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ernestelm · 6 months ago

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Black Cat Detective movie rant

Ever since I made that video about black cat detective I've realised how much I despised the movie. It missed the mark so badly that after I vented I felt like I had more things that I hated about t.

Im not going to urge people to watch the video because I am cringing at it but I also want people to find it and maybe have more people be interested in black cat detective.

I'm going to be honest, that video made me never want to make a video again. Im just going to be mostly text based, I might start posting animations or something some day but don't expect too much from me.

Useless rants away, Im going to get to the point.

Im starting from the beginning since Im kinda hoping no one reading this watched the video. Bcd is widely considered a classic by Chinese people created in the 80's. I didnt grow up with it, I was more interested in western shows , but I did see people from 2000's which is my age range say that they did. To me this was kind of a red flag, you see, liking western shows means my norm is watching the newest rendition for a series. For example, I watched tmnt 2012, I didnt grow up with the 80's one. So colour me surprise when I started trying Chinese media and they had so little good kids shows that after the 2000's they were still referencing shows from the 80's.

By that point I've already started watching more kids shows, I just didn't want to sit through anime and tvs shows and feel drained in the end anymore. So it was definitely a surprise when the main character started absolutely obliterating the villains. It also showed the more dark side of nature, like praying mantis eating their mate so their offsprings can have more nutrition. The whole show as a concept was kinda cool, my only gripe was that they didn't kill off the main villains despite killing smaller villains you know, typical hero movie tropes.

In 2015 they created a movie, which was where it all went downhill. (It might also be the series's season 2 but I couldnt bring myself to watch it so Im not counting it) They movie was loved by a lot of adults because they toned down the violence. Whatever, its fine, a show didnt have violence as long as they have good plot.

The movie didnt have good plot.

Characters

The characters, weren't good. First off, I didnt like how they added thick eyebrows for bcd and like he still barely had any expressions.

the whole thing about animation is that you can distort facial expressions, surpass what humans cannot do in real life, even the original series had bcd puff up from anger.

Im going to do another section just based on animation later

Other than that they added gag characters like a goddamn duck that keeps coming in with underwears on. It was so goddamn annoying, they even repeated it several times as if taunting me. I find it to be a problem with chinese cartoons in how they dumb down humour for children despite China supposedly being smart. I might bring this up for another rant on a show that I might do in the future but you'll understand what Im saying if you watched any chinese children show in recent years.

They also brought back the iconic villain, one ear, who is both unlikable and barely entertaining, his voice was annoying, I never liked it when he was on screen, he was mostly useless either way.

They also brought in a new "one off villain" a gorilla who's story sorta had potential. He basically got pissed at a friend over a misunderstanding, thinking that his friend was selfish trying take the credit of both of their work despite his friend mostly using "us" and "we", while the people back at base used "you found it". It could've been a pretty good lesson on miscommunication. Other than that, he also started thinking he should take all of the credit, a good lesson on how jealousy can blind a person. Everything was in place and yet they still messed up. I liked how even after seeing his friend apologise to him through a hologram he still couldnt forgive him. He wasn't like the best villain but he was certainly a step in the right direction.

Alright now for the main character, yup that's right, bcd wasnt the main character. It was a pig kid. With a hedgehog for a mother, which is a goddamn pun that can only be translated in Chinese. 豪猪 hedgehog and 猪 pig. Weird design choice aside. The goddamn kid is the most annoying little shit I've ever seen.

Alright Im going to start with the positives, the kid could be a good example on stress on children, which is also a theme for another pig related kids show that I hate, might talk about it someday but I didnt like the show so I'm probably going to take a while. He goes to tuition every single day, his mom honestly kinds of neglects his interest to be a policeman. Only allowing one poster of bcd in his bedroom, giving him tons of homework in one scene, it would've been a good chance to show the stress he is in, already having so much pressure to succeed in life despite only being in primary school. Instead, the show decides to play it off as a gag, haha relatable, dont you think this is funny? As someone who grew up in a competitive Chinese school, I would say no. Story for another day tldr, it ruins your mental health and your relationships if you're not careful.

Now for the negatives, the kid is annoying. Well immature traits are annoying to me, so I might be biased. First off, the kid keeps trying to save the day despite it being wildy out of his capabilities. Exhibit A, trying going against 2 adults, one being a prisoner who escaped from a high security prison. He was lucky that his idol, bcd arrived in time to save him. Bcd even told him that he shouldve contacted him instead of facing 2 dangerous adults alone. And yet the kid kept going in and save bcd, being a kids movie they of course want everything to go well but his presence did cause the two villains to escape containment at one point. His presence did cause bcd to have to hand over a dangerous item as he was held hostage, why? He decided that instead of calling bcd to warn him about his battery being stolen and probably being used to escape, he goes on his scooter to warn him. Mind you, this show has phones, they had a gag were a girl liked bcd and asked for his number, which he replied with China's emergency number so contacting him via phone was an option. In the end everything works out, he was even rewarded for being reckless, now assuming this show was targeted at kids ( based on the juvenile jokes ), what message would this send to the children watching? It certainly isnt a good one now is it.

He also doesnt freaking tell bcd about the plan of the villains instead kept telling him how much he likes him and shit and waiting until he gets asked before splurging out the information. He also made the high stakes feel so much weaker as people's lives were at stake when he was freaking stanning and crap.

There's also his friend who was only introduced to give the kid a vip ticket so he can be at the scene when the 2 villains arrived there despite it not being opening day yet. His friend is absolutely underutilized, his father is the curator of the green star which was the place, and the weapon that the villains used, yeah the event was held on a spaceship, which the villains were planning launch to space as some sort of sick revenge. High stakes that were absolutely underplayed by the protagonists but I digress.

He never went to check on his friend who, as stated was in the location of a crime. He was supposed to be the "best friend" and yet he never contacted his friend after the incident. I cant even entirely blame it on him as after the main character met his idol and "helped" him, he never contacted this friend to tell him about everything or something. Which made their friendship even less natural and making the fact that he was merely a plot device even more obvious.

Plot

After seeing how his friend was treated you already know the writing of this is going to be a treat right? I expected so much from China, who force their kids to memorize Chinese classics and read so much literature, you would think that the place that supposedly invented paper would have better writing but no, its absolutely garbage if you cant tell from my sarcasm in my first sentence.

Now now, Im going to start with the obvious, any writer or like writing enthusiast would know about the quote "show dont tell". Yeah, tell that to the writer of Mr Black: Green Star. Sorry I didnt being up the name of the movie sooner but, I dont like the name at all and was procrastinating on even typing out the words. They continuously repeated this elite group of policemen (yes, from what I can tell they were all male) yet never showed them, I had to go on 知乎 to even find any information about it. Even so, I wasnt even sure if it was official.

Other than that there was this plotline where bcd won his first award at 14 for defeating professor strange (generic ass villain, dr strange wannabe, can you tell how much I hate this movie?) look as much as it messes up the timeline, I might excuse him as maybe being younger in the original series causing him to be more violent. Like maybe he got more responsible causing a more child friendly new gen bcd but that's expecting too much from the writers.

I really, really wished that they started with a movie of him joining the elite team and defeating professor strange or something instead of whatever this is. It would've established his character. Maybe starting with a more feral and hostile bcd, maybe even mourning for his friend who died in the original series and wanting to kill the villains but being told killing is not the solution. It would've been a new chapter, it would've saved a few seconds of my life from listening to characters repeating the same thing, that could've just been in a movie.

Moving on, we have logic. There is barely any. Oh Ern! Stop being such a soggy cereal, can't you just enjoy a movie without debating the logic? No, not when they both cause stupid behaviour and ignore a goddamn chance to be educational which links it to the edu part of the original series. First off stupid behaviour, the kid drives a jet because his dad is a pilot, thats not how it works, I bet the writers thought they were smart like, chekovs gun moment! Remember how the friend made an offhand remark on how the main character's dad is a pilot? Well yes I do. But also I don't drive a boat because my dad is a fisherman because it doesnt work like that.

Other than that g force. Gravity altering device, whatever, I could care less but bcd withstanding 8 g force without equipment? Real shit. They couldve said something about how cats can handle higher g forces or something. Whatever , theres thankfully not much information about that but one thing I am sure of is, the goddamn jet the kid was driving also had g force. Why wasnt that brought up. Why cant the kid handle the device but could handle a jet? They could've thought the kid about g force and make him experience it himself. Maybe do a flashback on it when he was on the jet. It would've been an upgrade to bcd teaching him how to shoot and making the final scene about him never being able to aim well but dealing the final blow perfectly. The shooting part could've been more talent or something honestly, I dont care much of it.

Enough of the g force. Talk more about plot. What else is there to say? This whole thing is just a shallow movie, what am I gonna talk about, the one lff minion who was basically just there to fill in the chase scene? There is barely any substance in this movie, it felt more like a cash grab but like itt can't even sell merch because the character designs were mid and most of them are unlikable other than bcd but that's just my opinion.

Animation

Shit was weak, as I said they never utilised the fact that they used 2D animation. The animation techniques used felt more 3D than 2D.their smear frames are just a white blur. Their expressions are boring. and the side characters looks like this

Ive seen passion projects on youtube with better quality screenshots than these. I would rather it have self inserts of animators. Heck I've seen better quality animation in Bilibili productions. LOOK AT TGCF, HECK, LOOK AT WHITE CAT LEGEND. Those aren't even national culture icons, they weren't even released in theatres and yet look at the quality.

