before you turn it on. Make sure it’s exactly where you want it.” 

You tap the toy on your swollen bud, already sensitive from your earlier climax. You meet his gaze, waiting for a signal. He slides out of his pants and briefs, revealing his erection sprung against his belly. Before he does anything else, he grabs your phone and sets it on the bed between you. Palming his length, he grins. “Go ahead.” 

What a fucking menace he can be.

Pushing the button, the vibrator immediately pulsates on you, causing you to twitch from the intense sensation. He watches, fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself, thumb grazing the slit. “Look at you. My gorgeous girl,” he purrs. “My perfect angel with the prettiest pussy. Can’t wait to stretch you open with this cock. Bury myself deep inside you. Fill you up with my cum.”

“Fuck, Kento,” you whimper, pressing the fluttering tip firmer, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. You’ve always loved his hands; how pristine they are with his knuckles tight on his skin. Large, strong, then rough on the pads of his fingers from hard work and constant use. They’re even prettier in a fist surrounding his cock, wrist jerking hastily, precum glistening at the tip. Your entire focus is on him touching himself while he watches you do the same, the toy’s low hum enhanced when it’s snugly nestled to your clit. 

“You like it when I talk nasty to you, huh?” he huffs, readjusting himself nearer to you. He’s so close, you can practically feel the tip of his cock at your quivering pussy. “Is it better than listening to your ridiculous pornography?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine, jutting your hips out, attempting to close the gap. 

“Unlike them, I can actually touch you,” he muses, his tip teasing your entrance. “I can do whatever I want, whatever you want. They don’t get to fuck this sweet cunt like I get to. They don’t get to taste you the way I do.” 

Suddenly, he grabs the vibrator from your grasp, shutting it off and setting it back under the pillow. He shifts down the bed, positioning his head between your thighs, diving in tongue first onto your puffy clit. Pleasure resonates from your core throughout your limbs, legs shaky and mind hazy as he slobbers all over you, covering your bud in his frothy spit. It’s sloppy, salacious, straight up nasty. After only a few strokes of his tongue, it’s already enough to send you into your third orgasm of the night, more powerful than the first two combined when you were alone. 

You’d be a fool to expect him to let up after coming once with him; still, it shocks you when he doesn’t stop. He latches to you harder, suckling on your sensitive clit until it’s plump between his glossy lips and you’re crying out, “Too much!” overstimulated and spasming above him. Sometimes, when he’s in one of these moods, he forgets his own virility, always so keen on making you orgasm multiple times in one go. Tonight, he forgets that you had already been prepping yourself since earlier. With a gentle kiss, he relents, indulging in his work by running his tongue along your gushing pussy, drinking up your cum. He reaches for his cock, stiff between his stomach and the bedsheets under him. On his knees, he returns to his spot from earlier, stroking his cock with the tip just barely in your entrance. 

You’re absolutely spent, but you yearn for him inside you, desperate to be filled with his load. “Come in me, baby,” you beg, gripping his wrist to pull him closer. “Fuck me.” 

He lets out a disapproving tsk, shaking his head. “Not yet, princess. You have to be patient. We’re just getting started,” he smirks, stroking himself faster. “Are you just so fucking needy for my cum?” You nod erratically, tempted to thrust yourself onto him. 

“Then beg for it,” he orders, sliding his cock the slightest bit further inside you. “Convince me that you deserve it.”

Understanding what he wants, you retrieve your little toy again, rubbing small circles with it on your bud, smearing whatever is left of your orgasm around it. “Please, Kento. Please. I need it. I need it.”

The sight of you like this has him dangling on the very edge, so close to climax. “Turn it on,” he demands. You do, the buzz electrifying all the nerves in your body yet again. You chant his name over and over until he shoots insides you, spurts of opaque cum flooding your pussy. “Yes, yes. Good girl. Take that fucking cum. Take all of it. Fuck.” His voice is hushed, breathy and trembling from the high. 

You stop the vibrator, tossing it to the floor carelessly. Nanami crawls next to you, cradling you in his arms. With a kiss to your forehead, he whispers, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, turning to face him, nuzzling his chest. “Of course.”

He caresses your face, trailing down your body to rest his hand at your waist. He glances at your phone beside you. “We’re still recording, you know.”

You giggle. “And…?”

He kisses you softly, tongue flitting past your lips, guiding you flat on your back, spreading your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hand glides to your loins, toying with your swollen clit before teasing your entrance, brimming with his creampie. “Can you still take it, sweetheart?”

