#yeah will do *frantically googling*

[lavenoon]

@naffeclipse since I never bothered to explain (and also will not do that in the future) how my modern day self insert actually ended up in the SJ-verse, here's an imagined menace4menace speedrun <3

*self insert is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

Also throwing this silly character sheet out there with this because why not

[lelianaslefthand]

the lucanis no bitches rumors are killing me this is how i imagine his life in the crows was like

[thelaurenshippen]

made to love resident evil games, born to be afraid of spiders

[simpforboys]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two, part four

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl

[gudfornuthin]

Want You So Bad

Dae-ho/number 388 x fem!reader

(MDNI)

A/N: No thoughts, just Dae-ho. I thought these anon asks worked well together so I’ve combined them into one. I hope this is what you guys wanted, and apologies for my poorly written smut lol. (Also apologies if the Korean isn’t correct, copied it from a romanised version on Google) Feedback is appreciated :)

“Dunggulge dunggulge, jjak

Binggeulbinggeul doragamyeo chum-eul chupsida

Sonppyeogeul chimyeonseo, jjak

Noraereul bureumyeo, jjak

Rallallalla jeulgeoupge chumchuja

Ringga ringga ringga, ringga ringga ring Sone soneul japgo modu da hamkke jeulgeoupge twieo bopsida”

Standing on the turning floor, your vision is going dizzy and your stomach is churning. There’s blood everywhere, and you’re trying not to think about all the people who were killed in the last round. You almost didn’t make it. But you got lucky. Mainly because of the man standing next to you.

You look to your left, Dae ho’s side profile devoid of any emotions. You’d only known each other for a couple of days (at least that’s what you thought. Time in here is weird) but you’d already grown close. Closer than you expected to with anyone in this nightmare fuelled place. But you trusted him the most. And he’d also saved your life during red light green light.

He finally feels your stare and turns to look at you. He smiles slightly. “You okay?”

He knows you’re not, but you smile back either way. “Yeah.”

The floor suddenly stops moving, and the lights dim. The group prepare for their next number.

“Five.”

Chaos ensues, as everyone begins to panic, grabbing and pulling, hoping they have the right amount of people. Dae ho holds your hand, as he quickly follows Gi hun, and two other people you’re yet to know the names of. You run as fast as you can, trying to find an available room.

Just as you’re about to make it to one of the doors, someone slams into you hard, knocking you off your feet and losing Dae ho’s firm grip.

“Y/N!” You hear him exclaim, before completely losing sight of him and the others.

The thought of dying consumes you as reality sets in. You feel like screaming and throwing up the little food they’d given you last night. Before you have the chance, strong arms lift you up and drag you to an open door. Getting a grip on your footing, you rush into the room, just as the timer runs out. The door locks and gunshot can be heard from outside your safe space.

Breathing heavily, you feel a soft touch on your back, rubbing up and down.

“Are you alright?”

You glance to the side, the number ‘333’ catching your attention first. You look up to be met by the kind eyes of your saviour. You nod rapidly, still trying to catch your breath.

“You saved my life,” is the only thing you can say.

He laughs halfheartedly. “You sort of saved ours too.”

You stand up to your full height, remembering the other people in the room with you. You quickly thank them as well and they nod.

“I’m Myung gi by the way,” player 333 says.

“Y/N,” you reply, smiling at each other.

The door unlocks as everyone slowly makes their way out. As you leave the room, yelling can be heard from across the room. It’s Dae ho. You see him push a player you don’t recognise up against the wall, as he continues screaming in their face.

“She’s dead because of you!”

You rush over, hoping to stop this before it turns into a full blown fist fight.

“Dae ho!” You call out.

He stops what he’s doing and frantically searches for you. Your eyes meet, and he lets the player go, running over to meet you halfway. He throws his arms around your waist, shocking you briefly, but also wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He squeezes you tight, his face buried in your neck.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

Dae ho pulls away and holds you at arms length. “I thought they killed you. I just… what happened?”

You feel a presence behind you, and turn to find Myung gi standing awkwardly a few steps behind. You nod at him to come closer, taking him by the arm. Dae ho flinches slightly at the motion.

“I was a goner, had it not been for my knight in shining armour here grabbing and saving me.”

Myung gi laughs at the nickname you give him. “Don’t sell yourself short. We saved each other really.”

You continue smiling at each other, all the while Dae ho watches the sickly sweet interaction. Weird feelings bubble up in his stomach, one of relief but another of petty jealousy. He tries to brush it off, as he nods at the man standing next to you.

The game continues on for a couple more rounds, until you figure out there’s only one more to go. 126 players. 50 doors. That means only 2 people per room. You’re standing in between Dae ho and Myung gi, finding it hard to breathe.

The floor stops moving, and the number is called.

“Two.”

Both of the men on either side of you reach out at the same time to take your hand. Myung gi is faster, as he links your fingers with his and rushes towards the door in front of you. You stumble behind him, looking back and seeing Dae ho watching on like a kicked puppy. Thankfully someone grabs him as they too head for an empty room, his sad expression imprinted in your mind.

- - -

Night rolls around, and Dae ho finds it hard to fall asleep. After the last round of Mingle, Myung gi didn’t leave your side once. He seemed eager to know more about you, where you were from, and why you chose to be apart of the game. Dae ho knows it’s wrong to feel jealous. After all, he’d only known you for two days, and most of that time is spent either sleeping or trying not to be killed.

Yet it bothers him to no end. It bothered him when you two hugged at the end of Mingle. It bothered him when you two shared food with each other. It bothered him when Myung gi asked if he could sleep closer to you tonight. It shouldn’t. But it did.

Dae ho feels himself almost drift off into a deep sleep, when he hears scuffling to his right. You’re slowly getting up, rubbing your eyes and hobbling to the front of the large room. His eyes follow your every move, as you knock on the door to where the toilets are. A guard appears and after some brief back and forth, opens the door and allows you to enter.

He lies back down. You still run through his mind.

“Fuck it.”

Dae ho crawls out from under the bed and speed walks over to the door. He knocks and makes the excuse that he needs a piss. Another back and forth with the less than happy guard, but once again the door opens and he walks through.

He makes his way up the stairs and, making sure the guard isn’t paying attention, heads for the women’s bathroom. He walks in, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and stupid. What’s the plan? Profess your love to a stranger you just met and how you can’t stand the thought of them being with anyone else? Dae ho knows you’ll tell him he’s gone mad. And maybe it’s not love. Something more intense. Something more primal. There’s only one way of finding out.

The flush of a toilet sounds as you walk out of one of the stalls, jumping slightly when you spot Dae ho by the sinks.

“Shit. You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

You walk over and stand by his side, washing your hands thoroughly, as he waits in silence.

After you’ve finished, he decides to speak up. “So, you’re getting on well with player 333?”

“Myung gi,” you respond. Dae ho doesn’t care for learning his name. “And yeah, he doesn’t really have anyone else in here to talk to and I don’t mind the company.”

He nods as you continue talking, leaning next to him on the sinks. “He also saved my life in the last game, so there’s no way I’m abandoning him now.”

Dae ho tries not to rolls his eyes, but can’t stop himself from huffing like a child. “I saved your life too but nah let’s put him on a pedestal,” he mumbles under his breath.

Unfortunately you hear what he says, sending him a puzzled look. “Do you have a problem with Myung gi?”

Dae ho stares at you, wondering how to respond. He doesn’t want to sound like a possessive, overprotective boyfriend, because he isn’t one. But he also knows it’s getting harder and harder to hide his brewing feelings for you.

“Nothing I just,” he huffs again. “I feel like you’re gonna wanna spend more time with him instead of me.”

You laugh, shocking him slightly, as you move to stand in front of him. “So just because I’ve made a new friend means I have to ditch you?”

Dae ho shrugs, feeling embarrassed and incredibly dumb.

You poke him softly in the stomach. “I like you. I wanna get to know you better. Hopefully outside of this hellhole.”

He laughs along with you now, staring deeply into your eyes. “I like you too.”

The air around you suddenly feels hot, a tension you didn’t realise was there until now. You move closer, testing the waters, and thankfully Dae ho does the same thing. One second more, and your lips lock in a passionated, heated kiss. Dae ho grips your hips hard while you run your fingers through his hair.

“Wait,” you say through the kiss. “What if one of the guards comes in?”

Dae ho shakes his head vigorously. “They don’t care. We could be killing each other in here and they wouldn’t stop us.”

“Romantic,” you reply sarcastically, as he moves to kiss your neck.

You moan, feeling your back press against the wall. Even though the guards don’t care what goes on in here, you know they’ll start to question why you’re taking so long. So, as you continue kissing Dae ho, you reach for his pants and pull them down slightly. He’s shocked at first, then quickly catches on to what you’re doing and pulls yours down a little bit too.

“Are you sure,” Dae ho tries to catch his breath. “You wanna do this?”

“I’m not stopping now.”

He lifts you up spreading your legs to wrap around his waist. You feel him push into you slowly, eliciting a gasp from your mouth. His thrusts amp up as he fills you entirely. Your make out session goes interrupted, as beads of sweat form on your skin, the taste of salt landing on your tongues.

You’re about to scream his name, when a bang on the entrance door stops you both in your tracks.

A deep voice booms from the other side. “What’s taking you so long in there?”

Dae ho puts you down on the floor, clumsily pulling his pants back up around his waist as you do the same. You’re both breathless, hair a mess and lips swollen.

“Almost done!” Dae ho calls out, not thinking of how the guard will react to him being in the women’s bathroom.

He turns to you, kissing you briefly on the lips. “We’re not finished here.”

For the first time since you came here, you couldn’t wait for another night.

- - -

Taglist

@meeeeeees-stuff @lemon-lysol @smally97 @idkidkidk22333 @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @k1michii @maymustdie @honey-whiskey-666

(Apologies for anyone I couldn’t tag)

(More to come as I have a lot more requests)

[deansbeer]

JUST NEED YOU

minors do not interact.

꒰ beware! includes ╱ smut, fem!reader, gentle eepy sex, whimpering, unprotected sex (wrap ur shit), soft praising, mentions of exhaustion.

꒰ ‎@ kari is typing! this was collecting dust in my google docs, and i just had to share <3 i never posted it before because i was focused on other things! so yeah :)

you're half-asleep when the door creaks open. the soft shuffle of boots on hardwood reaches your ears, followed by the heavy thud of a duffel bag dropped just inside the doorway. the clock on your nightstand reads 2:38 a.m. and still, you manage to rouse at the sound of him. it's instinct by now — your body always knows when dean's home.

you don't get up. you don't need to. the bed dips moments later under his weight, and the familiar scent of leather, gunpowder, and a hint of old motel soap clings to him like a second skin. he's quiet, careful not to wake you all the way, but you can feel the tension rolling off him in thick, tired waves. the kind of weight that only comes from a long hunt — the kind that leaves bruises on his skin and deeper ones somewhere you can't always reach.

his rough palms find your bare thigh under the sheets, and he exhales shakily, forehead pressing against your shoulder. you hum, still hazy with sleep, but your hand moves to rest gently over his where it clutches your hip.

"baby…" he breathes, voice hoarse and frayed, like he hasn't spoken in hours. maybe he hasn't. "can i—fuck, i just… i need to feel you."

you blink sleepily, heart aching at the desperation in his voice. there's no heat behind the words, not the usual flirtation or cocky edge — just exhaustion. longing. like maybe the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely is the thought of being inside you, even if only for a moment.

"yeah," you whisper, barely audible. you reach back to brush your fingers through his hair, damp and messy from the rain or shower, you can't tell. "of course, my love."

he doesn't waste time. he slips out of his jeans, the rest of his clothes discarded in a lazy heap on the floor. his hands aren't steady — they tremble slightly as he pushes the covers down and climbs over you, slotting himself between your legs like he's done a hundred times before, only this time he's quiet. reverent. like he's scared you'll vanish if he blinks too long.

you're already wet for him — the kind of natural readiness that comes from loving him, wanting him, knowing him this deeply. he groans softly when he slides in, inch by aching inch, and buries his face into the crook of your neck.

"shit," he whispers, body shuddering as he bottoms out. "babydoll, sweetheart… you feel so good. always so good."

you wrap your arms around his shoulder blades, legs parting wider to cradle him closer, letting him have you however he needs. there's no rush, no frantic rhythm. just the slow, aching press of his hips and the broken little sounds he makes into your skin.

"missed this," he murmurs, barely coherent. "missed you. fuck, i don't deserve you."

you hush him gently, fingers carding through his hair as he moves inside you with slow, needy thrusts. his body is heavy over yours, warm and solid, the kind of weight you never mind bearing. you can feel him falling apart in your arms — each whimper, each whispered praise like a crack in his armor.

"you're perfect," he breathes, mouth brushing against your jaw. "always take me so good, like you were made for me."

"i was," you whisper back, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "you know i was."

he lets out a choked sound at that, hips stuttering as he presses deeper, slower. his hands are holding you like he's scared you'll slip through his fingers ��� one at your waist, the other cradling your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

"i love you," he says it like a confession, like he means it more now than ever. "i love you so much it fuckin' hurts."

you can feel him getting close, his body tensing, breath faltering. your own body responds in kind, warmth blooming low in your belly as he presses his forehead to yours.