The worst part? They used 2D animation to honour the original series. It didn't feel like honour at all, in fact, it felt like an insult. I feels like the people who watched it only watched the series a few times as a kid and didn't even rewatch it to write the new show.

Anyways, I hope I never think about this movie ever again.

#black cat detective #movie rant #chinese animation #mr black: green star

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doctorslippery · 11 months ago

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gghostwriter · 12 days ago

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Level-One Intruder

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 1.8k a/n: I'm a liar. I said I was going to post once I get over this flu but I couldn't help myself, not at all. I just really really wanted to share this cute cute fic I wrote with you all. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The brown tweed coat on Spencer’s shoulders threaten to droop down his arms as he wrangled his keys to unlock his apartment door.

There was little light on the hallway, something that could be attributed to the late hour of twelve midnight. Muffled noises could be heard from next door—a new tenant must have moved in while he was away.

The FBI agent could feel himself coming apart at the seams from the lack of proper sleep. The latest case took eight long grueling days to solve and the team had to make do with what the small town could offer as arrangements.

His back felt stiff from curling on the squeaky sofa bed, trying his best to make himself comfortable and now, all he wanted to do was decompress with a totem of a book and sleep like the dead until his alarm clock rang for the next day.

Dropping his satchel on the ground, silently assuring himself to get the laundry going the next day, a tiny scuffle echoed through his heavily darkened apartment.

Spencer tensed, unsure if his overtly exhausted mind conjured up the noise or if someone else found their way into his haven while it was otherwise unoccupied.

Another sound confirmed the reality causing him to draw his gun from his holster, ends pointing down, as he slowly made his way around the sofa to the first bedroom, minding his steps to avoid the sections with creaking floorboards.

He rounded the corner, eyes straining to adjust to the minimal light the outposts provide him—and nothing.

The room was stale from lack of use and everything looked to be in the right place. The stripped spare bed looked untouched and all the windows were sealed shut. Exactly how he left it.

Another noise caught his attention.

Spencer tightened his hold on the gun and tiptoe’d to the next room—the bathroom and in there, the first real evidence was uncovered.

His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle as he took in the unspooled tissue roll hanging from its holder. The unused sheets of paper now sat on the green titled floor, no doubt flooded with organisms and bacteria that the naked eye couldn’t see.

He shuddered from the thought.

Quickly moving on, he shuffled his way to the open kitchen. Right away he spotted something amiss—rather a few items amiss.

First, the lower cabinet was ajar. It was where Spencer stored his cleaning supplies and it was rarely opened as it was.

Second, his favorite Star Trek mug that he left out to dry near the sink was now precariously near the edge, threatening to break into a thousand pieces.

And lastly, the empty plastic bag of bread on the counter that he was sure had two more slices before he went away for the case.

There was an intruder and it seemed like he was hungry.

Weapon still in his hands, he slowly he crept his towards the slightly opened mahogany door of the main bedroom. He took a deep breath before rounding up to the room, pistol pointing forward to the unsuspecting guest.

Except there was no one.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, holstering back the revolver to his belt and to his surprise, someone answered or rather, meow-ed back. A fluffy orange cat with a collar on his neck.

The agent smiled. “You must be my intruder—”

Meow.

“—Now, who are you and how did you get in here?”

The cat was silent, content with rubbing his body on his black pant legs, leaving behind stray hairs that Spencer would have to lint away before laundry.

He bent down to see if there was any information hanging from the cat’s green collar.

“Mr. Chewie. Is that your name?”

Feline eyes stared into his and blinked once.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you could understand me but actually according to studies, cats lack the cognitive skills to interpret human language so I still don’t know why I’m explaining that to you.”

Meow.

“Nope, I’m sure you’re just responding to the fact that I am talking to you and my rambling is clearly brought by my lack of proper sleep—” a knock on his front door interrupted his musings. “—one second,” he called out, swiftly unbuckling his holster belt and placing it on top of the dresser. There was no need to frighten the knocking neighbor with a gun.

Spencer turned back to the cat inquisitively sitting next to his feet. “Don’t move.”

As he made his way back to the entrance, opening lights as he went, he could hear the click clack of the feline’s claws against the wooden floorboards. It clearly didn’t take his order to consideration.

Spencer swung the door open as the stranger was poised for a mid-knock.

“Uh—hi,” the woman breathed out.

“Hi,” Spencer drawled out in reply. “Can I help you?”

You rocked on your heels, fingers pulling down the ends of your oversized sweater as if it could lessen your state of undress. Spencer didn’t judge, it was early into the morning after all, nor did he stare long at your navy blue shorts and pink fluffy socks adorning your feet.

“I’m your new neighbor and it’s not really the time to introduce myself but by any chance is there—”

“An adorable intruder in my apartment?”

You nod, sweetly smiling. The glint in your eyes filled with apologies.

“Yes actually, I was trying to ask him where he came from but I don’t actually speak cat and neither does he understand human.”

You laugh sheepishly, fingers gently rubbing at the side of your neck. “I’m so sorry. I hope he didn’t make a mess or bother you at all. I left my fire escape window open for a little bit to let the breeze in and he must have explored out while I wasn’t looking. So sorry again, let me just get him out of the way—”

A rustle from behind made him turn, not before he caught your eyes widening to the scene inside his apartment. Your cat kneading on his brown throw blanket before settling on the sofa.

“Mr. Chewie, what are you doing?” You squeaked out.

Spencer laughed at the outrageous tone coating your voice. It reminded him of Garcia swatting the other agents away from her tech equipments.

The cat answered back with a meow.

“No, mister. You cannot sleep here, this isn’t our home! It belongs to this lovely gentleman over here—” you flashed Spencer a smile. “Now, please get your butt off the sofa and back to our apartment.”

The feline seemingly rolled his eyes and turned his back on you.

“Huh,” Spencer observed. “The studies might be wrong after all. I think he understands you.”

You laughed, shoulders shaking from the absurdity of his comment. “Mr. Chewie might be special or at least that’s what every pet owner believe to be. I never introduced myself have I? I’m Y/N. I moved next door a couple of nights ago.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied back.

You tilted your head to the side. “Oh, is that why I haven’t seen you around, Doctor? Busy saving lives?”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. In a way, you weren’t wrong per se. His title did let people assume his career to be in the medical industry instead of having three PhD’s under his belt. The former was more plausible given how young he looked.

The sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall caught both your attention. Your eyes flashed back to his, twinkling. “So, Doctor. Will it be alright if I step inside and grabbed my cat?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh—yeah, yeah. Sure, come right in.”

You sheepishly smiled before entering his sanctuary. Eyes soaking in any piece of information that represented who he was.

Spencer felt your warmth as you passed his body. The smell of warm cookies wafting to his nose, dissipating the anxiety that threatened to creep up his spine from letting a stranger into his home.

“Nice apartment,” you complimented. “There seems to be a lot of books.”

He tucks his hands inside his pant pockets. “I like to read.”

“Me too. It’s a great hobby to pass the time.”

You sweetly smiled before swiftly scooping up the lounging cat in your arms with little protest. “Again, I’m so sorry if he disturbed you in any way and please, let me know if he made a mess. I’d like to make it up to you—as a thank you and apology, I mean.”

“It’s no problem,” Spencer watched your cheeks match the color of your socks under the fluorescent light. It suited you, he thought. “Actually, can I just ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Why is he—” his calloused hands reaching to pet the orange feline nestled on your chest. “—named Mr. Chewie?”

You giggled, the sound similar to wind chimes being rustled by a gentle breeze. It settled the ache caused by his lack of proper rest. It was fascinating, intriguing, and a little bit frightening if he had to be honest.

“Well, I actually named him after Star Wars, Chewbacca, because of how fluffy he is and the name just shortened itself once I found out how perpetually famished he is.”

“He’s named well,” Spencer surmised, the empty plastic of bread flashing in his mind.

“Well, I shouldn’t be bothering you any longer,” you slowly backed away from his space. “Thank you, Doctor, and have a good night.”

With a sleepy smile on his face, Spencer watched you push open your apartment door. “Good night.”

You flashed your saccharine smile one last time before closing it behind you, leaving him feeling light and bemused for the first time in a long while.

And as he woke up to the gentle streams of the sun on his face, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the paperwork on his desk, the emotion still lingered causing the corners of his mouth to rise up into a soft smile. An after effect of your encounter that he didn’t mind experiencing.

It was a certain type of high.

It was something bright and puzzling.

A note and a batch of cookies taped to his door caught his eye as he exited the apartment. The treats were in this clear, non-labelled package. Handmade then, Spencer noted.

His smile stretched his warming cheeks wide as he took in the scripted letters written on the pink post it that reminded him of your blush and your fluffy socks.

See you around, Doctor!

Have a great day saving lives!

- Your Nurse neighbor & Mr. Chewie xx

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #dr Spencer Reid imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert

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m-neuvillette · 7 days ago

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Star Rail Men and their duo Halloween costume

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!

Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Caelus, Dan Heng, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Luka, Luocha, Moze, Mr Reca, Sunday, Welt Yang, Yanqing

Notes: fem reader, implied to be shorter and smaller than him

Authors note: Hi everyone!! Our last post actually got way more popular than we thought it was going to so thank you so much for that!!! We hope you all have a safe and Happy Halloween!!

Argenti

100% knight and princess. He’ll be in nice silver armor (with red and gold accents of course) and you’ll be in a long red dress. He will be walking around all night talking about his beautiful princess!!