You nod, breath hitching, cuddling closer to him. Smiling sweetly at you, he eases a finger in, cum overflowing your pussy and trickling out from your slit. He slides in another easily, stretching you open, a whine escaping you. His mouth is hot on your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Me finger fucking my cum deeper inside you. Taking it like an obedient whore.” He picks up the pace, your cunt clenching his digits. “I’m going to get you pregnant tonight. Breed you, make you mine. You want that, sweetie?” His fingers writhe inside you, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly until you’re tight around him, ready for another orgasm. At this point, you’ve stopped keeping count, lost in a sex-fueled craze instigated by your husband. 

“Yes, Kento. Give it to me. I want it. I want it so bad.” You notice he’s hard again, his erection stiffening against your leg. Reaching for him, you rub your hand on his length, feeling it twitch from your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling out from you. He sits up, back to the headboard, beckoning. “Get on my lap. Hurry,” he urges, hoisting you towards him. You straddle him, guiding his cock to your entrance. “Sink down on it. There we go,” he instructs, eyes wide, desperation etched in his tone. He needs this just as much as you do, and it drives you wild. You follow his command, lowering yourself onto him, his dick sliding in smoothly, bottoming out. “That’s my good girl. Fuck. You’re so good to me. So fucking good to me.”

You start riding him the way he likes, your ass slapping loudly on his thighs. He’s moaning endlessly, throwing in the occasional fuck and pet name as he grips your hips, bouncing you on his cock. You wrap your arms around his neck to keep steady, holding him tightly. “Want your cum,” you manage to utter, enraptured in the scorching pleasure he surrounds you in. 

He's fucking up into you, feet planted at the end of the bed. The mattress creaks with every thrust of his cock. In a huffy breath, he says, “Milk it out of me, honey. Milk me fucking dry. You can do it sweetheart; I know you can.” The praise encourages you to ride him faster, rougher, your bodies in tandem, springing on the bed, moaning into each other’s mouth with a passionate kiss. 

Soon, he pulsates inside you, stuffing you even fuller with his cum. You climax once more, gripping his cock with your fluttering pussy. He cradles you in a cozy embrace, catching his breath, nuzzling his nose to your chest. You giggle, running you fingers through his hair, smooching the top of his head. “You okay?” you ask, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

He nods, exhaling deeply. “Just let me hold you. Need to calm down.”

You laugh, amused by his current state of post-coital euphoria. Fetching the phone teetering precariously at the edge of the bed now, you tap on the red button to stop the recording. Seeing this, he mentions, “You know I don’t actually mind you listening to that kind of stuff, right?” 

You smile, noticing the guilt in his voice, massaging his back. “I know, honey. I know you don’t.”

He squeezes you, taking a deep breath. “Okay, good. Just want to make that clear.”

You cup his cheek, thumb caressing the stress lines along his face, gradually relaxing to your touch. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d much rather listen to this than some stranger on the Internet.”

Chuckling, he replies. “Maybe it makes me feel a little bit better.” He snuggles closer to you, hugging you tight, reluctant to let you go. Eventually, the two of you slip beneath the covers, getting comfortable with Nanami spooning you from behind.  

You glance at the screen, showing the several minute long recording and the play button adjacent to it, ready to be tapped. “So,” you start, craning your neck to smirk at him. “Should we give it a listen?”

He returns your grin, shifting beside you, cock growing hard between your ass cheeks. “Absolutely.”

[aftertheleaving]

Impulse Control (I)

Pairing: Aged up!Damian Wayne x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Genre: Fluff, slice-of-life, humor

Warnings: N/A

Notes: honestly don't think I have anything to say so. Bye bye.

Impulse Control (II)

You’re speaking again. About sweaters or sales or some ridiculous thing you found online. Damian isn’t really listening. He’s nodding, offering the occasional grunt or raised eyebrow when it seems appropriate—but mostly, he’s watching your hands as they move with every word. The way your eyes light up at something trivial. The way you keep tugging him to the next store like he isn't trained to kill with his bare hands.

It’s pathetic. Talia would be ashamed of him.

And yet, when you glance up at him and smile like he’re your favorite part of the day, he thinks maybe it’s not so bad.

Maybe being dragged from store to store since 7 a.m., without buying a single thing, isn't so bad after all.