"come for me, baby," you murmur, lips brushing his. "just let go. i've got you."

he falls apart with a soft, broken whimper, burying himself deep as he spills inside you. his whole body trembles with it, and he clings to you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

and maybe, in that moment, you are.

he doesn't pull out not right away. just stays there, breathing you in, holding you like he's afraid to let go.

you press a kiss to his temple, whispering soft things into his skin until his breathing slows, until the weight of the world finally slips off his shoulders and he lets himself rest.

you fall asleep like that, tangled together, his body still connected with yours, the chaos in his mind finally going quiet.

[bruciemilf]

“Old man, I need your blessing.”

All Might likes to think he improved his habit of surprised blood-choking over the years. He did not.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S HAPPENING!” He frantically googles ‘How to officiate a wedding’ on his phone, with clumsy, middle aged fingers. “EVERYBODY STAY CALM.”

“Deku and I—“ ! Bakugou’s sentence is (rudely) interrupted by more blood chucking.

“EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM!”

Aizawa needs five naps and a gun. Quickly.

Bakugou has no idea why the old man is yelling. “Anyway, I need your blessing to hold Deku’s hand.”

All Might pauses. Petrified. “His hand.”

“Yeah. We feel comfortable enough to move forward with this step. But I’m a grade a Fucking Gentleman, so I won’t do it without your approval.”

“…You’ve been together 5 years.”

“Yeah? We’re slow, not Mormons. “

After Bakugou successfully obtains his approval to hold Izuku’s hand, All Might turns to Aizawa painfully slow. “I’m going to die before he proposes, aren’t I?”

“God, I wish that were me.”

[67bottles-of-milk]

And they were roommates

You and Jason had a pretty good grocery agreement for your university dorm. 

~6k words

—

Going to university with the explicit goal of teaching maths to high schoolers may not have been the brightest idea but you were going to see it through. Mostly out of spite. Your mother had told you the moment you told her of your career goals she didn’t think you could last even three months. So yeah, you were going to get your maths degree if it killed you. With the way the course was going so far, it very well could. If Gotham didn’t do that first.

At least you didn’t have to worry that much about affording food. See, you had managed to find the only other kid in your dorm building who wasn’t from the Bristol area of Gotham. As such, you had both worked out a pretty good deal where you’d pool money for groceries. It was cheaper than shopping separately and buying two of everything and end up having half of it go mouldy before even reaching the end. So you pooled money and bought the larger versions of things to last you both the week. It was convenient and really saved the two of you money.

In the beginning of the agreement, you had a shared grocery list in a google doc the two of you shared (they had a paper one but some other guy was putting stuff on there without even offering to pay you back for it with his allowance from his, frankly, fucking loaded parents. Stingy bastard). When you ran out of something or needed it, you’d add it to the list. Whoever went shopping next would then delete the list as items were bought. Cash was given in passing and responsibility alternated every other week as long as no one had any exams they were busy studying for or large projects that demanded large amounts of time and attention. 

But a few months in, something changed. There wasn’t a reason for it, it just seemed to happen naturally. You were cooking dinner, making just a simple pasta bake you could shove in the oven while you folded the washing that had been sitting on your bed for the past three days. Without even realising, you had pulled out two bowls and only when the serving spoon was hovering over the second bowl, already dumping pasta in, did you realise what you had done. Why two bowls? Was it homesickness? Did you subconsciously make a second bowl for your mum too? Glancing over your shoulder, Jason was sitting with his headphones in, cross legged on the sofa and typing away at his laptop. Might as well. 

Jason was startled slightly from the depths of his music by the hand placing a full bowl on the coffee table in front of him, a fork sticking out of the top of it. Was it that late already? Oh. It was 7.30pm. The last time he looked at the clock, it was only 3pm, was he really focused for that long? Well damn. 

You sank into the sofa next to him, focusing entirely on your meal. You barely heard the muttered “thanks” from the man next to you as you both sat quietly, listening to your dorm mates going about their evenings. Charlotte was late for work but couldn’t find her uniform, Keith had a paper due by midnight, Ollie was trying their damndest to make toast but still couldn’t figure out the toaster. 

“Wait guys, why isn’t it working?” Their distress was clear as the sound of the lever frantically being pushed down over and over scratched through the kitchen. A glance over the back of the sofa showed that it wasn’t even plugged into the wall. Rich kids. You and Jason shared exasperated looks across the sofa before resuming to mind your own business.

From then on, it was a sort of routine. Whenever one of you cooked dinner, if the other was in the vicinity, you would make an extra portion for each other. It was a wordless agreement with no clear reason for beginning. But it was comfortable.

But then it evolved even further. One day, Jason hadn’t come out of his room since he got back from his 9am lecture and it was now nearing 8 in the evening. Honestly, he had barely left his room outside of lectures for at least two weeks now. He definitely wasn’t eating much, you barely needed anything from the weekly grocery run. Not nearly as much as usual.

Since you had more than enough for two portions, you knocked on his door to see if he wanted any food. A non committal grunt was all you got from the other side so, taking that as an invitation, you pushed the door open to find him curled up facing the wall. And then you noticed things. 

The lights were off, the curtains pulled shut, clothes covering the floor, the desk a mess of pens and books, his laptop was sitting on his desk chair, a couple empty water bottles and wrappers were scattered across the floor. Jason didn’t seem that much better, the only visible part of him being his head, the rest of his body completely wrapped up in his heavy duvet. It was incredibly clear that Jason wasn’t doing well at the minute. Depression? Burnout? Whatever he was going through at the minute, you wanted to help.

“I was gonna cook but you wanna order take out instead? We could get a chinese?” you offered, leaning against the door. 

“Usual order.” It was mumbled, hard to hear. But you caught it and pulled your phone out with a nod. 

“Yeah, I got you. Wanna shower while we wait for it?” You didn’t know what he was going through but you knew for certain that when you feel bad? A shower. Fixes like 80% of your problems or at least pushes you in the right direction of feeling better. He grunted and rolled over onto his back, letting you see his face properly for the first time in ages. Definitely not sleeping properly. A heavy sigh (or was that a choked sob?) was released before he pushed up, moving slowly and pausing momentarily stopping to accommodate being upright for the first time in what was likely hours. “Oh, before I forget, I need to wash my work uniform but I don’t have enough for a full load, can I put some of yours in with it?” Your uniform was clean and ironed but Jason didn’t need to know that. 

“Uh. Yeah. Just.. everything on the floor I guess.” He made gestures behind him as he rummaged through his drawers for clean clothes. You nodded and moved back to your room to grab a basket to pick up the clothes with. 

As soon as the shower turned on, you were as quick as you could be to pick up the clothes, leaving them in the hall for a moment. Then it was the stray bits of rubbish, putting them in the bin before changing the bin liner and putting the full bag of rubbish in the hall next to the washing. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and take the bins out when you went to the bottom floor for the washing machine. You didn’t really want to move much around his desk in case that’s just what it normally looks like and how he likes it but you at least put his dead laptop on charge and made his bed. All in all, you had tidied his room in record speed. 

When you came back up to Jason’s room from downstairs, hot chinese food replacing the bin bag and washing basket, he was sitting back on his bed with his phone in his hand. His attention focused entirely on you when you walked in. A beat. 

“You cleaned my room.” His voice was neutral, not devoid of emotion. It carried a tinge of surprised gratitude, almost disbelieving if you read further into it. “You didn’t have to, I would’ve eventually.” 

“Nah, it wasn’t a big deal, I was going downstairs for the washing anyway, might as well take your rubbish out for you since, as you may not have realised, you are the one who’s paid for dinner tonight.” A cheeky grin spread on your face as you plonked on the end of his bed, spreading the containers out between the two of you and passing along the cheap plastic forks that came with the food. 

“Fair enough.” 

Jason supposes that was when he fell for the first time. I mean, he thought you were pretty, sure but his relationship with you was superficial and mutually beneficial. Your grocery arrangement saved him money in the long run and cooking for each other from time to time was just a way of acknowledging the ways you guys helped each other out. Camaraderie of sorts. But then you went out of your way, making it seem so effortless in the way you knew every little thing he needed without a single word from him. 

He knew your uniform was clean, he saw you ironing it after coming back from his lecture one afternoon. And yet you tried to make sure he wouldn’t feel bad about you essentially doing his washing for him, disguising it as something more convenient for you rather than an askless favour for him, all so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. He certainly hadn’t expected you to clean up the rest of his room either. And leaving his desk alone? The best part of it all, honestly. Walking out and seeing the floor clear, he was so worried his desk would be tidied away too, his papers and files all thrown out of and yet not a single pen had been so much as nudged. His laptop was even on charge, something he continuously forgot to do every time he tried to use it. You were a blessing in disguise, he swears. 

It started a small tradition of sorts. If one of you was struggling, the other would come and do small things to help like spell checking homework, cleaning bedrooms. folding clothes, the sort. 

But then started the casual closeness.

You two no longer kept to yourselves, there were invitations to the library together, going for coffee after classes, grocery shopping together rather than separate. It wasn't a sudden change, just like everything else, it was something sparked from a single event that came to be a regular part of your routine.

As you made your way from your classroom, you collided with a solid mass. Oh, it’s Jason! He seemed to be coming from his class just like you. By now, you had a vague idea of his schedule and could guess that he had nothing until his lecture in two hours’ time. 

“Hey, Jay,” that was something that came with the quiet comfort too, friendly nicknames, “I was on my way to get some coffee, did you want to join me?” He pondered the offer for a moment, nodding and pivoting to follow alongside you.

“Yeah, I could go for a drink. Might get something to eat too, did you have breakfast?” You shook your head, you had barely woken up on the third round of your alarm, there was definitely no time for anything more substantial than the cup of water sat on your bedside table from last night. “I get the food, you get the drinks?” 

“Not if you’re ordering that abominable custom order you got last time.”

“Fine, I’ll get drinks, you get the food? That seem more fair?” Much more fair, what Jason ordered barely passed as coffee after the extra milk, hazelnut syrup and caramel drizzle he got. Even if he always got at least two extra shots of espresso, the drink barely tasted like coffee. 

“Definitely. Whatcha want? Something light or actual lunch?” Another moment of thought. 

“My brother wants me to take him out when he finishes school today so I’ll just get something light. He’s definitely going to want to go out for food. He’s going through a growth spurt and, as such, seems to be ravenous these days.” That was also a new development since the event with his room a few weeks ago; he’s started opening up more about his personal life. 

“Oh, how old is he?” 

“Thirteen and an absolute menace because of it. Not only is he eating our father out of house and home, his attitude has gotten even worse which is saying something. He literally tried to stab his older brother as soon as he moved in with us.” The way he said it so flippantly 

made you do a double take. 

“Dude, no offense, what the actual fuck. I mean, yeah, I’ve kind of figured out your family is a bit odd but he tried to STAB someone? Insane.” Jason just shrugged and held the cafe door open for you. 

“Eh, family.” 

Following the increase in closeness, you eventually transitioned into hanging out in each other’s rooms regularly. Accompanying each new development in your friendship with Jason, you’ve come to learn major things about him. 

With the cooking, it was that he had awful eating habits and would often go half a day without eating anything and not even notice, other times, though, he’ll clear out half your guys’ cupboard space in just two hours. With the Room Event, it was that he often had bouts of depression that made it hard for him to do much more than drag himself to class and doom scroll on his phone when he was at the dorms. With the regular hangouts, you learned about his family and the complicated relationship he had with them. He was on rough terms with his dad, his older brother was too invasive and pushy for Jason’s tastes, he absolutely adored his grandfather. With his younger brother, he was neutral since he was abroad when he was adopted into the family. He was closest with his youngest brother, Damian, since Jason was abroad to help Damian’s mother to raise him.

So what did you learn by hanging out with him in his room? He was clingy. And a cuddler. 

Any chance he got, the second the door was closed and you guys were situated with a movie playing on his laptop, he had you tucked under his arm. You were reading a book or scrolling your phone? He’s laying across your thighs. He’s got homework to do? His legs are crossed over yours, a blanket thrown over you both so your feet don’t get cold. It soon became commonplace for you to come back from work to find him curled up in your bed, sleeping in it better than you ever did. Although, you’d be lying if you didn’t start doing the same damn thing after the first few times he did it. 

With the casual insertion of each other into your lives, the boundary between friendship and something more was being pushed further and further. Private affection became public affection. Interlocking arms in bed became interlocked fingers in hallways. Shortened names became terms of endearment. Kisses at the end of messages became kisses on the cheek. That was your favourite.

Ending every conversation with ‘xx’ was something you had done your entire life but with Jason, it felt like it carried more weight to it. When he kissed you on the cheek for the first time, he seemed to freeze immediately afterward, almost as though it was an reflex he hadn’t even realised he had. The same way as when you made that first meal for him. Something you both hadn’t even realised you were doing until it was done. Something that was so natural to the two of you, instinctual even. You didn’t acknowledge it past returning the favour with a kiss to his forehead, pushing back the white strands and standing on your toes to reach properly. Although he caught on and leant down enough for you to meet halfway. 

It was a wordless transition; you two began dating. Sure, you didn’t have a concrete date for it since it wasn’t something put into words but Jason saved the date of the first kisses shared in his phone, even if they weren’t what Dick would call ‘proper kisses’. Not that he was in much of a position to comment on other people’s relationships.