Aventurine

You guys would be pilots, like in Top Gun! He would be the pilot and you would be his co-pilot, of course! You would be wearing matching green pilot suits and while you guys were out and about he’d make you wear his hat and sunglasses instead of the pilot ones because he thinks you look better in his things that any costume!

Blade

You guys would both wear purge masks! This is kinda of obvious since death is kinda of his whole thing hehe. He’d be wearing a white dress shirt and black dress pants with blood splattered all over them. You’d be wearing black shorts and a black shirt with a white button up splattered with (fake) blood. You would both wear red purge masks to match! When you guys were going out, Kafka said that this was the perfect costume for you guys :)

Boothill

Based on the halloween art hehe but a mummy and Indiana Jones. But he REFUSES to be Indiana Jones so he has his you dress like him but make it cute and girly in your style and of course you’re wearing his hat. Be prepared for him to lowkey moan in your ear all night claiming “it’s what a mummy sounds like”.

Caelus

You guys would be pirates! He’d, of course, be the captain and you his first mate, because he is THE Galactic Baseballer, he has to be the captain. He would totally want to dress up exactly like Jack Sparrow, and how can you deny him that? You would be wearing loose black pants, a white undershirt with a black corset on top, along with a brown overcoat! You guys would totally get matching pirate hats too, because how can you not match?

Dan Heng

You guys are going to be a zombie bride and groom. He actually gets really excited at the idea especially when you show him the makeup and suit he’d be wearing. He thinks it’s so cool with how you do your guys’ makeup as a zombie plus the entire time you’re doing his makeup he loves how close you two are. And when he sees you in that wedding dress costume he knows he needs to propose as soon as possible to make that dress a real one.

Dr Ratio

Easily evil scientist and Frankenstein. You try to convince him to be Frankenstein because he’s much stronger and taller but he gives you a look of “I’m an actual scientist I’m being the scientist”. He also complains that he doesn’t want to be green. So fast forward and you are in a black outfit all green with the makeup and props to be Frankenstein while he’s wearing a lab coat and glasses. By the end of the night he’s a little green because he kept giving you kisses (so much for not wanting to be green).

Gallagher

You guys are the definition of werewolf and little red riding hood. He also thought about this way in advance so his little stubble is actually a beard by the time Halloween comes around. He also got your costume way in advance and he picked it out perfectly. A cute white dress with the red robe of course. He also has no shame in growling in your ear all night.

Gepard

He’s the cop while you’re the prisoner. Poor guy feels bad making you the prisoner, you literally have to tell him it’s okay and it’s just a costume and that it’s not that serious lol. But once you have on that orange jump suit showing off your body he accepts the idea. He also tells you often throughout the night that you’re the prettiest prisoner he’s ever seen!

Jiaoqiu

A witch and wizard. Since he loves to cook he wanted to be a wizard so he could make “potions” with you. So here you are in a black dress and witch hat while he’s in a long red robe making treats and potions. Your guys’ treats and potions were a hit at the party, and Jiaoqiu walks around saying of course they were because your guys magic is incomparable.

Jing Yuan

Football player and cheerleader. Dude is so buff how could he not want to show off his muscles in a football jersey ahah, but there you are wearing a cheerleading outfit with his jersey number written on your face. The number doesn’t last long because he keeps kissing it throughout the night.

Luka

You guys would be matching boxers! it was his idea, because he is a fighter after all! You would wear matching red jackets, because red is kind of his color so the choice was obvious. You’d be wearing black shorts and a black tank top, while he would just be wearing black shorts! He spent a good amount of the night begging you to “fight him”.

Luocha

You guys would be matching grim reapers! He does carry around a coffin, so it’s only fitting that you guys are grim reapers! You would both be wearing long black robes with skeleton masks. You begged him to still carry his wonderful companion (the coffin) around because it fits the costume perfectly!

Moze

You guys would go as matching Ghostfaces! You told him you had to go as him because he’s amazing at using a dagger, so it fits perfectly! You guys would be wearing long black robes with the Ghostface mask. He gave you one of his daggers to “make it more realistic”, when in reality he just wants to see you use his daggers ehe.

Mr Reca

You guys would be the Joker and Harley Quinn! It took some convincing to get him to step away from filming and dress up, but he relented when you brought up that you two would really just be acting and that Halloween is just one big film! By the end of the night he was fully convinced that Halloween is the best day ever and that you guys just dress up every year so that he can make a new film each time.

Sunday

Angel and devil. This is self explanatory but he puts up a fight. He claims you should be the angel because “you’re his angel” you pause for a second while blushing but telling him he has to because he already has the wings and halo. He finally relents after some time but it’s because he loved that short red dress on you hehe.

Welt Yang

You two wanted to keep it relatively simple so you went as nerds! Here you guys are with your glasses, flannels and books looking like the best nerds ever. The funny thing about the costume was March begging you not to become “a real nerd” because she can’t be surrounded by 3 nerds on the express.

Yanqing

You guys are definitely vampires! It took some convincing to get him away from his sparring routine, but don’t worry Jing Yuan was there to force him to dress up with you hehe. He would be wearing a classic black suit and you would be in a black dress with red accents. You would of course have matching black and red capes! At the end of the night he asked what you guys would be dressing up as next year :)

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hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

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LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls.

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that.

An act.

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for.

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is.

In your case, you were going into this blind.

And so was he, your dream fulfiller.

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more.

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him.

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment.

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him.

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked.

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his.

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime.

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run.

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance.

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression.

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed.

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it.

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly.

And the other day, you did.

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek.

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you.

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed.

You couldn’t get rid of it.

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either.

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go.

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case.

Glory hole.

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of.

Beetle.

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to.

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away.

And the painting paused your blood flow.

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for.

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it.

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here.

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did.

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have.

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well.

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream.

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money.

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it.

Or…

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots.

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.”

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet.

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity.

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit.

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second?

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait.

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body.

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality.

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering.

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.”

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door.

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery.

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on.

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them.

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest.

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess.

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream.

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way.

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat.

You cross your ankles.

And you wait, all over again.

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven.

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you.

One point up for Mr. Kim.

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in.

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch.

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting.

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more.

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you.

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence.

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much.

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds.

He heightens your tremor by doing that.

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously.

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago.

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it.

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit.

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it.

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his.

The plan worked.

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel.

You let him see your pussy.

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see.

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this.

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid.

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you.

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other.

Body to body.

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you.

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake.

You growl.

He stops his circles.

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears.

And the man…

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger.

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back.

Embeds life into time.

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands.

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown.

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to.

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips.

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him.

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness.

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence.

Where you can speak.

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words.

“Get back inside the cubicle.”

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings.

And you know what to do.

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.”

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken.

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it?

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks.

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.”

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?”

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck.

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do.

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch.

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood.

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.”

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams.

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?”

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.”

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?”

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.”

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.”

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.”

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.”

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock.

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure.

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?”

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.”

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes.

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation.

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast.

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously.

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing.

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself.

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?”

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice.

And you don’t really mind.

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?”

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.”

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.”

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days.

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back.

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?”

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you.

“Why?”

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it.

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish.

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched.

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game.

“Yes, Mr. Kim.”

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.”

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.”

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.”

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?”

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.”

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?”

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.”

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.”

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.”

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.”

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you.

“What number was that?”

“Ten.”

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.”

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down.

“Nine.”

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb.

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather.

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back.

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses.

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth.

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.”

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in.

And he doesn’t go easy on you.

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth.

And Namjoon elevates your experience.

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit.

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless.

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?”

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals.

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you.

“Get on the bed. On your knees.”

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching.

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him.

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.”

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.”

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss.

A kiss that was more than a kiss.

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness.

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed.

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it.

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod.

You can only moan his name.

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.”

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life.

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.”

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices.

“Joonie, Joonie bug.”

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you.

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?”

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit.

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes.

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.”

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust.

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back.

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time.

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him.

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself.

A wave of strange emotions engulf you.

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby.

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible.

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling.

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.”

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be.

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?”

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles.

He truly won’t stop teasing you.

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness.

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings.

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him.

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his.

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?”

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too.

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony.

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl.

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth.

You can’t love him any deeper.

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you.

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

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rboooks · 1 year ago

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DC X DP fic: Legal Compensation

Bruce Wayne doesn't know what sick monster would think it is funny to ruin Jason's grave, but when an alert arrives at the cave, he's flying towards the cemetery intending to find out.

And teach them some respect.

Of course, he knows Jason's not in there- not after his son returned with more hate and rage than a person- but it was still his last resting place.

He barely acknowledges Tim and Damian pulling up beside the Batmobile, each on their own bike while Dick, Steph, and Cass fly above him. They all got the alert. None of them are happy.

When they arrive, it's to see a teenager happily whistling as he shovels away layers of dirt. The stranger is in a white and black hoodie, a neon green ghost crossing from the front to the back, and his white hair with glowing green eyes lets them know it's not a human.

Or if it is, then not an average human. Meta, based on how he picks up way more dirt than he should be able to lift with his glowing green shovel.

They also see Jason get there first, his eyes glowing in Pit Rage and .points a gun to the back of the teenager's head. Bruce opens his mouth to shout, Damian manages to throw a ninja star, but they are far too late.