The shop you’re in now is cramped and cluttered, the kind of place that sells everything from knockoff perfumes to fake bonsai trees. It smells like dust and cheap plastic. You’re turning over a glass cat figurine in your hands like it holds the secrets of the universe.

You’ve been here for four hours. Four. And not once have you actually bought anything.

You glance at a display of novelty socks. He watches the way your nose scrunches.

“If you can’t afford any of this,” Damian says, arms crossed, “I can cover it.”

You look over your shoulder at him, one brow raised like he’s just said something insane.

“I can afford it. I just purposely didn’t bring money.”

That… makes even less sense.

You continue, like that explains anything. “If I brought cash, I’d buy random crap I don’t need. I’m here to look. That’s the fun part.”

Your room is, apparently, already overflowing with trinkets and impulse buys. You say this with a small shrug, completely unbothered.

Damian stares. “You dragged me across the city for window shopping?”

You smile. “Yup. And you’re surviving. Barely.”

He wants to argue. He really does.

But then you tug him by the sleeve again, leading him toward a shelf full of glittery pens and useless notebooks. You’re humming something off-key under your breath, and your eyes are shining in the overhead fluorescent lights.

He thinks—maybe it’s not just tolerable. Maybe he’s... actually enjoying himself.

But he’d never admit it.

Not out loud. Hell, not even to himself if he could help it. Because if there’s one universal truth in this cursed world, it’s that his brothers—like the vultures they are—would somehow find out. They’d crawl inside his head, drag out the truth, and throw a parade because "the Demon child has emotions."

Disgusting.

He clenches his jaw and stares extra hard at a windchime shaped like a duck, trying to reset the universe.

You, oblivious, keep tugging him deeper into the store like he doesn’t have a reputation to uphold.

And just as he was about to reach for the small trinket—something odd and probably useless but stupidly charming in the way you’d like—he hesitated, glancing at you. You were inspecting something else nearby, oblivious to his sudden, strange interest in showing you anything at all.

He took a step forward, opened his mouth—

Click.

The sharp burst of a camera shutter was almost imperceptible, but Damian heard it. He always heard it.

Another click.

Then voices.

“Is that Damian Wayne?”

“Oh my god—is that his girlfriend?”

You froze.

Damian’s entire posture shifted, straightening like a loaded spring. His eyes darted to the entrance where a cluster of over-eager photographers now loitered, lenses like rifles aimed directly at the two of you. He instinctively stepped in front of you, a protective barrier born of reflex, rage, and something softer he refused to name.

He grit his teeth. Of course. Of course they’d find him. Of course they’d drag you into it.

He didn’t even know if you liked him back yet, and now this?

You lean in behind him, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your voice barely carries over the buzz of camera shutters, low and just for him.

“You know,” you murmur, grinning, “if you’d told me this shopping trip came with a surprise red carpet, I would've worn nicer shoes.”

He turns his head just enough to glance at you, jaw tight, eyes sharp—yet the faintest flicker of amusement betrays him.

You’re smiling up at him like you’re not the least bit fazed by the press breathing down your neck. Like this is a game, and he’s your favorite piece to move. “Don’t look so tense, Wayne,” you add, voice teasing. “You're used to the spotlight. Let them get their picture of your grumpy face.”

He exhales—annoyance, maybe—but also relief.

Because you’re not scared. You’re not mad.

You're teasing him.

And damn it, you’re winning.

After a torturous escape through aisles crammed with half-off candles, bins of tangled socks, and clearance mugs that said things like “World’s Okayest Human”, the two of you burst into the food court like it was sanctuary.

Damian’s scowl is still sharp. His hoodie’s pulled low and his hair’s a little mussed from the near-sprint through that hellish maze of glitter-covered chaos.

You, on the other hand, are laughing. Breathless. Triumphant. Like dodging paparazzi through a labyrinth of cheap home goods was just part of your Saturday cardio.

“That,” you say between wheezes, “was almost fun.”

He stares at you. "You have a very warped definition of fun."

You grin. "Says the guy who almost decked someone with a decorative flamingo."

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy eyeing the food vendors like they’re the next threat. Or maybe he’s pretending not to notice how flushed your face is from the rush, or how your smile hasn’t left since you outran a grown man holding a Nikon.

As you both slow your pace, Damian glances around, his sharp gaze scanning the food court.

“Want to get something to eat? It’s around noon,” he asks, voice low but clear.