Coffee runs and lunch outings became dates rather than hangouts, you stopped turning over in bed when the other was changing, hands wandered beneath clothes when cuddling, and, arguably the best part was the kisses. 

By the gods was Jason a good kisser. He was sweet with it, always holding the back of your neck and/or waist, migrating from your lips to your cheeks, to your jaw, just absolutely peppering every part of your face with heart warming affection. He’d pout if you didn’t kiss him when greeting him, and would always insist on hugging you as tight as possible when one of you was leaving. Even with his sweetness, he was not above slapping your ass whenever you got up from bed. Fine by you since, at every opportunity, you were grabbing his pecs and biceps, giving them a good squeeze. 

To say Jason was in absolute bliss would be an understatement. He had literally the girl of his dreams. Not only was she drop dead gorgeous, kind beyond belief, she also let him exist without any worry. He never had to second guess his words, never worry about being too clingy, and he certainly never had to worry about being too broken since she held every piece of him with so much care in her hands. 

At the end of your year at university, you had to reevaluate your accommodation. You could either apply to stay another year or just look for an apartment close by. Staying in the dorms would be fine except, the university preferred first years so it was only a slim chance you’d even manage to get a room. Although you didn’t have to think over it for very long. 

“Hey, which one do you prefer? I like the kitchen for this one more but this one’s got a nicer bathroom and a balcony. I’ve been through pretty much every single other apartment building in the area and chose these two so now the final choice is yours.” Jason was an absolute angel at times. 

“Oh my god, I love you, have I told you that yet? I reckon the balcony one. The kitchen isn’t that different, the other one just has an island. However… balcony.” Your verbal thought process went entirely ignored by Jason who sat utterly shell shocked. 

“No,” He said, decisiveness embedded in his tone.

“No? Alright, I guess if you’re that set on the kitchen island.” You shrugged, missing the point of his word entirely.

“No, uh, I mean you haven’t, uh, you haven’t said that before.” Now he was feeling a bit awkward, leaning back on the bed. “I love you too, though. Just… so you know.” 

“Well that’s good. I love you more though,” you replied, giving him a cheeky grin. A pillow was swung at your face, knocking you back from the force. 

“Absolutely not, I definitely love you more.” 

“Alright, whatever you say, pretty boy. Not true but I’ll let it slide since I want the balcony.” If Jason’s face went bright pink at the nickname, that was between him and the wall. 

Moving in together and adjusting to your new schedules together felt as natural as breathing. It was like nothing changed except now, you always shared a bed and cooked meals for each other. Any issues revolving around chores and other small grievances you had for each other’s habits were rational and calm discussions. 

The most heated argument you had ever had was a complete turning point in your relationship. You had caught on to Jason sneaking out at night and disappearing for hours at a time. Whenever you asked about it, he would always refuse to tell you where he was going, insisting it wasn’t any of your business and you should just stay out of it.

“I swear to the gods, are you fucking cheating on me? Is that it? You’re sneaking around with some other girl, leaving me alone all night, just using me as a live-in maid?” You were in tears by this point, your cheeks soaked and hot with fury, hands trembling even as you swung them around while making wild hand gestures to emphasise to Jason just how furious and hurt you were with him.

“What?” Jason, up to that point, was getting just as agitated, trying to stay calm even as green creeped at the edge of his vision (that was something he never wanted to happen with you). He just wanted to keep you safe out of it, you, oh so sweet and gentle, had no business dealing with the rough harsh world he slipped into in the dark of late nights spent in alleys and on roofs. But what you were saying? It broke something in him. It was a slap to the face. His face went slack with hurt. Even with how heartbroken he looked at your accusation, your disposition never faltered. Frustration pooled in your eyes, settling between the tears clouding your vision. 

“Baby. No, never in a million years, you are my love, my life. I would never do that to you.” He held your face so sweet, the words he spoke settling into stone as nothing but the truth. You believed him but you were still so hurt. You crumbled into his arms and just let it all go. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you sweetheart.” 

Calming down from the rush of the argument, Jason sat with you and spilled everything. It was hard and even more emotional than the fight you just had but it was comforting now. You held each other and cried and shared pain that weighed unbearably heavy. By the morning, you were both exhausted from the talking and the emotion and the crying. Grateful it was the weekend, Jason took you to bed to lie in bed, curtains pulled to show the rain pittering against the glass, a comforting rumble of distant thunder lulling the two of you into a quiet comfort. You traced shapes on his arm as he did the same to your thigh. 

Things changed from there but only for the better. 

As it turned out, Jason’s family had no idea he was even attending university. The contact they had with him was always on his terms. If he wanted to see them, he went to them. They didn’t even know where he lived. And they wouldn’t until he told them. It wasn’t even like they could track him since only your name was on the lease. It was something he had asked of you, knowing that just because they hadn't found anything about his address yet, it didn’t mean they weren’t still looking. The only exceptions were Alfred and Damian. Alfred was told because Alfred gets told everything, he can keep a secret. Damian was told because Jason understood needing space from the Bat family sometimes and he wanted to provide Damian a safe place where he could go for that space. 

Damian and Jason were arguably the closest of the siblings. Jason had practically raised Damian afterall. Damian held a fondness for Jason because of this. He was a role model and someone he seeked the approval of in addition to his father and mother. More than that, however, Jason was someone he felt he could be the child he is around and not be judged for it. Afterall, he was in no place to judge when his favourite snack at 22 years old was animal crackers. At the end of the day, Damian had a key to Jason’s apartment and was allowed to swing by whenever he pleased. The only rules were to stay out of the bedroom and knock before entering the place. Damian was unsure why these rules were in place but he would respect them nonetheless. 

And that was how you met Damian for the first time. 

You were out of the lecture late, the lecturer running overtime a bit and your phone dying on the walk home. Unfortunate since you had barely managed to see that you had a text from Jay before the screen shut off. You brushed it off as him likely saying he would be home late. You’d find out when you got home anyway so it wasn’t a big deal. 

However, you were a bit shocked to come home to find a young teenager standing on a chair in your kitchen and raiding through your cupboards. 

“Uhm. Can I help you?” you asked, a bit skeptical. He was unlikely to be a threat to your safety, given the fuzzy socks and Jason’s stolen Wonder Woman hoodie. 

“I should be asking you that. What business do you have in this apartment? Are you a nosy neighbour? You should leave at once.” He was demanding and accusatory. 

“I will not, thank you very much. Not for as long as I’m paying rent since, y’know, this is my home.” You crossed your arms, taking an equally defiant stance. You weren’t sure if it was your tone or your words that surprised him more. 

“You live here? With Todd?” You nodded. 

“Uh, yeah, I have done for like what? Four months?”

“That is surprising. Todd has not mentioned a roommate. I was not even aware this was a two bedroom apartment.” 

“That’s probably because it’s not. We share a bed since, y’know, dating and all.” His eyebrows shot up as he stepped off the chair finally. 

“Todd has not mentioned a domestic partner. How long has this been a thing?” He was no longer accusatory and now genuinely curious. 

“You wanna sit with tea or something and hear the whole story?” you offered, gesturing towards the sofa in the living room. The teen responded with a solemn nod, unnecessarily serious for the conversation at hand. 

It wasn’t until after you finished recounting your entire relationship with Jason up to the present moment that you introduced yourselves. 

“Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.” He stuck his hand out, an offer you took gladly. 

“Oh! Jay’s talked about you a lot, this entire situation is making a lot more sense now. It’s good to finally meet you though. He mentioned like a week ago that you had some big test week? Is that over? How did it go?” The two of you spent the next two hours engaged in conversation, just overall getting to know each other, sharing stories of Jason and enjoying tea and snacks. You were enjoying your conversation so much you had completely neglected to charge your phone.

Jason wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got home. Especially since you hadn’t responded to a single one of the fifty some texts he had left you from the time your lecture finished until ten minutes ago when he finished his own. You had never met Damian and Damian didn’t even know you existed, as far as he was aware so he could only hope that either you weren’t home and were out with friends or Damian had left before you arrived. Though he definitely didn’t anticipate finding the two of you so engrossed in conversation that neither of you acknowledged him past quick greetings. 

“Welcome home, Jaylove.” 

“Greetings Todd.” 

And then you were both straight back to looking at pictures of Titus on Damian’s phone. Sighing a breath of relief that his favourite people were getting along fine, he headed to the bedroom to change into pyjamas so he could crash on the sofa and sprawl over you. Within five minutes, he was lying, head on your thighs, face buried in your stomach, an arm tucked behind your back. 

“You were not exaggerating when you said that he was rather clingy in his physical affections with you.” Damian’s tone, despite the nature of the words being judgmental, was light and teasing. 

“Shut up, Brat, you are exactly the same. You get it from me.” Jason was entirely muffled by your stomach. 

“We are not even related by blood, how is it possibly a trait inherited from you.” He wasn’t even denying the allegations which sparked an idea in your mind. 

“I raised you for like five years, dipshit, you’re gonna pick up something from me and since all your killing intent comes straight from your mother, my gift unto thee is the craving for physical touch.” As the two bickered back and forth, you moved quick and calculating as you wrapped your arm around Damian’s shoulder, trapping him in a one sided hug that left him leaning against your side. Both you and Jason had expected him to pull away, hissing like a cat or something. Against both of your expectations, he curled into your side instantly, not even missing a beat. 

And thus, Damian was your second best cuddle buddy. Even when Jason wasn’t home and wouldn’t be for a few days, Damian would find time to stop by or even stay the night on weekends just to spend time and fulfill his need for physical affection that he seemed unable to get at the manor due to his ‘image that must be upheld as the blood son’. Sure, Dick would give hugs, but those weren’t cuddles and he was not about to have to swallow his pride to ask for them when he could simply come to you and get them without any need for more than a “hello” uttered. 

Both you and Jason were incredibly endeared to see Damian acting in such a way. Come your first year anniversary, Damian was just as enthusiastic as Jason, if not more, about having you in their lives. Although something he would not admit to a single living soul besides Titus, you had quickly become almost his favourite person, never quite able to top Jason simply because of how deep their bond ran. 

With the passing of the second year came Jason’s realisation he wanted you in his life for as long as you would have him. He wasn’t going to propose, not until the two of you had finished university at the end of next year, but he was sure he wanted to introduce you to more of his family. However, he wasn’t going to just tell them he had found who was quite possibly the love of his life, his soulmate. No, they would have to prove their titles as the world’s greatest detectives. As such, he had conspired with Damian and plotted for the two of them, in addition to Alfred, to make comments in the presence of Bruce, Dick, and Tim to how long it took them to figure out about you. 

“Todd, when can I come over next? I wish to see the beloved.” Okay a bit odd, Bruce thought, but perhaps Jason has taken in a stray that Damian is fond of?

“Master Jason, I have prepared another batch of the requested brownies. Please be sure to share.” Dick thought Jason lived alone, who would he share with? Unless he meant Damian whenever he visits. 

Tim didn’t get a comment, he was given ample chance to get a look at Jason’s phone lock screen, a photo of a woman’s hands making a finger heart. Separately, the comments weren’t enough to tip them off that there was someone in Jason’s life but when Damian got in trouble at school and Alfred couldn’t pick him up, they were expecting Jason to be the one to pick him up. Tim did not expect to look out his class window to see Damian walking side by side with some random woman he had never seen. The teen looked entirely at ease talking with her, indicating a familiarity that was stronger than whatever connection Damian had with the rest of his family. 

Then came the digging. Tim confronted Dick and Bruce in the cave one evening, asking if they’d heard or seen anything odd. 

“Am I really losing that much sleep or has Jason got a girlfriend?” It had been bugging him all day. “I think he does and Damian knows. I mean I hope so otherwise some random woman picked him up from school today.” Dick and Bruce looked over, surprised at the question with it written all over their faces. 

“I mean, Damian did say something weird at the table the other morning. He was asking Jason to see ‘the beloved’. I assumed it was an unnamed stray Jason was keeping an eye on for him. Though now that you say that, I suppose that could be the case.” Bruce was thoughtful with his answer.

“Alfred told him to share the brownies he made for him the other day so if he did have a girlfriend, I guess she lives with him? Or at least goes over to Jason’s often enough.” Slowly the three of them were connecting dots in behaviours and comments made by the other three members of the household. 

They were now left with two options; investigate and snoop around Jason’s life without him knowing, or confront him and ask him directly. Out of fear of pushing him further away, Dick was the one to take on for the team and was going to ask Jason directly. 

The opportunity to ask presented itself the next day when the two found themselves alone in the kitchen. Jason was leaning on the island, attention drawn to his phone. Dick had walked in, ready to just ask. 

“So…” He was trying to be casual. He was not casual. “Got any news you want to share with the family?” Jason looked at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Wanna be more specific?” Dick deflated with a sigh, leaning fully on the opposite side of the island. 

“God why do I have to be the one to ask? I’m just gonna be blunt, do you have a girlfriend?” 

“Yeah. Two year anniversary was like a month and a half ago. Why?” Jason was calm. Dick was not. 

“WAIT WHAT!? You’re telling me you’ve had a girlfriend for two years and not told anyone at all? That’s cruel, man.” 

“Actually that’s a lie. I told Alfred like as soon as it happened and then Damian found out when he met her.” Jason shrugged, pocketing his phone and stretching. “Not my fault you guys literally never asked.” 