Jason pulls the trigger. A large bang is heard across the cemetery. The teenager drops into the deep hole he is making.

The family can only watch as the Pit Rage disappears from Jason's mind, and horror creeps onto his face as he realizes what he has done. It's too late now, though. The child is dead.

Bruce feels sick to his stomach- and then The teenager stands up, his head reforming in terrible familiar green liquid. The family forms a protective circle around a frozen Jason as the teenager turns around to look at them with Lazarus' green eyes and smiles.

Smiles at Jason with far too bright eyes. "I found you! I didn't realize you already left your grave, but that makes things easier. Jason Peter Todd, yes?"

"Who are you?" Bruce demands, stepping before his second oldest.

The white hair boy's smile becomes wider- if that's possible. "I'm Phantom. I'm working on behalf of the Ghost King."

Damian hisses, "What does the most powerful being in the multiverse want with Todd?"

"Baby Bat?" Dick asks without really asking.

"The Ghost King is the ruler of the Infinite Realms. The place where grandfather harvests the Lazarus Pit."

That's not good.

The teenager laughs. "The very same. He wants me to offer Legal Compensation to Mr. Todd."

"Legal Compensation? For what?" Tim asks this time.

"The glitch. See, Mr.Todd wasn't supposed to die- he was supposed to break the door and crawl to safety while the bomb jammed. At the same time, the Master of Time was preoccupied with another dimension saving the lives of six very important people to the Ghost King from a junk food explosion. Because of that, he was not there to control time correctly, creating a glitch in this universe's time flow. It speeded up certain areas, in your case, the location of the bomb's jam, making it explode earlier than it should have. He corrected it by bringing you back, but you were in a grave by that point. The Master of Time realized the grave injustice this was, so he sent me as legal Compensation."

That.... was a lot.

"How are you legal compensation?" Jason growls.

"Well, those people were just as important to me as the Ghost King. Since you lost your life due to the incident, I will give you my natural life here as a human for you to use." The teenager's form shifts after an ample bright light, and suddenly they are looking at a perfectly black hair blue eye average looking human who smiles happily at them. "Ta-da! So what do you want me to do first, Master Todd?"

"No." Jason hisses, looking angrier than he's ever looked before. Bruce can't say he doesn't feel the same way. "No, the Master of Time does not get to kill me. Go oopsie-daisy and then send me a fucking slave as an apology!"

"Not a slave- more of a- ugh Bulter!" The teenager argues, trying to crawl out of the hole and falling down, into a heap as he oversteps. "Wow, being a full human is going to get some getting use to."

"No!" Jason yells, turns around, and walks away.

"Wait! Wait! Master Todd, wait for me!" The teenager calls desperately, but Jason disappears into the shadows of Gotham without a backward glance. The boy slides into the mudd, voice muffled as he screams.

Steph takes pity on him offering her hand to help him out of the hole. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Phantom." The teenager says with a grateful smile taking the hand and climbing out. He gives the rest of the family an awkward smile "Danny Phantom"

Bruce ends up with another son by the following day. Jason ends up with a restless wanna-be butler who follows him everywhere, trying to serve him. The fact he cure his Pit Madness didn't seem to even register with him.

Jason wants Danny to leave him alone and quit the "I must spend the rest of my human life providing for your every whim". It's getting creepy.

#dc x dp crossover #Legal Compensation #Part 1 #Clockwork stepping in for Danny messed up other timelines #The glitch that brought Jason todd was that #Danny is now a full human meant to serve Jason as a sorry #Or is he????

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samwise1548 · 9 months ago

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There is a scale regarding Tmagp characters, that goes from very unhinged about the horrors, to literally couldn’t care less. But I didn’t know how to title it so instead you just get this lineup :)

Added Teddy and Celia over here

[ID: A drawing of The Magnus Protocol characters standing in a line, with captions underneath each person.

The first is Colin Becker, with the caption "known saboteur of FR3-D1 [Freddy]". Colin is a white, ginger haired man wearing a dark green shirt over a black shirt and light brown pants. He's holding one hand against a corkboard of papers and post-it notes. His expression is full of rage.

The next is Gwendolyn Bouchard, captioned "suspicious from association, Gwen Bouchard". She is a white woman with long hazel hair with small braids in it. She's wearing a red vest over a brown shirt, a purple knee length skirt and tights. There is a thought bubble next to her with a picture of a red Among Us character and the word "sus" underneath it. Gwen's face is scrunched up in speculation as she glares angrily at someone far away.

The third person is Samama Khalid, and his caption reads "Sam 'casual cyber-sleuth' Khalid". Sam is a tall, skinny, brown man with curly brown hair. He's wearing a long, dark brown corduroy shirt over a grey shirt, and maroon pants. He's walking while looking at two papers in his hands quizzically.

The next person is Alice Dyre. Her caption says "Alice Dyre; Motto: keep calm and ignore the horrors". Alice is a short fat trans woman with albinism. Her hair is buzzed. She's wearing round glasses, a brown shirt with white color and sleeves, embroidered with red flowers. Her light brown pants have a patch on each knee that match the shape of her diamond star earrings. She has her arms crossed and is watching Sam from the corner of her eyes, nervously.

The last fully visible person is Lena Kelly, with the caption "Evil! Evil!! Evil!! -erm, I mean, Lena Kelly". Lena is a light skinned old woman with blond hair put into a tail with a claw clip. She's wearing a grey business suit over a light grey shirt. She is looking directly at the viewer with a neutral expression.

To the right of Lena is a black arm waving goodbye, cut off by the edge. The caption under it reads "also, Mr. noping out of here before things get ugly, Teddy Vaughn.

\End ID]

Closeups under cut

#finally done!!!#this took me way too long lol. but it was worth it #i realized that my interpretation of some of the characters was very different from other peoples lol #tmagp #the magnus protocol #colin becker #gwendolyn bouchard #samama khalid #alice dyre #lena kelley #teddy vaughn #my art

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aerialworms-art · 7 months ago

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To boldly boop where no man has booped before!

I got a lil carried away with all the booping yesterday, so here's a page of doodles! Featuring my beloved M'ress and her niblings :3

(ID under cut!)

[Image ID: a digitally coloured page of doodles featuring characters from Star Trek: The Original Series.

Text at the top of the page reads: "01/04/2024

Captain's Log: Lieutenant M'ress has been babysitting her niblings. While she has a cat nap, the Bridge crew has offered to watch them for a while."

Under this are three doodles of the niblings' faces. There is an orange one, with fluffy ears and yellow eyes, labelled M'lodi; a white one with blue eyes and one grey ear, labelled M'uschef, and a black and white spotted one with green eyes labelled M'rar.

The rest of the doodles are below. Described from left to right, top to bottom:

McCoy holds up M'lodi, grinning, and says "Well, ain't you adorable?" An arrow pointing at M'lodi reads "Trying to bap him"

Uhura cradles M'lodi in her arms, singing sweetly. M'lodi sings along, but the notes coming from them are jagged and discordant.

M'rar races towards the camera with a silver object in their mouth, looking pleased with themself. Scotty chases after them, yelling "GET BACK HERE YA WEE BEASTIE" An arrow pointing at the object M'rar has stolen reads "Essential piece of the warp core"

At the helm, Sulu and Chekov are watching M'lodi, who Chekov is holding in his lap, booping various buttons on Chekov's console. Sulu is laughing and Chekov is grinning. SFX: Beep boop

A closeup on Kirk as he says, despairing, "Mr Chekov, Mr Sulu, please tell me you locked the console." Chekov replies "Aye, Keptin." A white paw is visible on Kirk's shoulder.

M'uschef, the white cat, boops Kirk on the nose and the head, causing him to jump in surprise. SFX: BAP!

Spock is at his station, back to the camera. A light blue lump is just visible in his lap. From off screen, Kirk yells "SPOCK!"

Spock spins in his chair to face Kirk. "Yes, Captain?" M'rar is sitting in his lap, dressed in a tiny light blue lab coat, batting at the Starfleet insignia on Spock's chest.

M'uschef is lying on top of Kirk's head now, bapping at his ear. Kirk is resting his chin on his hand, sighing, saying "Nevermind..." SFX: bap bap bap

Four small doodles in sequence. Kirk still has his head in his hand and looks mildly irritated. M'uschef is on Kirk's shoulder, playing with the curl of his hair. M'uschef lifts it up and lets it slap back into Kirk's face, who turns, affronted, and says "Do you MIND?"