You nod eagerly. “Yeah, but first I need that.” You point toward a brightly colored slushie stand, the frozen treats practically calling your name.

He raises a brow. “A slushie?”

You grin. “It’s been a long morning. You want one too?”

Damian hesitates for a fraction of a second, then shrugs. “Sure. Why not.”

You both join the line, the chaos of the mall fading a little as the sweet, icy promise of a slushie draws nearer.

You both step up to the vendor, ordering your slushies without much fuss. The cold, sweet drinks are a welcome relief after hours of wandering through crowded stores. As you take your first sips, you glance at Damian, who surprisingly seems to enjoy the icy treat despite his usual stoic demeanor.

“Not bad,” he admits, raising an eyebrow as he licks the rim of his cup.

You smirk. “See? Even you can appreciate the little things.”

He scoffs, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laugh softly, sipping your slushie again. “Come on, we should skip the food and just keep moving. There’s one last place I want to check out.”

He watches you for a beat, then nods. “Lead the way.”

The two of you weave through the mall, slushies in hand, until you reach a costume shop tucked into a quieter corner.

You grin, eyes lighting up. “This is the place.”

The shop’s window displays an impressive array of realistic costumes from various eras—Victorian gowns, ’20s flapper dresses, ’80s punk rock jackets. There’s even a vintage photo booth inside, perfect for snapping pictures with the outfits.

Damian raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re dragging me into a photo shoot now?”

You grin mischievously. “Absolutely.”

He groans but follows you inside, already scanning the racks like a pro.

It’s somewhere between the third outfit and you trying to convince him to wear a powdered wig that the flash goes off.

Bright. Blinding. Invasive.

Damian freezes mid-pose—corset-era vest cinched tight, sleeves rolled—while you’re mid-laugh, trying to tug him closer for one photo. It’s all too fast: a photographer outside the store window, snapping through the glass before either of you can react.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “They found us.”

You frown, slushie cup still clutched in one hand, now forgotten. “I thought we lost them back at the escalators.”

Damian’s already stepping back into the changing room, stripping the costume with a quiet fury. You follow suit, retreating into your own stall, your mood deflating as you pull your regular clothes back on.

Only one photo. And of naturally, his face looked like he was being held hostage.

Still, you both reemerge without complaint. He says something to the shop manager—just one name, probably “Wayne”—and the man quickly nods, escorting you both through the back exit into the parking lot. Another perk of being who he is.

The drive back is quiet, peaceful. The city hums outside the windows, but inside the car, it’s just the soft sound of the AC and your slushies slowly melting in the cup holders.

When he pulls up to your house, you unbuckle but hesitate, turning to him.

“So, I lied.”

Damian tilts his head, narrowed eyes on you. “About?”

“I did bring money,” you admit. “Not a lot. Just enough for one thing.”

“But you didn’t buy—”

“I did,” you cut in, grinning as you reach into your bag and pull out something small, carefully wrapped in brown paper. “You went to the bathroom for a second in that vintage place. I bought it then.”

He blinks. You place it in his hand.

“It’s a vintage bookplate with a hand-inked sword crest. It reminded me of you. Kind of broody. Definitely pointy.”

He stares at it like it’s more dangerous than a blade.

You smirk. “You don’t have to say thank you.”

Then you're out of the car before he can get another word in, tossing a final “See you!” over your shoulder as you jog up your driveway and disappear inside.

He watches the door for a moment too long before finally putting the car into drive.

—

The manor is quiet when he gets in.

For all of five seconds.

Then the voice comes. “So.”

He turns. Dick, Jason, and Tim are gathered like hyenas in the foyer.

Jason’s smirking. Tim’s holding his phone. Dick’s grinning like he knows something.

Tim spins the screen toward him. It’s the paparazzi photo—blurry but damning. Damian in half-costume. You mid-laugh. His scowl just as deeply set as ever.

“Who’s the mystery girl, Dami?” Dick asks.

Jason leans in. “Didn’t know you had a type.”

Damian exhales. Turns on his heel. And walks away.

Because no, he never introduced you to them.

And now?

Now it’s too late.

They know.

And he is never, ever going to hear the end of it.

Behind him, he can already hear Dick whispering, “He’s totally in love.”

And worse—he doesn’t even deny it.

♤♡◇♧☆

Anywho, i am severely dehydrated and sleep deprived so fuck yall I'm going to pass out now bye. (Meant in a none mean way)