“Well how am I supposed to know to ask when you do literally nothing all day. How did you two even meet?” Dick was indignant now. Jason had literally never even hinted at being romantically involved with anyone nor had he ever shown an interest in relationships. 

“Not telling. I like my privacy, Dickie-bird, you get to know she exists. That’s it. Maybe I’ll think about letting you all meet her if you’re nice about it.” Jason then left Dick standing, utterly stunned. 

At least he had an answer for Tim and Bruce.

—

I haven't written anything to post since like 2021. This is also the first DC fic I've ever written and it was done in a six hour stint. Please be nice to me guys </3

[gottencents]

Kiwi - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist

pairing. katseye!oc x jennie

synopsis. Jennie impulsively adopts a kitten, Kiwi, for herself and Tatum, only for them to realize they have absolutely no idea how to raise a cat—leading to a chaotic but adorable journey into pet parenthood.

Jennie had always loved animals. Dogs, cats—anything with paws, really. But she had never actually raised a cat before. So when she impulsively decided to adopt Kiwi after the Buzzfeed kitten interview, she figured, How hard could it be?

That was before she and Tatum found themselves standing in her living room, watching Kiwi explore his new home like he owned the place.

Tatum tilted their head. “So… what now?”

Jennie frowned. “I don’t know. What do cats do?”

Kiwi let out a tiny, unimpressed meow from where he sat on the coffee table, his green eyes blinking at them like they were the strange ones.

Tatum gasped. “Oh my god. We’re parents now.”

Jennie smacked their arm. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You literally called us his ‘moms’ five minutes ago.”

“That’s different!” Jennie crossed her arms, watching as Kiwi stretched his tiny paws. “I meant like… in a cute way. Not in a responsible way.”

Tatum chuckled, but then quickly sobered. “Okay, but for real, do we just… let him roam? Should we be watching him? What if he tries to eat something weird? What if he’s secretly a little criminal?”

Kiwi, as if sensing their concerns, hopped off the coffee table and casually knocked over a magazine on his way to the couch.

Jennie and Tatum gasped in unison.

“He’s so powerful,” Tatum whispered.

Jennie shook her head. “Okay, no, we need a plan. First—food. I bought some, but I don’t know if he likes wet or dry food yet.”

“Easy fix,” Tatum said, already heading to the kitchen. “We do a taste test.”

Jennie followed, watching as Tatum placed two bowls on the floor—one with dry food, the other with wet. Kiwi trotted over, sniffed both, and immediately went for the wet food.

Jennie nodded. “Noted. He’s a fancy boy.”

Tatum smirked. “Like mother, like son.”

Jennie ignored that. “Okay, next—litter box. I set it up in the bathroom. Do we have to, like… teach him how to use it?”

Tatum made a face. “Oh god. Do cats need potty training?”

They both stared at each other before pulling out their phones.

A minute of frantic Googling later—

“Oh,” Tatum said. “Turns out they just know.”

Jennie exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

With the basics settled, they sat on the couch, watching as Kiwi explored. He batted at the rug, tested the sturdiness of the coffee table by jumping directly onto it, and then—without hesitation—leapt onto Jennie’s expensive decorative vase.

The vase wobbled.

Jennie’s eyes widened. “Kiwi, no!”

The vase crashed to the floor.

Jennie gasped. “KIWI!”

Kiwi, completely unbothered, looked down at the shattered remains, flicked his tail, and walked away like he had zero regrets.

Tatum, on the other hand, was dying of laughter. “I love him so much already.”

Jennie pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to cat-proof this place.”

“Or,” Tatum said, lounging dramatically on the couch, “we just accept that we now live under Kiwi’s rule.”

Kiwi, as if on cue, jumped onto the couch and immediately made himself comfortable right on Tatum’s stomach.

Jennie’s heart melted at the sight. “Okay… maybe this won’t be that bad.”

Tatum grinned, scratching behind Kiwi’s ears. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

Jennie sighed, reaching out to stroke Kiwi’s fur. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured.

Kiwi purred in response, his little body vibrating as he settled between them.

And just like that, their chaotic first night as cat parents officially began.

taglist [OPEN] : @multiliker @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @somedaydream @yjiminswallet @inejghafawifesblog @jaythegirlkisser @xochitlisbest @1800hotnfunn @awkwardtoafault

[hellsbedroom]

call out my name

pairing: winter soldier!bucky x f!reader

word count: 4k

summary: as an assassin for hire, you often worked alongside the Winter Soldier. immediately after the events of CA:TWS, that soldier shows up at your doorstep needing help. and he thanks you in a very particular way

warnings: 18+, nsfw, brief mentions of violence, mild alcohol consumption, heavy petting, hair pulling (m receiving), p in v, porn with actually a lot of plot, angsty ending because i couldn't help myself, google-translated romanian

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The frantic knocking at your front door shouldn’t be happening. Even though Hydra’s secrets had been blown open a couple days ago, your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Mercenaries’ names never are. So how could anyone find you?

You slow your breathing to counter the adrenaline as the knocking rattles the hinges again. Clutching your gun tighter, you throw the door open and aim into the night.

The barrel lands against a man’s chest and takes you both by surprise. You pull the gun away when a familiar pair of blue eyes blinks back at you from underneath a ballcap. His face isn’t one you ever expected to see again, especially after the carnage in DC.

“Soldier?” You’d never known him by any real name.

“Can I come in?”

“Am I gonna get killed for it?”

He glances behind him and tugs his backpack tighter. “Not if I’ve done my job.”

That’s enough of an answer. You wave him in with the gun still cocked in case it’s a trap. But after you lock the door, you turn to find him staring at you and all at once the gun is no longer necessary.

His eyes are different. You’d seen them empty, you’d seen them focused, you’d seen them angry, you’d even seen them lust-blown as he thrusted into you in some alleyway after a mission. But you’d never seen them scared.

And he is terrified.

“I need your help. I have to get away.” Vigilance strings his shoulders taut and you wonder how many sleepless nights had led up to this.

“Okay, my cover’s not blown and I’ve still got my contacts. Is the west coast far enough? Canada?”

“No. Farther.”

“London’s pretty big.”

He grips your forearms in a flash, gruffly pleading an inch from your face. “Somewhere they can’t find me.”

The intensity freezes you for a few moments before you nod. Wordlessly you cross the room and rummage through papers strewn across your desk. Identities, informants, any connections you still have. Anybody they can’t get to.

“Does Romania work?” You proudly hold up some papers with illegible scrawls. “I can get you out at dawn.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

His sigh of relief leaves you comfortable enough to grab a couple beers from the fridge. Might as well drink when it’s clear that he’ll stay the night. But when you try to hand him one, he’s staring off into space and doesn’t seem to notice. You aren’t the best at comforting people, especially not Hydra’s former war dog, but you clasp a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.”

He snaps back into the moment, nodding in thanks as he takes the beer and opens it with a simple flick of a metal finger. He rubs the other hand down his face, dragging away the last of whatever thoughts had distracted him.

“Yeah.” He still stands resolute in the center of the room, even as you sling yourself into a chair. “Sorry for grabbing you. I just—”

“It’s alright, Soldier. I’ve been roughhoused before.”

“It’s actually Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name is Bucky. I didn’t know that for a long time. Hydra’s doing.” He sinks onto your couch, still weighed down by the revelation.

You immediately sit up straighter, the gears in your head trying to make sense of it. The whole story comes out with just a bit of prodding. World War Two, his capture, his fall, Hydra’s brainwashing, all of it. You sit in stunned silence through it, nodding in support every now and then. He finishes after the second round of beers and checks the magazine of his gun from force of habit. You do the same, then venture with a question itching to be answered.

“Do you remember anything you did?”

“Some of it. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t...I didn’t want to stop it.” A guilty silence follows and you hear the distinctive whirring of his metal arm as he clenches his fist.

You laugh to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s better than me. I chose to do this shit and got paid for it.”

Bucky nods solemnly, staring down his empty bottle. Then he flicks his gaze back up to you. “I also remember you.”

“On a mission? Marrakesh was pretty memorable.”

“Yeah. But I remember us doing some other stuff, too.” A smile ghosts his lips for the first time that night.

Memories of him sucking angry marks into your neck as you writhe on his cock come flooding back, making you cross your legs. You clear your throat and try to seem nonchalant.

“I hope that’s not something the brainwashing made you do,” you joke.

Bucky’s eyes are sharp as knives as they cut across the room. “It wasn’t. And I didn’t want to stop that either.”

“Oh. Good.”

The next silence thunders with anticipation but you don’t push your luck. Instead you focus on clearing away stray dishes and papers, flitting back and forth and trying to remember how to play hostess. You cross in front of Bucky and easily lift the bottle out of his hand. But before you can step out of reach again, he takes your arm.

This time his grip is gentle, nothing like the way he’d ever touched you before. You swallow thickly and dare to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Soldier?”

The gentleness is abandoned as his mouth crashes into yours. You knock off his ballcap in a rush to card your hands through his hair, desperate to have him closer. It’s all practiced and familiar, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

His scruff burns against your jaw and then he’s kissing in its wake, lips and teeth devouring down your neck as his hands dive under your clothes to brush at your waist and hips. The skin-to-skin contact lights you on fire and you help him lift off your shirt in a flurry that’s followed by his own jacket and shirt. The fleeting moment spent apart is enough for you to catch your breath and shiver at the desire swirling in his eyes.

You collide into his chest again, wasting no time in dragging him backward with you toward somewhere, anywhere sturdy enough for support. It’s like you’re back in Mumbai or São Paulo or Kosovo, desperate to find a pleasurable release at the closest available location where he could grind his hips into you. This time it happens to be your kitchen island, a throne of granite onto which Bucky lifts you and your legs easily split, letting him settle between them and pull you so that his bulge presses just so against your core.

You're grabbing his shoulders — clutching flesh and metal — and that familiar coolness of his titanium arm curving around your back brings heat pooling between your legs. He captures your lips in an eager, fluid motion, tongue darting out to graze yours. Expert at killing, expert at kissing. The tendrils of his long hair tickle your forehead just like you remember.

With the usual haste and fervor, you grind against his solid hips in search of friction and he obliges by slipping his hand down to rub through your pants.

Soldier...you nearly moan, but stop short. You don’t have to settle for this kind of quickie. He isn’t just Soldier anymore, and you aren’t under the pressure of a mission.

“Bucky,” you murmur against his lips, grounding him to something besides what you both once were. “Bucky, wait…”

He slows down, his grip moving to your thighs, two heavy palms weighing down on you. Then he looks up slowly — his gaze could crack you in half. There’s a vulnerable tenderness in his eyes, clouded over by the bewilderment of what being Bucky once was.

“Bedroom,” you order gently.

“What?”

“Let’s do this in the bedroom.”

He has a lot of unlearning to do after so many years of Hydra control, so maybe you can help him with this one thing. You aren’t sure why you want this extra layer of intimacy, but it feels right.

Your insistence makes him wary. His eyes dart around, calculating whether or not this, too, is an attempt to capture him. Anyone could be in on it.

“It’s not a trap, I promise,” you coax, holding your hands up. “It’ll be better like this. I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t move as you slide off the island, brushing against him and letting the moment linger. You leave your eyes locked on his as you turn and take a few inviting steps down the hall, not abandoning the gaze until his doubts subside and he follows you.

The sparse bedroom is suddenly alive with electricity as you kiss him again to pick up right where you left off. Your grip dives into his hair, pulling in the way you remember makes even the stoic soldier moan. The liplock is blinding and his hands mold to your waist and hips and everywhere, keeping you close as the last of the clothes are haphazardly tossed away. Once you’re bare it’s a short stumble onto the bed and he falls on top of you with his metal arm braced in the unmade sheets.

Somehow Bucky looming over you, sinking down with every delectable muscle, is more breathtaking than the Winter Soldier fucking you senseless against a brick wall that digs into your back.

You don’t get a chance to catch that breath before his hand snakes down to toy with your clit, expertly coating it with your slick with a particular brush of his finger that he knows works so well. The gasp wracks your chest — you’d been ready for this since he admitted remembering every salacious encounter — and you almost give in then and there.

But where’s the fun in that?

Your thighs are locked around his hips and you swiftly flip on top, sitting up to settle on his lap. You’re naked, with no chance of hiding weapons, so he quickly relaxes and focuses on how new this is. Studying your form, from draped legs to raised brow. His hand lifts and you catch it in sync, bringing it up to your breast where he rolls your nipple instantly, carefully watching the arch of your back in response. Bucky is nothing if not a quick learner.

He’s hard, aching underneath you, and the tug in your core calls for the same thing. He helps lift your hips and you brace on his chest and then you’re slowly sinking down on his length to draw out the sensation.

It’s a pretty thing to watch his lips curl as he hisses out your name — your real name, not just one of your aliases — and your own sigh flies out when you reach the hilt. You take a few moments to adjust and then start rocking to an inaudible beat. Or maybe that’s your heart thrumming with pride.

It’s different this time. Everything is still eager and strong and deliciously satisfying but this isn’t just a convenient tryst. That has its time and place, like a muggy Havana afternoon after a vicious shootout. This time there’s something in the way Bucky rubs along your thighs while you lean in close, the rhythm of the thrusts keeping you just out of reach of his lips and yet leaving you anchored to those blue eyes.