Lieutenant M'ress, an orange Caitian with a darker orange mane, covers her hand with her mouth, eyes wide. She thinks "Oh I am gonna be court-martialled"

The page is signed "@aerialworms". /End ID]

#star trek #star trek fanart #star trek the original series #m'ress #james t kirk #boop #spock #leonard mccoy #nyota uhura #montgomery scott #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #comics #ehehehe i had so much fun yesterday #i should draw m'ress more i love her

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90s-music-tourney · 1 month ago

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All songs have been chosen for the 90s music tourney

Lithium by Nirvana

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill

Ironic by Alanis Morrisette

She don't use Jelly by Flaming Lips

Iris by Goo Goo Dolls

What's Up by 4 non blondes

Peaches by Presidents of the United States

Criminal by Fiona Apple

Bitch by Meredith Brooks

Good Riddance (Time of your Life) by Green Day

… Baby One More Time by Britney Spears

Sober by TOOL

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something

Wonderwall by Oasis

Love Fool by The Cardigans

baby got back by sir mix-a-lot

whatta man by salt n peppa

No Scrubs by TLC

Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants

Losing my Religion by REM

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by Pansy Division

No Rain by Blind Melon

Friday I'm in Love by The Cure

Mr. Jones by Counting Crows

Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Tubthumping by Chumbawamba

Zombie by Cranberries

Smooth By Santana Ft. Rob Thomas

One Week by Barenaked Ladies

Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind

Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer

All Star by Smash Mouth

Buddy Holly by Weezer

My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

Genie in a Bottle By Christina Aguilera

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Spice up your life by Spice Girls

Steal My Sunshine By Len

Cannonball by the Breeders

Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve

What is Love By haddaway

Follow you down by Gin Blossom

Freedom by George Michael

Nothing Compares to You by Sinead o Connor

Around the World by Daft Punk

Laid by James

Possum Kingdom by Toadies

Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger

Only Happy When it Rains by Garbage

Bullet with Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

Sunny Came Home by Shawn Colvin

Pepper by Butthole Surfers

Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham

Tim I wish you were born a girl by of Montreal

Voodoo by Godsmack

Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega

Livin La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Just a Girl by No Doubt

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

California Live by Tupac

I will Always Love you by Whitney Houston

Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman

Good Day by Ice Cube

Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg

Dragula by Rob Zombie

My Name is by Eminem

You Get What You Give by New Radicals

No Diggity by Blackstreet

Loser by Beck

pretty fly (for a white guy) by the offspring

What's my Age Again by Blink-182

I want it that way by the Backstreet Boys

Intergalactic By the Beastie Boys

Two Princes by Spin Doctor

Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine

Girls and Boys by Blur

Where is my mind by the Pixies

Closing Time by Semisonic

Creep by Radiohead

Say My Name by Destiny's Child

Jump Around by House of Pain

Check the Rhime by A Tribe Called Quest

November Rain by Guns n Roses

The Distance by CAKE

Every You, Every Me by Placebo

The Sign by Ace of Base

Vogue by Madonna

Don't Let Go (Love) by En Vogue

Mm Bop by Hansen

Believe By Cher

Mo Money, Mo Problems by Notorious BIG

Gold Soundz by Pavement

The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) by Missy Elliot

Common People by Pulp

Doll Parts by Hole

Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio

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starlight-eclipsed · 2 years ago

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Rockets Pointed Up at the Stars (Pt 1/2)

Inspired by this braindead rejected soulmates au post by @im-totally-not-an-alien-2. More art at the end!

Part II

Tim slumped down on the edge of an apartment building, leaning his weight against the rooftop’s fence. The alleyways below were deserted, criminals retreating to get a couple hours of sleep before sunrise. A perfect setting to catch a breather before ending his patrol for the night.

The Red Robin suit still felt wrong on him. He thought waiting a week to get accustomed to it would help, but he might have made a mistake when he tried to adjust it to be as close to his Robin uniform as possible without it being obvious. He’d have to remember to alter it further the next time he got the chance, to see if wearing something entirely different would finally make him stop checking the shadows for Bruce. Patrolling Gotham alone felt too much like admitting he was really gone.

Just as he was about to move on, the rooftop access door slammed open.

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around, ready to either apologize, attack, or flee, when he met familiar glowing green eyes.

Subconsciously, he let himself breathe easy as he took in the other’s appearance.

Phantom was an anomaly at the best of times. A phantom thief by definition, the criminal had simply appeared one day to cause chaos—lingering only to taunt his pursuers as he made a daring escape with whatever priceless treasure of the month. His motives were unknown, as was virtually anything about him besides his calling card (a green sticky note with nothing but ‘BOO’ written in permanent black marker), appearance, and a meta ability to phase through objects.

Of course, one couldn’t be a phantom thief without a detective rival (or so the thief in question claimed). For some reason, Phantom had outright declared not Batman, but Robin for the role. Tim couldn’t count how many sleepless nights were spent chasing after him, face red from a mixture of exertion and embarrassment. Because it wasn’t enough for the admittedly good-looking criminal roughly his age to run circles around him. No, the jerk had to go out of his way to flirt with him the whole time.

He hadn’t even thought about how Phantom would react to there being a new Robin. But looking at him now, a small part of Tim couldn’t help but feel selfishly glad. From what he could see of the furious expression on his shadowed face and glowing eyes, it wasn’t hard to see that Phantom was taking the change about as well as Tim was.

“I leave for two weeks, and suddenly there’s a new Batman and Robin?! What the fuck, Detective—you’d think to at least have the decency to tell a guy, but nooo, I had to find out through goddamn Victor Fries!”

Tim blinked, “Didn’t Mr. Freeze retire after someone brought his wife back?”

Phantom paused his fury, shrugging a bit. “Nora keeps track of everything happening in Gotham in case something her husband did to save her comes back to bite them.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway! It took me going after Victor to ask why there was a new Robin for me to hear that the actual Batman was dead, Gotham went berserk for a while as every other guy tried to take up the position, and somewhere along the lines you got the grand idea to add ‘red’ to your name! Which makes no sense, since you practically lived for that mantle and I would’ve bet that you’d take it past the grave if given the chance.”

Tim winced. As per usual, Phantom’s words hit home in more ways than intended.

The thief stopped short, the glowing of his eyes intensifying as he looked over Tim’s new identity. Tim didn’t move as soundless footsteps strode forward, not even pausing as Phantom phased through the chain link fence to sit a couple feet away from him.

He could count on one hand the number of times Phantom had done this. One second they’d be exchanging insults, and then suddenly the criminal would stop and stare, feeling like he was gazing into the depths of Tim’s very soul. Each time, he called off their chase, insisting that Tim take a break and talk to someone about whatever was troubling him. It was uncanny how he could somehow tell when Tim’s negative feelings were overwhelming his rational thought—Batman himself would use Phantom encounters to measure Tim’s wellbeing at times.

Looking back, it was odd how Phantom would insert himself into every aspect of Robin’s life, but back off the second he sensed something was wrong. He’d call attention to whenever Tim was particularly anxious, once even physically dragging Bruce over to ‘talk to your son when he’s sad’, but never offer any comfort himself. But here they were, Phantom obviously seeing something Tim could never hope to conceal, with no Bruce nearby to summon and make things better.

Tim’s throat clogged at the reminder of yet another little thing Bruce might never get to do again. He couldn’t be dead, not with how many times Tim checked the body and struggled to recognize the man who’d become like a father to him.

“...I…I know we’re not exactly friends, Detective. But if you need to get something off your chest, I swear to never use it against you.” Phantom fidgeted with his cloak. From this close a distance, Tim could see the faint glimmer of sparkling purple constellations embroidered on the inside. For some reason, the sight of the soft fabric never failed to calm his nerves.

(It reminded him of a time long ago, when he held a gel ink pen and asked a mystery person to quit whatever they were doing that left his arms covered in star charts that didn’t match anything in the Earth’s night sky.)

He didn’t dare force himself to speak, for fear he might break this tentative peace. Thankfully, Phantom seemed to be taking initiative that night.

“...did you know that I used to be a teen hero?”

Tim’s head jerked upright, meeting Phantom’s eyes. It was impossible to tell exactly what expression he was making behind the mask, but he got a sense of bitter nostalgia. “You never talk about your past.”

A scoff, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s depressing as fuck. Not exactly the sort of thing you can talk about causally.”

He chewed his lip, thinking. “Your suit…minus the cloak, it looks reminiscent of a uniform.”

Phantom fiddled with a cylinder hooked on his belt. It was the only piece of tech visible on his person, a modified soup thermos that somehow served as a near infinite item storage. Impressive, if not odd.

“Yeah, the cloak is more of a blanket than anything else. I added it on when I got tired of looking at the same clothes I used to save my hometown in. It…I didn’t become a hero for fame. It was more trouble than it was worth, honestly. You guys nowadays have so much better support systems than when I was in the business. Makes me wonder if…” he trailed off.

“...why’d you stop?” Tim asked gently, more than willing to throw himself into this new mystery now that he knew it was there.

“It was too much. Everyone wanted me gone, even the people I was protecting. I was hated for my powers, for not always being on the scene when I was needed, for not ending fights faster and for the property damage my villains caused. I didn’t live in a place with metahuman protection laws. The few people that knew my secret identity got tired of superhero life and ditched the first chance they got.” He sighed, “I was hurting, and was desperate for a way out.”

Tim frowned, “So you moved to Gotham and started stealing?”

Phantom snorted. “Nah, I was fucked up for a while after I ran away. It’s funny, one of my rogues was the first to track me down and drag me to a hospital to get my injuries checked. Like a dozen of them got together for an intervention, I thought I was finally losing my grip on reality. I spent a couple months recovering, then took one of them up on a suggestion to try causing trouble for a change. Not anything super bad, but…”

“...enough to feel more in control?” Tim suggested. It wasn’t uncommon for people in bad situations to commit minor crimes, both for the adrenaline and the power rush. Tim himself had once poured his whole soul into tracking and photographing Gotham’s nighttime birds. A hobby that was more than a bit cringe-worthy in hindsight, and definitely creepy considering how much effort he put into stalking his idols. Honestly his young age was the only reason he didn’t get put on a watchlist when he revealed himself to Bruce. That, and the whole I-know-your-secret-identity thing.

“Oof. Yeah, that’s a way to put it. Being hated hurt less when that’s what I was aiming for, y’know?”