He cradles the nape of your neck, watching your face morph in pleasure while the tension builds. You can’t help kissing him then and there and everything winds tighter and tighter until the climax takes you, your open mouth grazing against his as bliss washes all over. His name is a whispered prayer from your lips.

Your stuttering hips drag him into the throes a moment later and his gasp rushes past your cheek. A moan rumbles through his chest and you collapse on it, daring to smile as you breathe him in.

God that was good. The two of you still have it.

You unceremoniously roll off and into the sheets before another thought strikes. You’d never had to deal with Bucky in the moments after a good fuck. You always went your separate ways down dimly-lit alleys or out of a jungle. But here he is, stretched out beside you, with no prerogative to leave until morning.

Apparently the same thing was on his mind because he suddenly sits up and tugs a weary hand through his hair. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No.” You catch his wrist before you know what’s happening. “It’s alright, stay. You need a good night’s sleep. Getting to Romania is gonna be a hell of a ride.”

His eyes sweep over you but there’s no wariness this time. Instead he blinks slowly, giving a half-smile as he settles back down and pulls the covers up. It’s quiet for a few moments, comfortably so, and his arm brushes yours without pulling away.

“You should come with me,” he finally says, voice raspy with sleep and sex. “You need to get out, too.”

It isn’t the first time that thought has crossed your mind but it suddenly feels much more serious. A real chance to escape. Your fingers trace the sheets and mattress below, a place to lay your head that you had never really called home. Of course you have a bag packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, every good mercenary does — but are you ready to be on the run? To live your life at the whim of whoever finds you in every city?

Bucky has already dozed off beside you, his gentle breathing interrupted by furrowed brows and an occasional shake of his head. He has no choice but to run, though you doubt he’ll outrun the nightmares anytime soon.

Sleep does its job of lulling you, too, and you decide to make your choice in the morning.

***

Two Years Later Bucharest, Romania

The rusted faucet gives a weak stream of water but you still rinse off the dishes, watching stray peelings and seeds whirl down the drain. Big bowls of fruit are your staple breakfast now that you have the time to enjoy them.

The apartment is silent except for the gentle ceramic clinks, with Bucky having stepped out to the market next door to pick up more plums — the favorite household snack.

As ex-assassins, calling your arrangement “dating” feels childish. You and Bucky sleep in the same bed, fuck regularly, cook each other meals, watch each other’s backs, and take turns cleaning the arsenal of weapons. So whatever the term for that relationship is, that’s what you have. You need each other.

With the dishes clear and reading to catch up on, you step into the bathroom in the back of the apartment to grab a clip for your hair. Can’t have the locks in your way when novels await.

You hear the front door open and a smile tugs at your lips. “Ce mai faci?” you call. (How are you?)

The Romanian greeting is part of yours and Bucky’s precautions — a code for when one of you reenters the apartment, just in case. You expect to hear the coded answer: Voi fi mai bine mâine (I will be better tomorrow).

But there’s no reply. Only muted footsteps toward your kitchen.

Your heart slams into overdrive. There’s a handgun hidden under the bathroom sink and it’s cold in your grip as you level it at the door, cautiously stepping into the small hallway. No one is immediately visible but your senses don’t fail you. Someone’s there.

“Reieşi!” you spit. “Come out!”

Still no answer but a careful shuffling of feet just out of sight. You hunker at the wall for only a moment and then fling yourself around the corner, barrel first.

Standing by your refrigerator with arms warily raised is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. You recognize him from both the news and Bucky’s attempts to piece his life together. He cocks his head in surprise — whatever intel had let him here, it hadn’t mentioned you.

But he keeps his voice steady as he breaks the silence. “Where’s Bucky?”

You don’t answer. It’s pointless to lie, since he somehow found the apartment, but you know better than to tell the truth. You can’t claim ignorance anyway — the unwavering handgun in your grasp says otherwise.

You stare back in silence and take a couple calculated steps forward while trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Despite the proximity Steve lowers his arms, correctly guessing that if you haven’t shot yet, you won’t do so without warning. Killing Captain America isn’t exactly the best way to keep people out of your life anyway.

“I just need Bucky. People are coming for him.”

That raises goosebumps along your arms. It makes sense, Steve only finding him when someone worse is on the way. You’re about to demand more answers when footsteps reach the outside of your apartment and pause, no doubt noticing the door slightly ajar.

“Ce mai faci?” It’s Bucky’s strained voice trying the code. Then he more urgently adds, “Esti in siguranta?” (Are you safe?)

“Da,” you call quietly, keeping your eyes trained on Steve. “I’m alright, Bucky. We have a visitor.”

Bucky carefully treads in, his eyes darting between you and Steve and the gun in your hand. The air stings with confusion. But eventually he crosses to you and closes his hand over the barrel to make you lower the gun, and not even your incredulous gaze changes his mind. He simply nods and runs his hand down your back. Trust me.

He pushes a newspaper into your lowered hands and you look down at the words plastered across the top: ‘Winter Soldier Bombs UN Headquarters’. The newspaper crinkles in your tightening grip. Underneath the headline sits a photo of Bucky’s face, clear as day, when it isn’t possible for him to have been there. You’d come out of hiding to vouch for it yourself.

But that wouldn’t matter, you know better. The little world that you and Bucky carved out is caving in fast.

“Do you know me?” It’s the intruder, his gaze no longer fixed on you or your weapon but on his long-lost friend.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

A pause. Steve clenches his jaw. “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

He pauses again as the comms unit crackles in his ear, probably warning of the distant commotion now rumbling up the building from many floors down. You sneak a glance at Bucky and the grim set of his mouth.

“I’ve got him here,” Steve says into his radio. “He’s with someone. Unclear whether she’s a hostile.”

He clips that last part at you, demanding your intentions as you still bristle at him. But you don’t get a chance to threaten him again before Bucky steps in front of you.

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore. Neither does she.”

“Well the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive,” Steve adds, the gravity in his voice sinking deep into your chest.

“That’s smart, good strategy.”

Bucky’s right. Special forces are always taught to eliminate a threat, not wait for heroic negotiating. That doesn’t happen in the real world when real consequences are at stake. A rattling shakes the staircase outside your apartment door, the telltale sign of heavy men and heavy guns on their way. You quickly realize that whether or not Steve is on your side, he’s a better option than what’s waiting out there.

Steve softens. “It doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

Bucky takes off the glove concealing his titanium hand, flexing the joints and heaving a sigh. He looks at you and tips another nod. Get ready. You grab another magazine of bullets for your gun.

“It always ends in a fight,” Bucky murmurs.

“That’s why we ran, you know. To try and stay away from the fight.” You cock the gun, staring Steve down. Blaming him for this situation is wrong but damn it feels right. “But when it comes to our door we have no choice.”

Steve gets agitated, glancing between you and Bucky and trying to piece it all together. “Bucky, you pulled me from the river. Why?”

Bucky stays still. “I don’t know.”

The thundering footsteps get closer, louder and louder like in every nightmare you’d had about being found. You walk to the windows, looking for any trace of the enemies no doubt rappelling down the building at that instant. There are more weapons hidden on that side of the room anyway, and you gather what you can.

“I hate to break this up,” you quip at the men behind you, “but we can’t keep standing here playing high school reunion.”

“She’s right, Buck. We have to go.”

“She’s coming with us.”

You spare Bucky a grin over your shoulder. Of course you’re going with them, but it’s good to hear him say it.

Steve steps closer, faint warnings still being yelled into his comms unit. “They aren’t looking for her. She’ll be safer away from us for now.”

That makes your breath catch. Arguing with Steve will make the oncoming fight that much more difficult. You turn, a sneer already waiting on your lips, but Bucky once again interjects. He catches your shoulders and his gaze sinks deep into yours.

“Steve’s right.”

“What?”

“They’re after me for the stuff in Vienna. You need to get out.”

“Bucky, I’m not —”

Crash! Grenades come flying through the windows, shattering the tension with shards of glass. You knock one right back out and Bucky kicks the other to Steve, who covers the blast with his shield. Bucky is two seconds ahead of you and lifts the mattress to cover you both from a third grenade tossed in. The explosion is hot against your back and your muscles tremble. With his free hand Bucky throws the steel table at the door, blocking it and buying a few minutes before the tac team can bust through.

Rappelers burst through the windows and Steve kicks one down, his gunfire raining into the ceiling instead of your flesh. You return fire to another, clipping his knee and shoulder, while Bucky yanks the third and knocks him against the wall. Two more come swinging in — your adrenaline kicks up another notch — and a scream grates your throat as you land a few good punches on the closest one. You hadn’t fought for your life like this in a long time, but it’s a skill that comes back quick as lightning.

Bucky dashes over to Steve, forcing the other rappeler out of his grip and onto the balcony with a swift knee to the chest.

“Buck, stop!” Steve calls. “You’re gonna kill someone.”

“I’m not gonna kill anyone,” Bucky grunts. Floorboards splinter under the force of his punch and he pulls out his backpack before tossing it onto the roof of the adjacent building.

You take a respite from watching for more assailants and step over downed bodies to reach him. The other backpack lands heavily in your hands and despite the chaos, the rest of the world briefly fades when Bucky drags you closer.

“Go, you have to get out!”

All air vanishes. “No. I’m not leaving —”

“Please.” Bucky’s voice is small against the rushing of blood in your ears. His iron grip pulls you toward the windows and he hands you a rappelling rope. “I’ll find you later.”

You know there’s no choice. And arguing further will put everyone in danger. You attach the rope to yourself and the balcony, still pulling Bucky with you as you back onto the ledge. Shotgun blasts at the hinges of the door across the room draw Steve away and you know this is your last blessed moment alone.

Whatever version of Bucky Barnes this is — the man out of time, the assassin, the shell of a vintage hero — you don’t care. This version is yours, and you love him.

You kiss him, hard. He returns it with fire, his hand tangling in your unkempt hair. A sad smile creeps onto your lips when you pull away and Bucky nods solemnly. One gentle push later and you drop from view.

[megumimania]

DIFFERENT THIS TIME — spencer reid

synopsis: things are different this time when you finally understand why spencer has been acting off these past few weeks.

warnings/tags: angst, angst with a implied happy ending, improper use of drugs, addiction, spencer reid x social worker!reader, they’re friends and also neighbours, this is s8 and s2 reid at the same time in my head, whatever works for you. fluff/angst

a/n: my first piece for criminal minds! it’s angsty as hell forgive me but yeah, the title was inspired by a song of the same title by cornelia murr!

spencer has changed.

you are no fbi profiler but you can see the signs. he’s more shifty, more sercretive, he talks less, he eats less. spencer is more irritable than usual and it worries you.

sure you just may be worrying too much, it’s in your nature as a social worker to do so, but when you open the door to his apartment it is a mess. clothes and books are strewn across the floor, dishes and boxes of takeout piled up in the kitchen.

however in true spencer reid fashion they still have a semblance of order to them. you don’t bother trying to establish your own order within his own, so instead you take a snoop around.

his plants still look healthy, so it does look like he has been tending to something and it's not himself. the thought of that makes your heart pang a little. spencer was always the one helping others but in the one instance he had every right to be selfish and prioritise himself over work he didn't.

you figure it probably says more about his spirit and all but you're not here to do some soul searching. the curtains drawn haphazardly allow for a little bit of light to peek through in the otherwise dark apartment.

“spencer?” you call his name out into the void of his apartment, the sound reverberating around the place, the charms of the high ceilings that came pre built in his apartment. no response.

soft whimpers can be heard from the bathroom and you edge closer, not wanting to startle him so suddenly. you turn the doorknob and the sight that confronts you breaks you the most than any other case you’ve worked on.

he’s slumped against the bathtub, his sleeves rolled up revealing the track marks that he’s managed to hide with his vast array of cardigans and long sleeved shirts. all you can make out in his babbles are two names. one male, one female. a reminder of his extensive past that he revealed to you in bits and pieces.

the names don’t linger in your mind for long, not when he lies there helpless and his amber eyes remain vacant. your hands frantically search for a pulse, shaking when you press two fingers against his wrist. one beat after another but it’s weak and thready.

your head spins with things you should do, like the more rational choice of calling his friends, his family—hell even the hospital but even in his state, this would unfortunately open pandora’s box and you knew that spencer loved his job more than anything.

so when spencer rasps out a quiet “no” when you reach for his phone, you acquiesced. you helped him sit up right, his cold and clammy hands that slightly trembled sending a wave of sadness over you. this wasn’t the spencer you knew.

after a quick google search and several minutes of going back and forth with spencer, who looked like he’d rather eat glass than visit the hospital, you help him into bed, bundling him up the blankets that were on hand. the soup you made for him earlier, sits there uneaten but at least he ate the crackers and cheese.

you’re thankful for the small victories.

even though you wanted to give him some space, it didn’t stop you from periodically checking his vitals just in case there was a sudden change. spencer was grateful for you checking in on him it made this part less harder than it needed to be.

“please stay,” he calls out his voice quiet, trying to hide the desperation and loneliness in his voice but it comes in the form of a broken plea, from a broken man.

you figured that you could get to your apartment and back in no less than 15 minutes to grab your laptop and other essentials in order for you to get settled here.

“yeah, just give me a sec.” you say whilst sniffling, the cold already creeping into the building. when spencer is more up to it, you have to tell him to complain to his landlord because another year with a busted heater is a nightmare for everyone—particularly him who was prone to cold hands and feet in the winter.

you quickly slip out, leaving him alone for a while before you return with the essentials at hand. your announcement of your arrival falls on deaf ears as you walk in to a sleeping spencer sprawled out on his bed. the pained and sorrowful expression that had been burned into your mind had is replaced by a more peaceful one.

the sight alone was enough to make you feel at ease, knowing that spencer is somewhat okay, you just hope that one day he’s able to feel it too.

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 1,828

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Back by popular demand ٩(◕‿◕)۶, I've decided to make this a 6 part series.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The morning light seeps through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the bedroom. Simon’s arm is draped over your waist, his slow, steady breathing pressing against your back. You keep your eyes shut, feigning sleep, listening for any sign that he’s awake.

Minutes pass before he stirs. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before rolling out of bed. You wait, forcing yourself to breathe evenly, until you hear the shower turn on. Only then do you dare to move.

Downstairs, the scent of coffee fills the air, but something feels off. Simon moves too quietly, his footsteps deliberate. When you enter the kitchen, he’s already at the stove, humming softly—yet the sound feels more like an act than a habit. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face, before flipping an omelet onto your plate.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he muses, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not feeling sick, are you?”

You shake your head. “Just tired.”

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. His fingers trail across your wrist as he sets down his mug, a slow, almost idle touch—but it lingers. Every word, every gesture, feels like a test.

After breakfast, Simon settles in the living room with his laptop. His presence in the house makes your skin itch, but you keep up appearances, waiting for an opportunity to be alone.

Hours later, Simon finally steps outside to take a call. You move quickly, slipping into the office and grabbing your phone. Your fingers move with purpose, typing in the search bar:

How to leave an abusive relationship safely.

You hit enter. Nothing happens.

The page doesn’t load. You frown, refreshing it, but the screen remains blank. You try again:

Shelters for domestic abuse survivors near me.

Still nothing.

Confused, you navigate to your browser settings, clicking through menus until your stomach drops.

Search history linked to external device.

Your hands go cold.

You scroll further, heart pounding as you see the timestamps. Every site you’ve visited, every search, every desperate late-night inquiry—Simon has seen it all.

The room tilts.

Your mind races back through the past few weeks. The way Simon had made little comments—“What made you think of that?” “That’s an odd thing to look up.”—hadn’t been coincidences.

He had known.

He had always known.

Your breath comes faster, chest tightening. You can’t even look up how to leave. There is no safe way to plan this.

A shadow moves in the doorway.

You whip around, shoving your phone under the desk as Simon leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just—just checking something for work.”

Simon’s lips twitch, almost amused. He steps closer, reaching out, and for a horrible second, you think he’s going to take your phone. But instead, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You know you can always come to me, right?” he murmurs. “If something’s on your mind?”

The weight of his words presses against your ribs. You nod. “Of course.”

He smiles. “Good girl.”

He leaves the room, his footsteps slow, deliberate. You don’t move until you hear the front door open and shut behind him.

Then, and only then, do you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding.

That night, after Simon falls asleep, you try again.

This time, no Google searches. You open a notes app and type instead:

He’s tracking everything. I need a way out.

You go to delete it—but before you can, the text disappears.

Gone. Erased.

A cold chill races down your spine.

Frantic, you type again.

Can anyone see this?

It vanishes the moment you press enter. Like you never even wrote it.

Simon doesn’t just see your searches. He controls what you can say. What you can keep.

You stare at your phone, fingers trembling. There is no way to look up an escape plan. No way to even write things down.

You are trapped.

You stare at the dark ceiling, heart pounding, as Simon breathes evenly beside you. The weight of the realization crushes down on you, pressing like an iron vice against your ribs.

If you’re going to get out, you can’t rely on your phone. You can’t rely on the internet. You can’t even rely on your own thoughts staying private.

You’re completely, utterly alone in this.

But then… an idea.

Kyle.

Kyle. The only person who might help. Unless... No. He wouldn't be working with Simon. Would he?

You close your eyes, willing your breathing to slow. If Simon is watching for any change in behavior, you can’t let him see the shift in your mind.

So you do what you’ve done so many times before. You bury the fear deep.

You pretend.

You smile in your sleep.

And you start planning in the only place he can’t reach.

Inside your head.

The house is quiet. Simon left fifteen minutes ago, his departure punctuated by a kiss to your forehead and a murmured, “Be good.” Now, you’re finally alone.

You move quickly, slipping into the office and shutting the door behind you. Simon’s desk is organized with clinical precision, but his laptop sits open, the screen dimmed in sleep mode, as if he expects to return soon.

The desktop screen glows to life, requiring a password. Your stomach clenches. You try the basics first—birthdays, anniversaries, military references—but nothing works. Frustration bubbles under your skin until you pause, recalling a memory.

“Captain always said to keep it simple,” Simon had once mentioned, laughing over beers. “Overthinking gets you caught.”

You type the name Tommy and hit enter.

The screen unlocks.

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to focus. If he’s monitoring your phone, there’s no telling what kind of security he has on his computer. But this might be your only chance.

Rows of folders are scattered across the desktop. One catches your eye immediately: OpSec_T141. Your pulse quickens. Task Force 141—Simon’s unit.

You open it. Rows of files populate the screen, names and numbers blurred together in a flood of information. You skim past mission reports and encrypted documents until you find something chillingly familiar.

Your name.

A lump forms in your throat as you click it open. Detailed notes spill across the screen. Timelines. Psychological assessments. Weaknesses. Preferences. Even things you’ve never voiced aloud—your tendency to hesitate in confrontations, your instinct to placate instead of fight.

It’s all there: your schedule, your habits, your fears. The photos are the worst—images of you at the park, at the grocery store, sitting alone on the couch. Your breath turns shallow. He’s been watching you far longer than you realized.

You bite back a sob, forcing yourself to keep reading. One section stands out, labeled Emotional Vulnerabilities. You skim it, horrified. Every private fear you’ve ever shared with Simon is laid out like a blueprint.

Prefers to de-escalate conflict.

Struggles with confrontation.

Easily guilted.

Tendency to freeze under stress.

Your mind flashes to past arguments, to the moments where he’d twisted your own emotions against you. The times he made you feel irrational for doubting him. The way he always knew exactly what to say to make you stay.

Every interaction, every emotional response, cataloged like a case study.

You scroll further. There are other names. Kyle Garrick—Gaz. A woman you don’t recognize. You click on her profile. At the top, the file name reads:

Price’s Woman.

Your stomach churns. The picture attached is grainy but clear enough. A woman with dark, tired eyes, standing beside a man just out of frame. Price.

You click through the notes. The similarities to your file are eerie. Psychological breakdowns. Manipulation tactics. Control strategies. The last entry is chillingly abrupt.

Status: Secured.

Your hands shake as you snap photos of the files. A sudden noise outside makes you flinch. You hurriedly close everything, heart pounding as you return the laptop to its original state.

When Simon walks through the door minutes later, you’re already seated on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone.

He smiles at you, easy and warm. Too easy.

“Miss me?”

You force yourself to smile back.

The weight of your discovery presses heavy against your chest. Simon isn’t acting alone. Price trained him for this.

You were never supposed to find out.

Dinner is quiet, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain filling the space between you. Simon’s gaze lingers on you more than usual, studying your every movement. You keep your expression neutral, offering small smiles, playing the role he wants you to play. Inside, your mind races with everything you discovered earlier.

“So,” Simon starts, setting down his fork. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your fingers tighten around your own utensils. “What is it?”

His smile is easy, affectionate. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, elegant box. “A gift.”

A cold weight settles in your stomach. You force yourself to keep your hands steady as you take the box and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in black velvet, is a delicate silver bracelet. The design is simple, understated—something you might have picked for yourself.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, running a finger over the smooth metal. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker with satisfaction.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of me while I’m gone.” He leans forward, brushing a kiss against your temple. “And something to keep you safe.”

Your throat tightens. The implication is clear. You turn the bracelet over in your hands, pretending to admire the craftsmanship while discreetly searching for anything unusual. It doesn’t take long—there, near the clasp, a barely visible indentation.

A tracker.

You swallow down the nausea rising in your chest. Of course, Simon would frame it as protection, as a sign of love. But this is just another layer of control.

You force yourself to look at him, let warmth seep into your voice. “Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

He beams, taking your wrist and fastening it for you. His fingers linger, thumb grazing over your pulse. “I love you too.”

The words feel heavier than usual. You smile back, keeping the mask firmly in place.

Tonight, you decide, you won’t just endure this. You won’t just wait. You’ll start pushing, subtly, carefully. Testing the edges of the cage he’s built around you.

You tilt your head, letting your expression shift into something thoughtful. “When do you leave?”

“Next week,” he says, studying your reaction. “It won’t be long.”

You let your smile falter, just slightly. “I’ll miss you.”

Simon’s eyes soften, and he reaches for your hand. “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But you’ll be safe. You’ll be here.”

You nod, feigning acceptance. But inside, something shifts. He wants you to stay in place, trapped under his watchful eye. That means your time is running out.

You need to act soon. And you need to be careful.

[chaos0pikachu]

4 Minutes and the Cinematography of Nipples

I said before that I thought 4 Minutes was pretty instantaneously the best looking BL on the market for 2024 after one episode. Which, not gonna lie, is a pretty big fucking claim. There’s been a lot of BL that’s come out that’s looked good, and I do think there’s been a steady improvement overall in the market in the last few years. Personally I think Japanese and Korean BL have a stronger production quality over a majority of Thai BL but like, if that’s a hot take I guess I prefer my food spicy. 

The point being~ if I’m gonna make such a hyperbolic statement, well I better back it up right? 

So I’m gonna break down a few scenes from the first episode, what I liked about them, why they worked for me, and why on a technical level I think 4 Minutes has just got it going on.

For better readability you can also check out this essay here.

Sidenote: my google docs kept trying to autocorrect “Bible” to “the Bible” and idk how to teach google I mean the hot Thai actor and not the book of Jesus. 

To start, I’m going to break down this scene featuring Great and his nepo baby cat: 

I thought starting with this scene would be good because it’s such a low-key scene and honestly making these simplistic scenes visually interesting is very difficult! But if you have the basics down, the foundations of cinematography and film making, these simpler scenes can be really memorable. 

Like yeah we’re all gonna remember this scene because shirtless Bible and oh my god Akira!? - I have only recently learned who Akira is; why is this cat getting a bigger bag than me? - but beyond that, what makes it cool to watch? What makes it interesting? What information does it showcase to the audience? 

One thing I added to the video was a grid for the rule of thirds. 

Rule of thirds is a shot composition technique applied to both film and photography. It’s the grid you see if you film a homevideo and helps a Director and Cinematographer figure out where to place the subject or subjects of the shot. The idea is the gridlines show you where you “should” place the subject(s) of said shot. 

Like everything, the rule of thirds is a guideline in filmmaking, not a hard and fast unbreakable rule. Filmmakers like Wes Anderson like to play more with central composition shots, rather than ROT. 

Anyway on to the opening shot, right after our credits and we’re moving into the shot. 

To start, the first thing I notice is the scene’s color grading. Color grading in film is the manipulation of raw film footage to create specific color tones throughout a project. Sometimes this grading is more pointed and obvious, think The Matrix, while in other films it’s not as obvious but still very prominent, think Killers of the Flower Moon. 

It’s not that the before credits scene looks entirely, jarringly different from the opening scene, but the hospital scene is surrounded by whites and blue tones, it’s darker, and only a single source of light exists. It gives the entire scene a much more frantic, uneasy aesthetic but it’s not so far off from the darker muted tones of the next scene that it feels jarring or out of place. 

The second big thing I noticed in the episode is the use of aspect ratio. I’m not 100% sure what aspect ratio the production used exactly, but the use of widescreen as opposed to full screen in my opinion, gives the episode a more cinematic feel to it in comparison to other Thai BLs. 

Example, if you look at Century of Love (2024) it appears to be filmed in the standard full screen - which I believe is 16:9? - while 4 Minutes is widescreen (thus the black bars at the top and bottom). Widescreen can give a show a more “movie like” quality to it which is part of the vibes I get from 4 Minutes. 

(source)

Onto Great’s actual introduction scene.

We’re not starting the shot with static movement, but with a camera panning right. I’ve talked about camera panning and such in BL before and it’s something I’ve found doesn’t happen as often as it should. Which is a shame! It’s such a simple technique but it adds so much. 

Imagine if we entered the frame with a static center shot, and then a cut to Great sleeping and turning off his alarm clock, and then another cut to above the bed. Think about how much more boring that could be visually. 

Instead, we enter the scene with movement, panning over and creating some interesting visual framing. 

So here’s our opening shot, do you notice anything interesting? To start, what I like about this shot other than the panning movement in, is that we don’t see Great’s face yet. In fact we don’t see his face in full until about 30 seconds into the scene. This builds anticipation, yeah we all know what Bible looks like, but for the audience who doesn’t this helps build anticipation. 

Who is this character? What does he look like? What’s his deal? 

It also engages the audience more, if you notice part of the composition of the shot has Great in the mid-ground slightly blurred out, while the foreground emphasizes the things on his desk. He’s distant from us, the audience, sleeping off his hangover not yet ready to “join” the world yet. 