Tim tilted his head. “I never hated you.”

A derisive laugh, “Uh-huh. And you loved being led on goose chases when there were more important ways to spend your time.”

“I’m serious.” Tim shifted so that he was better facing Phantom. He didn’t know why, but couldn’t stand the thought of Phantom leaving tonight convinced he was universally hated. “You only make a scene on quiet nights, and you always slowed down for me whenever I had to stop and intervene on some other crime. And you only target the private collections of rich people. Not anyone whose life would be ruined by something getting stolen. You even go out of your way to make sure the guards on duty don’t get in trouble, even when it puts you in a strategically worse position. And…”

He hesitated. Bruce wouldn’t approve…but then again, there was that weird relationship he had with Selina.

“And it was fun. To chase you. It was challenging and frustrating, but your appearance meant that there was nothing else to worry about that night. We could just run regular patrols.”

Oracle was the one to make the connection. Tim didn’t know where along the lines it became an accepted fact, only that Bruce was more comfortable about Robin patrolling alone when Phantom was making a move. A miracle considering what happened to the last one.

Phantom blinked, frowning a bit before his eyes went wide, a shaky smile forming on his lips. “Thanks…it was fun for me too. Kinda the whole reason I kept setting up scenes for Robin to find.”

Tim laughed. The sound startled both of them—he didn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled like this. It had to be sometime before Bruce was gone, at least.

“So…” Phantom hopped down on the railing of a balcony below, balancing precariously in the way that only he could. He looked up at Tim with an easygoing smile that did little to hide the concern underneath. “As your self-proclaimed favorite rogue, wanna tell me what’s up with the sudden change?”

He shifted a bit, grin fading. “Well…Batman died. He was facing Darkseid and got hit. After the chaos died down, Nightwing took up the mantle and made Batman’s son the new Robin, to help him grieve or something.”

“I don’t know where to start with that.” Phantom adjusted his hood, briefly revealing tan skin underneath. “You sound like you didn’t have a say in it. Wasn’t Robin yours?”

Something bitter worked its way up through Tim’s chest. “It was a borrowed title anyway. I only took it up to help Batman, so it makes sense that I was dismissed—”

“No.”

“—after huh?”

Phantom strode up to him, poking a finger at his knee. “You love being Robin. You don’t have to justify losing your identity. It could’ve been taken in the name of world peace for all I care, that doesn’t make it any less shitty. You just lost someone super important to you, and your connection to them was taken because someone thought your grief was less important. I don’t care who the current one is, you are just as much Batman’s son.”

Tim couldn’t help the small sob that escaped. Or when it doubled, and tears started burning at his eyes. He rubbed at them in an attempt to stop them before they could make his mask go hot and sticky, but was startled out of it by a soft weight being thrown over him. He looked up to see Phantom leaning over him, securing the hood of his cloak over Tim’s own head.

“You looked like you needed some comfort. It’s weighted.” Phantom shrugged.

“...thanks.” Tim pulled it closer, more than happy to latch onto yet another new focus. “How do you move so easily in this? It feels like I’m being hugged by gravity.”

Phantom chuckled, and it was at that moment Tim suddenly realized the other was floating in the air over him. Since when has he been able to fly?

“I use intangibility a lot, but it’s not my only power. It felt like overkill to use more than that in my heists. So I didn’t.”

Tim groaned, “You were going easy on me this whole time?”

“Oh, definitely not. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but intangibility is arguably the most pain in the ass thing to counter. I’m being annoying on purpose.”

Phantom grinned, and Tim couldn’t help but analyze the full sight of him. Everything from his teeth to his ears was pointed, a sharp contrast to the wispy white hair that flowed smoothly in a nonexistent breeze. The most attention grabbing was a glowing green mark resembling a gash across his chest, roughly in the place where a hero would wear their logo. The sight of it made Tim’s own chest ache.

“I don’t think Batman is dead.” He said suddenly.

“What makes you say that?” Phantom asked, reclining on empty air.

It wasn’t denial, not calling him insane or lost in grief. For the first time since his fight with Dick, Tim felt as though he could breathe again. “I know it sounds crazy, there’s no proof—”

“Woah woah woah,” Phantom reached forward, gently pulling Tim’s hands away from where he had started pulling at his hair. “Slow down. Walk me through your thought process.”

“It just…it doesn’t feel right. Not that I can’t believe it if he died, but this specifically doesn’t feel right. I’d feel it if Br-Batman was dead…there was a whole cloning facility where Batman’s body was found.”

That seemed to spark interest in Phantom’s eyes. “You think the body was a clone?”

“Why would someone as powerful and precise as Darkseid drop everything and kill someone he was in the process of cloning? Why was he even trying to clone Batman specifically? We’re missing something, and I think Darkseid is using everyone’s grief to cover his plan.”

Phantom propped his chin on his hand, deep in thought. “Darkseid…I’ve heard that name before. Does he have something to do with time or space?”

Tim practically sagged in relief. “He can travel freely through both, and has a host of other abilities that give Superman a run for his money.”

He snapped his fingers, “Ah, that Darkseid! Yeah, if he wanted Bats dead there wouldn’t be a body left. I’d bet my collection he’s lost in time somewhere.”

“Thank you!” Tim gestured wildly, “You’re officially the first person to hear me out. Like, is it really so hard to believe?”

“No probs, Detect-o. It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard, by far.”

“Exactly,” Tim huffed, leaning back and sighing. “Now I just have to convince the Justice League so they can go back in time and grab him.”

“Why not just get him yourself?”

Tim glanced over to where Phantom hung in the sky. “Unless you’re also hiding time powers in there, we kinda need the League to get to him. Plus I don’t even know when in time he is.”

“Lucky for you, I know a guy,” Phantom grinned. “The Master of Time messaged me this mornin’, something about stopping Batman from breaking the time space continuum. It’s why I’m back in Gotham so soon.”

“You…know the Master of Time.”

“Yep!” He popped the p.

“And they messaged you.”

Phantom hummed, “You can imagine how it went when I tried to confront Batman a couple hours ago. The new Robin’s a menace, if I was any slower you’d have to deal with a Phantom shish kebab.”

Tim winced. It was never fun to be on the wrong end of Damian’s katana. Still, he focused back on the insanity at hand. “So you’re saying you can just go back and rescue Batman right now?”

“Now that I know what’s happening, yeah. Clocky probably already has a portal ready for me. Batman will be back before you can say ‘Gotham’!”

It was inconceivable. To think, the living nightmare of the past weeks would be over, just like that. His brain was screaming at him that this was some sort of cruel setup, that there was no way Phantom was telling the truth. There had to be a catch somewhere, some kind of punchline in the sick comedy that was the life of Tim Drake.

But his heart, the part of him that just wanted his dad back won out.

“What’s stopping you? You’re not usually one to wait for a window of opportunity.”

Phantom rubbed the back of his neck. “No, but I distinctly remember waiting for a certain vigilante. I was wondering if…you’d like to come with?”

Tim’s jaw dropped. “You’re inviting me, a vigilante who has attempted to arrest you dozens of times…to travel back in time to save Batman, another vigilante who has tried to put you under arrest.”

“Emphasis on tried,” Phantom joked, before turning serious. “I mean it—it’s your family. Besides, it could be fun. You come with me on a time heist, instead of sitting back here worrying your pretty head off with all the ways things could go wrong. And you get to tell everyone else ‘I told ya so’ when you save Batman on your own.”

He tried to work his mind through what Phantom was offering. To be able to fix things, maybe not go back to the way they used to be (Damian might actually kill him if he ever wore Robin again) but to have Bruce back. It wasn’t even a question.

No matter how smart Tim was, how he tried to plan things in advance the way Bruce did, he never stopped being the lonely kid who would sneak out at night to shadow his heroes. When Phantom reached out to offer a hand, Tim didn’t hesitate.

“You’re wrong, though.”

Phantom blinked, firmly gripping Tim’s hand without hurting him. “About what?”

“I wouldn’t be saving Batman on my own. We’d be doing it together.”

A fanged grin matched his own, blinding him to the swirling green portal that formed around them. Before Tim could so much as wonder if he maybe should’ve messaged someone about what he was setting off to do, they were already gone.

— - —

This was supposed to be a oneshot, but it got a bit long so I decided to split it up.

I really love this au, but I noticed that everyone has a tendency to hone in on the angst so much that the characters behind it get a bit lost in the process. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I wanted to try my hand at writing the misunderstandings without making either of them at fault.

(Insert rant about how the whole point of soulmates is that this person is a match for you, so even if you fundamentally are not good for each other you still get where the other person is coming from. There's so much more angst potential in not being able to hate someone no matter what they do to hurt you, but I digress.)