Here’s another two more things I like about this shot:

Lines. 

Using lines and shapes can make a scene more visually interesting and invoke different feelings to the viewer. In this shot, I get a sense of symmetry, the camera panning right, lightly drags across the screen alongside the lines below and above Great, almost creating a frame within a frame effect. As if Great is boxed into a clock in and of itself. 

You can also see the use of balance in the scene as well, connecting back to that visual theme of symmetry as well as blocking our view of Great’s face. The lava lamb and champagne bottle are almost the same height, which helps create balance in the shot. The champagne bottle informs us Great has been drinking or does drink since it’s positioned so close to his bed, whilst also continuing to hide his face away from the viewer. 

I also like that the lava lamp is a bright spot of color. The tone of the scene is mostly muted greens, and gray, but the bright orange lava lamp and even the pink champagne bottle draw our attention but don’t overwhelm us either. It provides the scene with some warmth but doesn’t offset the overall tone of the color grading. 

And then, the last bit of this shot:

We have Great knocking over the champagne bottom, and turning off his alarm clock. Notice that the alarm clock and the champagne bottle hit those ROT dots almost exactly. There’s also the use of lines by the length of Great’s arm - I just forgot to add a line I’m a failure, a fake, fml - we see him knock over the bottle, and then we follow the line of his arm directly to the alarm clock which is also a shape, a circle. 

I like that they used a clock with a specific notable shape, since by the end of this scene the clock is relevant to the story as a whole. Using a shape makes the clock more visually noticeable and memorable to the audience. 

So in the next cut we’re above Great - just like Great’s gonna be above Tyme, fuckin hell I’m corny - in a medium-full shot and there’s a couple things I really like here. 

I really like the use of lines here with the bed going in one direction but Great’s body going another. It’s disconcerting, and off kilter a bit. 

The use of patterns plus the opposing symmetry, whereas in the previous shot the lava lamp and champagne bottle were providing balance, here one side of the bed is patterned, while the other isn’t. This creates a sense of imbalance and makes the shot more visually interesting.

This medium-full shot at a high angle makes Great smaller, and continues to showcase his dishevelment, keeping him distant from the world itself. Also notice the lack of color here as well. 

What could this say about Great as a character? Or his story? 

So this next cut is the one that actually inspired me to write this essay to begin with and know what I’ma eat some crow here. I originally said it was a great ROT shot but I was wrooooooong. It’s definitely a center composition shot. 

Notice as well, the bed itself is its own shape - rectangle - center in the frame, and yet the shot almost looks unbalanced again because of that singular patterned rug. It’s the only pattern in the entire shot, not even Great’s pillows have noticeable patterns on them. 

The above view camera angle in a full shot creates almost an omnipresent feel, as if the audience - or something else? - were looking down upon Great. Whose face we still haven’t seen! It makes him smaller, less powerful, and almost vulnerable. Shots like this are often used in horror films like James Wan’s Malignant (2021) where the horror spector will be looking down above the would-be victim. 

Another thing I like about this scene though is we have Great moving. It would be simpler and easier to have his phone just by his alarm clock, or under his pillow, but think about how much more visually interesting it is that he has to move down the bed and reach for his phone. It creates action in an actionless low stakes scene. 

And now, 30 whole seconds in and we’ve finally seen Great’s face! 

Fun fact, with the ROT grid the gridlines fall right across Bible’s nipples. That’s not a film analysis, just something I noticed entirely intentionally. Thanks Madam Director Ning Bhanbhassa Dhubthien.

The actual shot is in center composition again, as Great rolls over and reveals his face the camera begins to zoom in. 

This creates movement in the scene instead of leaving the camera to statically observe it’s now, finally, inviting the audience to meet Great. Pulling us in towards him whereas before we were kept at a distance. Great’s awake and, well as ready to meet the world as somebody with a raging hangover can be. 

I also like how Bible is moving constantly in this scene; he rubs his eyes and nose, he twitches his fingers, titles his head back and forth, etc it’s nothing revolutionary but it’s appreciated. 

When the scene cuts, we get this shot: 

I didn’t put the red dot on his nipple, it just landed there. This is all Madam Director Ning chepie. 

But you can see how Great’s body is landing on all those gridlines pretty solidly. Also in the background we see his alarm clock again, a bright blurred circle in the distance. I also like the angle of this shot, as it creates depth in the frame, with Great’s head being in the foreground his lower body in the mid-ground and the background blurred out. 

What follows is Akira appearing in frame. Which was really difficult to capture so I don’t have a screenshot. But what I really like is Akira entering the frame out of focus. They could have just cut to Akira, but instead they opted for Akira to enter the frame which is more interesting. 

When we do cut, Akira is firmly on one of those dots so we don’t miss them in the frame. I think it’s also interesting that we’ve pulled out again, into a mid-full shot, hanging above Great, and we see that clear symmetry line again between the patterned rug and the regular carpet. 

I also really love that when we got to Great sweet-talking Akira and feeding them we’re not just doing a cut, we’re panning downwards which continues to add movement to the scene. And we get that moneyed sponsor shot! 

Durex can’t pay for everything okay?

So in the final bit of this scene we get focus on Great, who’s in focus, before he gets up and leaves the frame where the camera then focuses on the clock behind him. 

See how in the first frame the background is all blurred out, but once Great walks out of the frame - again, great that he walks out, movement!! Y’all don’t understand how boring 1000 Stars was for me to watch because of the lack of this stuff okay? - and then the focus shifts to the clock. Which is round. 

God I know that sounds so dumb, but imagine the clock without that ring light bit on it, it’s just a tiny little rectangle. Not as fun or interesting to look at right? Or as noticeable especially from a distance? 

This shift in focus also tells us “this is important” whatever “this” is. The subject of the shot goes from Great to the alarm clock but they are positioned as equally important. We’re meant to pay attention to this seemingly innocuous item, which we learn later in the episode is time. We’re meant to remember and note that time will be important to the story - I know with a title like 4 Minutes you’d fucking hope time would be important but have y’all ever read Youtube comments? It’s rough out there for visual comprehension okay? 

So all in all this scene is only 1 minute and 40 seconds give or take. It’s very short, but I don’t think it was boring at all. I think it’s a really solid introduction to a main character. Think, Korn didn’t get this much time to showcase his introduction, his scene is shorter - though also well done - which showcases which character is more of a story priority. 

This scene eases the audience into the story, inviting us to wake up into the world like Great is. It uses techniques like lines, shapes, symmetry, color and focus to make what could be a very boring scene into an interesting one. 

There’s so so much I probably and certainly missed, I’m far from an expert, but I hope I was able to articulate what I liked about this scene, and why I think it looks good. 

Stay tuned for more if I can manage to focus long enough to breakdown more scenes lol

Also red dots on Bible’s nipples are just funny to me it be what it be. 

Further Reading: 

Composition in Cinematography / THE LAST OF US

Center-Framing vs Chaos-Cinema: Mad Max vs Transformers

Camera Framing: Shot Composition & Cinematography Techniques Explained [The Shot List, Ep 2]

The Ultimate Guide to Camera Shots (50+ Types of Shots and Angles in Film)

Color Grading 101 - Everything You Need to Know

Mixing Film And Digital Footage: Killers Of The Flower Moon

In Praise of Subtle Cinematography

[dclovesdanny]

Hii! I'm the one who asked about the dead serious soulmate AU prompt and I was talking about your latest posts of it where the ending is that jazz gave Damian a notebook(Danny's) to Damian which was filled with Robin pictures and notes, and yeah. Anyways, I looked through your dead serious prompts and saw this one prompt but it doesn't have a continuation, at least as far as I know.

https://www.tumblr.com/dclovesdanny/744946841060294656/dc-x-dp-prompt-dead-serious-prompt-14-damian-and?source=share

Really love the concept of it as well as this one!

https://www.tumblr.com/dclovesdanny/743789718574120960/this-would-work-so-well-with-any-dcxdp-ship-but-i?source=share

Anyways! Hope you post more dead serious ship prompts and other ships as well, I really like your posts!!

Thank you so much for the compliments! I’m going to expand more on the second one, even though some other people expanded on it, mostly focusing on time travel and how it would affect it.(I would recommend reading those reblogs, they are amazing!)

This is probably going to be part one of my first connected series. What should I call it?

Damian’s first fact from his soulmate appeared during his first few weeks with his father. Damian had awoken with the words on his arm, and immediately taken stock of what he could deduce from the messy handwriting.

I love the stars

The first thing he learned was that his soulmate was born on February 11th late at night or 12th early in the morning, and was currently ten years old. His soulmate had to have been born early in the morning, and next year he would have to stay awake all night to determine exactly when his soulmate was born.

Secondly, his soulmate’s first language is English. That pointed towards his soulmate being born in the United States, Australia, or England. Of course, his soulmate could be raised by immigrant parents, but that is less likely.

Third, his soulmate had messy but readable handwriting, indicating his soulmate was learned at the least, and further pointing towards the states, as it was required for American children to go to school.

Fourth, his soulmate loves the stars. He would have to have Father fund the Gotham Observatory, and research more about light pollution. Perhaps he could even take his soulmate to Nanda Parbat, where the stars are not affected by light pollution.

He could hear his father’s voice downstairs, and his father’s band of strays were starting to wake. He had spent almost an hour focusing on his soulmate without even realizing it. He gets out of bed, and after a moment of hesitation, he covers the fact before going downstairs. While he would never be ashamed of his soulmate and fight anyone who dared to breathe otherwise, he wanted to keep his soulmate to himself, if only for awhile.

————————————————————————

Danny woke up in an instant, for once waking without his alarm or his sister doing it. The minute he remembered the date, he yanked his sleeve aside to stare down at his soulmate’s fact. He really hoped he was the younger one. He stared down in confusion

أنا نباتي

After almost 15 minutes of googling frantically, he finally figured out that his soulmate’s fact translated to I’m a vegetarian. He also learned his soulmate’s first language was Arabic. Wait, did his soulmate even know English? Damn, if they didn’t this would suck.

Resolving to try and learn some phrases in Arabic, he looked at the clock and swore. It was almost time for him to leave for school, and he could hear his sister coming towards his room. He quickly changed into a NASA shirt and pants and grabbed his things. He couldn’t wait to tell Tucker!

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

See, hear and speak no evil - Carlos Sainz x reader

You usually loved race weekends. Any chance for you to watch your boyfriend do his thing was appreciated. But not Miami. Your poor European sleep cycle was not used to this. Toto was wrong about no one watching the races in your time zone. Carlos would make fun of you for it, especially as he was living it. He teased you relentlessly for sleeping through half of the Chinese GP. Oh, the irony of you getting into the sport because your partner was an F1 driver and not the opposite. Even worse, he refused to explain the "lore" as you called it. So you Googled frantically and added the Netflix documentary to your queue. Unexplainable, you found yourself watching Tiktok edits instead. And you were gonna give it to these people with Capcut and a dream. They managed to capture Carlos' sex appeal. You had new obsessions with every clip on your fyp. His hair, his thighs, and of course, him going ballistic on the radio. You had heard your boyfriend being a little grumpy at quali or race positions before. Yapping about strategies or other drivers. Even Charles wasn't immune to a snarky comment. But then you were using your efforts to calm him or to let him talk it out. Now, when it was a loop of him pissed on air, you realized that maybe you liked angry, vocal Carlos a little more than you guessed. The memes about your boyfriend being written by Lana del Rey were sometimes true. He had a poised reputation to uphold. Even when it was just the two of you, he was either stoic or bubbly and funny. If he was sad, he'd be sulky or melancholic. Never angry or possessive. Never letting you see him lose his cool. It wasn't like he didn't trust you enough to let you in. It was more due to the fact that you were precious and fragile to him, breakable. But that was gonna change soon. With special courtesy of his radios during his battles with Oscar.

Carlos liked to have you in your "lovers nest" before Imola. Called you his lucky charm, his amuleto. Truth be told, it was a little early. Cohabitation was usually reserved for "seasoned couples". Carlos and you joked that you weren't living together, you were occasional roommates with benefits. The new arrangement meant that every couple of weeks, between triple headers, you would be in Spain. You knew a frequent flier discount hated to see you coming. Luckily, you had somewhat managed to make your job more remote, negotiating different hours and taking on a freelancing type of everyday tasks.

But like any person in love, you were most productive when alone. Thanks to the copious amounts of coffee you needed to watch the Miami GP, you had pulled 2 all nighters, basically flying through your professional to-do list. As soon as your weekly meeting was over, you started going through the most boring and easy parts of what you do. As soon as your lunch break rolled around, you were napping, hoping no one from the office decided to check up on you.

You're saving up the completed tasks as leverage, waiting for the right moment. And it arrives with the sound of a door unlocking and Carlos' familiar voice echoing through the apartment. You call him in the office space and let him know that you're almost finished. Sending out your tasks to your supervisor, you utilise their checking time and turn it into boyfriend time. Within a few minutes, you're in bed with Carlos, both in lounge wear that left little to the imagination. It was a little game you came up with in the honeymoon period of the relationship. Who could break easier after the long distance. You would think that no kissing would be easy, given that not much else was off limits. With his lips between your neck and your ear, he wasn't helping himself, so he asked.

"Did you manage to stay up for my race, gorgeous?"

"Yes, I watched it live, every second. I think I annoyed everyone on Twitter with my recap, even your fans." you reply.