But yeah, let the boys heal and be happy! Also this is the closest I've gotten to actually writing romance and that's not saying much XD

Here's the design I drew for Phantom Thief!Danny. Feel free to drop an ask, I'd love to ramble more about this :D

#dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc art #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #brain dead #rejected soulmate au #danny x tim #i wrote this instead of studying for my midterm that's tomorrow #remember me fondly #my art #my fic

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doctorslippery · 11 months ago

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stqrgirlie0 · 7 months ago

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⋆✮theodore nott-pt 4✮⋆

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

you were running out of concealer, and it was showing. the purplish blue bruise less inconspicuous than the day before. theo had no chill when it came to hickeys- even though you guys weren’t official yet, he saw no problem in marking you his. one could say it just happens in the moment, and honestly why would anyone blame him- especially when he had you pressed up against the wall, head tilted back, mouth parted open, eyes closed and your neck and collarbone exposed. he just can't help himself.

it was becoming a daily routine, everyday right after last period you'd walk past the same empty classroom and everyday you'd hear someone whisper your name from behind the door. not very long after you'd be unbuttoning theo's shirt while he picked you up and sat you onto a desk. your fingers would tangle between theo's fluffy curls while his lips littered kisses and hickeys. soft pants from the both of you filled the air, and your were more than glad that theo did his little magic and muffled the room's noise to the outside. the sound of theo ripping your tights made you gasp out loud as you gave theo a light smack on his shoulder, while he muttered a 'i'll buy you new ones.’ soft kisses planted into your inner thighs and as soon as he was on his knees, he got down to business- ate you out like he didn't have breakfast in the morning. euphoric- that's how you felt every single time this man was on his knees, stars were starting to form in your vision. squeezing your eyes shut, fingers gripping his hair and the edge of the desk, you reached your climax and theo was all over you again, fervent kisses with teeth clashing and soft giggles in between.

obviously you guys hadn't been caught yet, but even if you did, i doubt that it would stop the two of you. this whole thing between you and theo hadn't been out in the open yet, so every moment between you two in front of the group was seen as an interaction between two "friends". it wasn't the best thing however it wasn't the worst. the thrill of getting caught and no one knowing egged on both of your antics, but not being able to grab theo and kiss him in front of the girls that cannot keep their eyes off of him, took a lot off self control. then again having this little secret meant that no one could have a problem with it- what they didn't know couldn't hurt them right?

unsettling thoughts would cross your mind so frequently, that you found yourself asking the question 'what are we?’. not dating but talking, talking but not progressing- what the hell was going on. you wanted it to work out you really did, so why didn't he just ask you out? and just like that your wish was granted- be careful what you wish for tho.. it was romantic you'll admit it- the candle, the flowers, the chocolates, the black lake glistening in the moonlight and the warm breezy air blowing your hair. it was literally a scene out of a romcom and you felt like you would literally MELT for the man right then and there. everything was perfect- so why was there still this iffy feeling? i'll tell you why- despite all of this lovey dovey, will-you-be-my-girlfriend stuff, our man Mr Theodore Nott asked to STILL keep it a secret. now why on gods green earth would he ask that? obviously you wouldn’t let this ruin you mood, you were on cloud nine girl!! but that bridge was fast approaching, and you were gon have to cross it at some point.

months pass by, and you've both still kept it a secret, but boy has it taken a toll on your side. keeping secrets, lying, it's never been your thing and you hate doing it to the people you love and care about. was it all worth it, was it worth the lack of energy and excitement? your secret link ups with theo got more frequent over time obviously- and maybe it was just because your friends just didn't hang out with you because you'd always run off, to him, for him. your lack of energy doesn't go unnoticed, and obviously it's brought up. just not in the nicest way. you're accused of not putting any effort into the relationship, and this sets you off-you see literal red.

‘i don’t know what you’re talking about theo.’ you sigh, standing up.

‘i’m talking about the 0 effort you put into our relationship,’ he says pacing across his dorm room and rubbing his temple. ‘every time we get time alone it’s like as if you can’t wait to fucking go back to your friends or some shit, what the fuck is going on.’

‘what’s going on? what’s going on?’ you seethe, walking right up to him. ‘i’ll tell you what’s going on. it’s that i can’t take this fucking secret thing further. there i said it, i CANT do it.‘ you wave your hands up in surrender.

‘so what, that’s it?’

‘i don’t know, do you want it like that? theo we can’t even talk until we’re behind closed doors, it’s like we’re trapped. you say i put no energy and effort into this, but maybe it’s because i use it all up lying and making excuses for us. it’s not working out..’

the argument only ended with tears and slammed doors. nights that you used to smoke with theo on, turned into nights you sat by yourself, leaning your head against the window, accompanied by only your thoughts. every day going to lessons and acting normal was truly a test, especially when theo would still catch you with his longing eyes across the room. it was so hard but you couldn’t give up, you owed yourself at least that much. your heart yearned for the boy, for the way he would brush your hair out of your face, for the way he would look at you- like you were the prettiest girl in the world, for the way he’d play with your hands every time you slept. it was getting harder and harder by the day, and theo wasn’t finding it any easier. he also longed for how your fingers would play with his hair, for how your nails would scratch down his back. so it wasn’t long before the both of you snapped, and there you guys were making out in the corner of the empty corridor. your top two buttons undone and theo’s hands firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your shirt up a bit as his fingers pressed into your skin. you felt his lips slowly travelling to the middle of your neck, your head leaning back against the wall to allow him as much skin as you could. his lips trailed back up again, finding your jawline as he pressed kisses along. the scene caused the majority of the students walking by, to avert their eyes and fasten their pace down the corridor.

i think it’s pretty much official now.

#i think pt 4’s come to a natural ending.. right.. #id like to confirm that there will not be a pt 5 xoxo #because i genuinely would not know what to write, but hopefully you guys enjoyed the (very unplanned) series♡ #lots of love xoxo

taglist: @iamgayforyourmom1510 @lovelyygirl8

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theo nott smut #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott smut #theodore x reader #theodore nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x slytherin!reader

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bettyfrommars · 11 months ago

Text

Santa Comes Once a Year

biker!eddie x fem!reader

I had a request from the amazing @idkidknemore for "biker Eddie dressed up as Santa, railing reader on his motorcycle sleigh" and I also wanted some Eddie as Santa action for the Holiday Prompt Party I am doing with @allthingsjoeq he is not a mall Santa in this, but still.

wc: 2.7k

18+ONLY, smut, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, talk of cheating (on Mrs. Claus), roleplay, creampie, fingering, bit of spanking, ton of cliche phrases, sexualizing Santa, secret sex I guess? but it's just pretend, semi-public sex if you squint.

summary: you go to the Lighted Farm Implement show for the first time with Robin and Oliver to see what Eddie and Steve have cooked up for the parade. Afterwards, Santa takes you back to his place in his towtruck sleigh and wants to give you some cream with your cookies.

author's note: This can absolutely be enjoyed as a smutty standalone, but some elements of I'm on Fire are mentioned, including Robin raising Steve's son Oliver with him since he was a baby, and the fact that biker Eddie runs his own towing/mechanic business.

This was your first time attending the night time Lighted Farm Implement parade in Hawkins, and you weren’t sure what that even meant until Robin explained it to you.

“You know, Farm Implements. They decorate them with Christmas lights and throw candy for the kids.”

For some reason, all you could picture were shovels and snippers dancing through the street like some magical Beauty and the Beast scene.

Robin’s cheeks were rosy and she had Oliver in her arms, a navy Columbia fleece zipped up to her chin. Mother and son each had matching, fuzzy blue ear muffs on. She noticed your confused expression as the three of you walked up the street from where you parked.

“Tractors, backhoes, dumptrucks, cement mixers,” she gave a few examples and your face lit up in recognition. “There will also be buses, a few 18-wheelers, and a tractor bed with the Mayor on it.”

The big, shiny black tow truck from Munson’s Garage was in the parade too, and you were curious to see what Eddie and the guys had done to it. Your boyfriend had been asked to dress as one of the Santa’s that year, and you’d switched evenings at the Velvet Hammer with Jackie just so you could witness this miracle of the season, being that Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of Christmas.

He mostly did it for Oliver, to see the wonder on his face when Santa knew his name, and that year specifically, he was doing it for you. He wanted to impress you by being the star of the show.

Everyone from town lined the streets and cheered as the Hawkins high school band trumpeted down the lane to officially begin the parade with cheerleaders punching pompoms in the air at the front. Robin put Oliver down and you all moved through the crowd to get closer to the action. .

Behind the band was a green John Deere bulldozer all decked out in colorful bulbs and an arc of gingerbread people up the back. The owner of the local grocer drove a 1945 Chevy truck with Christmas trees in the back and a person dressed like an elf in the passenger seat tossing out chocolate bars. A few skidded close to Oliver and he lurched to grab them with an excited scream.

Each vehicle had its own music playing, and the next yellow backhoe with a santa in the bucket and adorned with snowflake lights was blaring Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee. They threw some lollipops out, and this time you rushed to snatch a few for Ollie so that he wouldn’t have to go too far out into the street.

You were distracted watching the mammoth equipment vehicle pass when you heard Oliver screech and point, “Daddy!”

Your head snapped and there was Eddie’s tow truck, blinking with what seemed like a billion white twinkle lights with a pine wreath on the grill, and a person hanging off the side of the truck dressed as…a goat? Or was it Father Time?

Oliver recognized Steve immediately, and when he spotted his son, he jumped down from the step up to the cab with a sack of candy in his hand and came jogging over. As he got closer, you tried to make out his costume, but came up with nothing. He was wearing his typical biker attire with his Coffin Kings leather cut on over a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, but the faux beard he had on was long and thin down to his belly button, and it was gray, not white. He wore sunglasses and a black fedora.

He ran to give Ollie the bag of candy while the tow truck rolled by at a snail pace.

“Are you Biker Santa?” You asked, sneaking a look at the sexy Santa in a red hat behind the steering wheel of the tow who was waving to get your attention. You blew Eddie a kiss and he made the gesture of catching it in the air.