"Yeah? Any standout thoughts I should know about?" He says, curious.

"Your radios, they sounded, good." You give him nothing, but he knows how to take from you. The gears in his brain turn, looking for a way to make you loose. At the end of the day, he was a simple man. All he had to do was ask.

"If you give me a kiss, I ......" He tries to finish his sentence but his mind blanks. He goes for the low hanging fruit, offering to buy you dream outfits and bags. Even when he puts real money where his mouth is, you refuse. Even though it's stupid, you don't want to give him the impression that you're dating him for the money. Carlos moves on to more individual things, promising to make you cum over and over again, to do the thing that makes your legs shake. You gently remind him they if he kisses you first, you make the rules. Therefore you could easily ask for all that and more. You can see it's driving Carlos mad to not be in control. He pulls out the "big guns".

"If you kiss me, I'll consider the threesome idea with Charles?" he tries.

"That was one dream and I regret telling you about it. No thanks, don't wanna be a homewrecker." you counter.

"I'll actually arrange a threesome with Fernando?" he comments.

"Stop slutting out people on the grid. Just because I fantasized about something a couple times doesn't mean I'm suddenly ready to be Eiffel towered or split roasted or whatever you two freaks could come up with." you hold your ground.

"You are the only guy for me. In F1, or outside of it, I only want to be with you. No sharing." You kiss him, aware that you'd loose. Whatever he had planned for you was gonna be good and you knew it.

"Good. I was gonna be worried if you'd said yes. Now, on the topic of saying things, you were awfully quiet earlier. So, we're gonna play another little game, called team radio." You quirk up an eyebrow and ask him to explain.

"It's easy. You tell me what to do and I'll do it. You don't say anything, I'll stop. I'm all about teamwork and following orders, baby." He boasts.

"Yeah, always, huh? Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night. You're a driver. You can't help it. It's in your blood. Being fast, being fucking selfish." You taunt him. Truth is what attracted you most to your boyfriend. His drive, no fucking pun intended.

Carlos pins you down onto the matres, his athlete's reflexes immediately evident. You're trapped beneath his body as he kisses and bites your neck.

"You're already failing at your game there, sweetheart. Thought you'd be the one obeying me. " you remind him. Asking your boyfriend to give up control was like asking a broken clock to display the right time. Yet, even those were right twice a day. Carlos pulled away, waiting for you to tell him what to do. Even though it was his idea, he was already turning against it. Though he had a trick up his sleeve.

You were trying out your new power. First, you asked him to switch to let you be on top. You kissed his neck and chest in a way to bid for time. Usually, by now, his hands would be on your waist, pulling down your underwear. Yet, he was still waiting for a que from you.

"Carlos, can you touch me, please? Just I don't know, rub my clit until I come or something." You ask.

Your boyfriend must be a member of r/maliciouscompliance, because that's what he does. He doesn't take your panties off, he just slides two fingers and presses them against where you need him and rubs. His pace is mundane, not too slow, and not too fast that it feels like he's trying to start a fire. It's just right, the perfect tease.

"You know, you're not very good at this. I know you're all about the flow of things and you shut off your brain when we fuck, sweetheart. But don't make me teach you a lesson here." He says.

You wonder what he means. You can feel his hardness under you, despite the layers of cotton there. You're not a tyrant, so you rub against his cock, needing more. Your futile moans of "Carlos please." don't earn you anything. You're wet, so close thanks to the new stimulation and his repetitive rhythm. You cum and as soon as your boyfriend senses it, he stops.

"Carlos, what the actual fuck?" you ask, your orgasm ruined. He'd never pulled that move before, always touching you more, so you could ride it out, going until your thighs clamp against him in a vice grip.

"You said to rub your clit until you came. You came. I did my job, no?" He replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Oh,so that's how he was gonna play it. Well two people could tease.

You tell him to take off your underwear and his too. Tossing your boyfriend a condom, you ask to see him put it on. He hisses as his fingers trail down his length. Truth it, he's just as needy as you. He was just better at hiding it.

"Do you have a favorite position, hmm Carlos? I wanna see it." You ask. He uses his strength to flip you, ass up in the air. Even in this, he's still careful. With your back arched and face half-burried in the pillow, you say.

"Show me your passion, I want you to go fucking feral, use me like there's no tomorrow."

And he obeys. He burries himself to the hilt inside you. He could be snarky and wait for you to ask him for every thrust. But he lacks the patience for that. He pulls out, almost all the way and thrust back in ferociously. Every "faster" and "harder" he follows. Carlos feels you clench around him, and says.

"If you wanna cum properly, you have to ask. Give team orders to your roque driver."

"Carlos Sainz, you better give me an orgasm and fuck me through it, unless you." You don't get to finish your thought, because your boyfriend's hand makes its way to your clit. This time he makes sure you feel everything to the fullest, giving you more and more. When you recover from your orgasm, you notice that he's still desperate to cum too. You know his tells. His hands gripping your waist a little stronger. The faint drops of sweat on his forehead. The way his thrusts are slower. You could show him that revenge is best served cold. But you can't resist him just after he blows his load, the moment where he's still fucking into you, as if intent on making it stick. On making your pussy memorize the shape of his cock.

"Carlos, fuck, go ahead and come. You deserve it, pretty boy." You say and watch him as he falls apart, bottom lip between his teeth.

You're both spent. After he cleans up and tosses the condom in the trash and you pee, you melt in his arms.

"I think this made me sweatier than Miami." He says. Aftercare sweet talk was obviously not his forte.

"I think that if we go for a second round, my work shift will end. Wanna make your girl steal some company time?" You reply.

[pe4cht3a]

⋆˙ enchanted ˙⋆

celebrity!killua x celebrity!reader

── .✦ a/n: so this one shot was for a req that glitched out of my inbox awhile back, n this fic has js been chilling in my drafts since then. ur dear is having an exam tmrw so pls enjoy these bits of crumbs of killua :p

city lights flashing vibrantly, sparkling as the traffic buzzed in the central of yorknew.

in the heart of all the beautiful modernity, dusk had laid its touch onto the society.

“i’m telling you killua, you seriously have to start being more polite during interviews, as well as meet and greets!” kurapika frantically turned around and yelled after he finished a particularly unpleasant phone call.

“let me guess. my pa threatened to fire you and disown me again?” the unbothered albino questioned as he mindlessly scrolled on his phone, lazing around in his personal dressing room of the grammy’s event. “you know how serious silva is about your career, killua.” the blonde stressed as he felt a migraine coming up any time soon. “chill pika. i’ll make sure you stay as my manager, kay?” killua assured, eyes still glued to his mobile device.

kurapika closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “alright, get up killua! time to get into your outfit! you have only 2 more hours left before the award ceremony starts!” the poor blonde clapped his hands as he started directing assistants to pamper the young celebrity.

killua zoldyck, was a child star due to his mother and father discovering he had “talent” and was also the most good-looking out of their many children at a young age. killua had a successful acting career as a young child until he was 14. afterwards, he ventured into the music industry and was just as successful, due to already being well known by the media and previous fans of his many shows and movies.

a few halls down, was the dressing room for y/n, a new star in the music industry.

you were once a child model, and did multiple advertisement gigs. once you hit puberty, your parents pulled you out of the public eye so you could focus on your personal life and on your studies. fortunately for you, you were born for the spotlight! you dropped out of college to pursue a music career, and it immediately took off!

“pika, i don’t get it. why is my pa so much more worried recently? its pretty fucking annoying.” killua rolled his eyes as he cheekily questioned his manager who was standing from afar as assistants dressed the star. “god, you’re so clueless.” kurapika face palmed as he began to pull out his phone. “huh? what do you mean by that?” the silverette cockily smirked.

“its all because of her.” kurapika shoved his phone into killua’s face, which made killua slightly back up. what was on kurapika’s phone was google results of many articles of a female celebrity named “y/n l/n”.

“who the hell is this bitch?” killua asked plainly as he looked back at his manager with a sense of annoyance. “she’s been your biggest opponent in the music industry currently, for the past year.” the blonde sighed, no longer surprised from his employer’s ignorance. “yeah right. she’s a chick, she’s in a totally different category from me!” the albino brushed off with an overflowing amount of confidence. “killua, ever since she gained popularity, your coverage in the media has decreased significantly! your father and i are very concerned by the effects that individual has been causing to your popularity.” the stressed manager was about to lose his mind, any second. “okaaayyy pikaaaa!” killua pouted as the assistants at last, finally finished dressing him up in his tuxedo.

“you seriously have me suicidal.”

“don’t be so dramatic!”

“you look so good y/n! i knew the dress i picked out for you would make you look stunning!” bisky exclaimed as she pumped her fist up in a rush of pride and excitement. “theres a reason my mom chose you as my manager.” you sheepishly smiled, still not over the fact of how much the whole outfit costed. bisky, your manager with a handful amount of experience under her belt, definitely was not afraid to put you in pricey things, she thinks it makes you look elegant while also discreetly hoping for one of the luxury brands to make you their brand ambassador!

the hall was now filled to the brim with a variety of celebrities and stars, all gathered for the well-known grammy’s award ceremony. you stepped into the humongous hall, star-struck by how cool everything is! the fact this was now your reality! you cautiously walked to your designated seat, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach by how all the older and well-known in the industry celebrities were so intimidating!

killua walked into the hall unfazed, he’d been in the spotlight for his entire life with no breaks, this was all way too normal for him. the handsome silverette non-chalantly sat down at his designated seat, crossing his legs casually.

hours had passed as the ceremony went on as expected, that is until the category that was crucial to you had approached.

“alright ladies and gentlemen! and the winner for female artist of the year isssss…” the host at the stage dramatically announced as she started opening an envelope that contained the results. you could feel your palms become sweaty, your heart racing up erratically, your legs shaking and a lump in your throat from the anticipation. this moment was absolutely everything to you.

“the winner for female artist of the year is.. Y/N! ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR HER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” the host joyfully yelled into the mic.

“huh?” you quietly let out, unaware of what just happened. the winner is who? you? what? the winner is y/n? YOU? YOU WON? YOU WON AN AWARD AT THE GRAMMY’S?

you rose from your seat, legs subtly still shaking, as you proceeded to the stage while smiling back at the crowd. your mind was filled with rushing thoughts and your heart beamed with happiness.

as you stepped up onto the stage and got ahold of the mic and award, you started thanking everyone and such. while you were so distracted by your shining success, a specific pair of sapphire eyes were fixated on you.

killua examined you meticulously as you expressed your gratitude and whatever the fuck you were going about. he really couldn’t be bothered to focus on your words.. he was far too distracted by you, yourself.

you. the way your smile was so warm and vivacious. the way your glossy hair shined under the blinding stage lights. the way your glittering eyes sparkled with a sense of ambition and hunger for beyond. the way your dress hugged your curves, as if you were masterfully sculpted to be otherworldly charming. the way your movements were so mesmerising, it was almost hypnotic to him. the way your nails were done and manicured to perfectly match your whole look. they way you were was simply so enchanting to killua, yet he didn’t even realise it yet. he was completely disconnected from his surroundings.

all of a sudden, the albino was pulled back to reality when a heavy round of applause interrupted his moment of admiration for you, it seems your speech was over. killua was surprised his whole thought process stopped so abruptly, it felt like as if all he could hear earlier was his own heartbeat, despite your speech and cheers from the crowd, and all he could see was you, despite the ocean of other celebrities.

as you stepped off stage, giddy and holding your grammy’s award. killua placed his pointer finger over his mouth and proceeded to stare at the floor. what just happened to him? sure, he had his fair share of scandalous affairs with models exposed by the paparazzi’s.. but that one small snippet of you felt like something completely foreign and unknown to him. fuck, he had to see you. you were irresistible.

once the grammy’s award ceremony had officially ended, everyone returned back to their personal dressing rooms to pack up and to slip out of the uncomfortable outfits.

“killua! where are you going? go back to your dressing room with me! what the hell!” kurapika shouted down the hallway as killua bolted passed kurapika and his room, with no words.

“fuck everything, i have to find that woman.” killua muttered under his breath as he ran passed all the other rooms, looking up at the name plagues, hoping to spot yours soon.

eventually, the silverette stopped outside your dressing room, as he finally spotted “y/n l/n” hung on one door. before killua could knock, the door opens.

“oh! hi mr killua! this is ms y/n’s room, can i help you with anything?” the youthful looking woman questioned in surprise. “uh yeah, who are you?” killua asked as he started poking his head above bisky’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of you inside.

“AHEM. mr killua, i am ms y/n’s manager, biscuit krueger. now, can i help you with anything?” the cute lady shockingly sounded like a fierce middle-aged woman.

“i need to see y/n.” killua requested rashly, his head still in a daze. “hold on a minute, please.” bisky pointed her finger upwards before she disappeared into the room. killua stood patiently, as he eventually heard a foreign set of footsteps approaching the door from the other side.

“oh, hello. may i help you?”

“have sex with me.”

“what the fuck?”

“im just kidding. can i have your number though?”

“aren’t you that child actor who became a singer?”

“yeah.”

“hm, why not. here, i’ll type it in for you.”

“thanks!”

“also, i’ll think about the sex part.”

killua then soon witnessed the sight of you minimising, as the door shut on him, before he could even process what was just uttered to him.