Steve held his arms out as he trotted backwards to get back on his ride. “I’m one of the guys from ZZ Top!” He shouted, as if it should’ve been obvious.

You shared a look with Robin. “Don’t ask,” she mumbled.

They were towing a wrecked car behind them with what appeared to be four reindeer holding cans of beer, each hanging out a window. The song Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer played cheekily from speakers that were mounted on the lift.

All three of you cheered and screamed for the rest of the show, and by the time two clowns in tiny toy trucks brought up the rear, you felt a warm body press up against your backside and you tilted your head back into the squish of a white, fluffy beard.

“Ho ho ho,” Eddie whispered against the shell of your ear making your body tingle from the warmth of his breath. “I hear you’re the naughtiest girl in town.”

He stepped away and tapped Ollie on the shoulder, taking on a deep, jolly voice. “And who is this good little boy?”

Oliver had the white stem of a sucker sticking out of his mouth when he turned. “Oh hi Uncle Eddie,” he managed, sucking back purple saliva.

Eddie straightened to full height, his eyes falling on Robin with a blink of sadness, but she only shrugged. “He’s getting wise to the world, what can I say?”

You turned to melt into your boyfriend’s chest, feeling the bit of padding he had on his belly under the soft faux fur accents of his red velvet coat. There was a little jingle bell on the end of his Santa hat, and you flicked it with your finger. You pushed him back through the crowd, off to the sidewalk and into the shadows, making him back up as you went.

“So,” you made sure no one was around before you slid your hand between his legs. “Is this the official Yule Log, or are you just happy to see me?”

You could barely find his mouth under the synthetic mustache, and then you giggled and sputtered on a stiff Santa hair.

He yanked the beard down with a tug of his fist, stretching the elastic band that held it in place, so that it was under his chin and pulled you in again, returning your kiss so deep that a small groan escaped you.

“You wanna get out of here?” he said in a rush, and then he nudged your nose with his. “Come sit in my sleigh with me?”

Steve was reunited with his family by then, with Oliver up on his shoulders, and you checked to see the three of them head off in the opposite direction, possibly to Robin’s car. You were all planning to meet back up at their place to make cookies in an hour, so you had a window of time.

Back in the cab of the tow truck that was parked down the street, Eddie pulled the pillow stuffing out from under his coat and flipped the heat on high, but it almost wasn’t needed because the makeout session that ensued made the windows fog up. You took his hat and beard off and tossed them on the dash so that you could finally have your hands around that face that you loved so much, squirming to get closer to him. He had his hair tied up in the back and you released the band so that his locks fell around his shoulders.

“If I’d known this would get you going baby, I would’ve put the beard on earlier,” he huffed.

You flicked your tongue out to tease him a few times. “I need you inside of me, Santa. No one will know, it will be our secret,” and you were just about to kick your leg over to straddle his lap when you both realized that there were people walking right next to the vehicle on the sidewalk.

“Let’s get out of here, Mistress,” Eddie kissed your cheek. “Take this back to the garage, finish what we started.”

You sat back, giving him a raised brow as he shifted the monster vehicle into gear. “Oh, you think I’m just going to give it up when and wherever you want?”

“I think you’ll do whatever I tell you to do,” he said over his shoulder, watching for traffic before pulling into the street. “I’m Santa.”

—-----

You sat right next to him the whole way there, like lovers do, with his hand on your thigh. He still had the wrecked car with the beer-guzzling reindeer statues inside, so he was careful on the turns, while festive bystanders honked and waved.

At the Munson Garage compound, Eddie thought he would unhook the wrecked car from the crane, but there wasn’t time for that—he could feel your arousal dampening your jeans. Parking in the furthest garage would have to do.

“Get over here, naughty girl,” he licked his lips and opened his Santa jacket to reveal two black suspenders over a white t-shirt, and then he undid the suspenders to move his hand down to fist himself.

Your boots were off and your jeans at your knees when the sight of the tip of his glistening pink tip freed from his wholesome attire made you pause to touch yourself, putting your back against the opposite door with your legs spread so he could watch.

It was dim in the roomy cab of the truck, but Eddie could still see the wet spot on your red underwear where you worked your fingers and he bit out a curse.

“You heard me,” his tone was stern. “I said get that beautiful ass over here and sit on Santa’s cock.”

You didn’t bother taking your underwear off as you kicked your jeans away and scrambled over, giggling when he pushed his red pants down a bit more to show the mistletoe print on his boxers. Your head hit the roof of the cab, but then you were finally squatting in his lap, teeth hitting as you fumbled into position.

He was quick to reach down between the two of you and move your panties to the side so that he could rub his knuckle up and down your slippery clit.

He puffed out a chest full of air. “Goddamn was it the beard or the whole thing?”

“Just you,” you lifted up, pushing his hair back to cup your hands on either side of his throat. “I’ve been aching for you all night, Santa. Waiting for you to come down my chimney.”

Eddie shivered, reaching to line his tip up with you. “Why is this so hot, holy shit,” he chuckled softly.

But then he was inside of you, and you sank down an inch with a cry, arousal dripping down his length.

His mouth pressed into the side of yours. “Did you miss me all year? You want to be a bad girl for me now?”

“That’s why you come to my house, isn’t it Santa?” You gasped. “Because you want to fuck me? I’m your favorite.”

Eddie hissed and threw his head back as you bottomed out. You could feel the faux fur from the top of his pants ticking your taint. “You know I always come back for you, because you take me so good, fuck—-”

You rocked your hips, squeezing that important muscle as you went. “Better than Mrs. Claus?”

Eddie gripped your ass and pulled your cheeks apart with his strong, calloused fingers, thrusting up to meet you, smacking against your wetness. “Better than anyone, fuck. I dream about this all year. Landing my sleigh in Hawkins so I can bury myself in your tight, wet cunt.”

You were both breathing heavy, sweat trickling down your necks, while a few snow flurries danced into the garage.

You reached a hand down to work two fingers at your clit. Every word you said was against his lips: “I want some cream with my cookies, please Santa.”

“Yeah?” Eddie huffed, rolling his hips in his seat so that you could feel every inch of his cock, making you whine a string of obscenities. “What else do you want, huh? You want me to fill you up all night, so my cream drips out of you on Christmas day?”

He spanked your asscheek with a thwack and you arched back. “Yes Santa, please, ruin me so I only fuck myself to thoughts of you.”

“I’m about to cum,” Eddie breathed, and your mouths met in a frenzy of tongues and moans. He could feel you throb around him.

“So soon, Santa?” You teased.

“Shhhhh,” he took hold of your throat and planted his booted feet to thrust up into, taking you for a ride.

You put your forehead to his and bounced a few more times, and then you froze, mouth open in a silent scream as the wave began to crash.

“That’s my baby,” he held you in that position and continued to buck up to bury himself inside over and over. “Cum for Santa, let me feel it.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you exploded around him, whimpering and twitching.

The back of your heel kicked up and accidentally flipped a switch on the dash, making all of the Christmas lights on the truck blaze on, and Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer blared from the speakers.

You clung to Eddie while he came, shuddering at how good it felt but also

In a few seconds, you were both grinning, shoulders bobbing with laughter as the song seemed to herald in your mutual releases.

The windows of the cab were completely fogged up, and between that and the music, neither of you heard anyone enter the garage until there was a bang on the driver’s side door.

“What the—?” Eddie scowled, and you were already scampering off of him, snatching clothing from the floorboard to cover yourself.

Eddie tucked himself back into the huge wet spot on his pants and wiped condensation off of the glass so that he could see who it was. He was about to be angry, thinking it was one of the other mechanics about to give him shit or try to get a peek at you

but it was Steve.

The truck was lifted and the windows up too high for him to see in, but still Eddie checked to make sure you were decent before he rolled the window down. He leaned over to switch off the lights and the music. You gave a nod as you wrapped your coat around your waist.

“Hey,” Eddie wiped some hair out of his face, trying to act casual. “What up? Everything okay?”

Steve had his long beard in his hand, hugging himself, shivering against the cold, with the fedora pulled snug to his ears. “Did you forget you were going to give me a ride? I just walked halfway across town. Slipped and fell on the fucking ice twice.”

Eddie dropped his forehead to his fist. “Shit sorry man I—-why didn’t you go with Robin?”

“Because I told her I was riding back with you to unhook the rig,” Steve sounded annoyed, teeth chattering, and you didn’t blame him, but still you stifled a giggle into your arm.

“Tried to call Astrid from a payphone, and she’s not answering, so now I’ve got blisters from these stupid elf boots that Robbie made me buy.”

Eddie pulled his lips in over his teeth to contain his amusement.

“It’s not funny, dude,” Steve said, but then he caught a glimpse of you in the cab and you gave an apologetic grimace. “Oh okay, I get it. Forgiven. But can we get this shit over with so we can get out of here? Robin doesn’t know how to work an oven and she’ll probably burn the place down before we get there.”

Eddie stretched across the cab to kiss you. “Stay in here, keep warm. I’ll put the Chevelle around when we’re done.”

“Go help your ZZ Top elf, Kris Kringle,” you shoved him playfully, but then he held his face there and hummed until you kissed him again.

You pulled your jeans up, eager to keep Santa’s gift from spilling out.

---------

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@notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724 @chaoticgood-munson

#Eddie Munson #biker Eddie Munson #biker!eddie #towtruck!eddie #I'm on Fire #Santa Comes Once a Year #biker!steve #holiday fic #Eddie munson smut #santa smut

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