#*sound of glass breaking as camera zooms in on my face*

[nazumichi]

boys will be unable to locate their copy of htn and be so normal about it

#that’s a lie where’s my bone witch my midnight hag my evil stick #raii talks a lot #im typing this normally but be aware that I’m VERY mad because it’s supposed to be in the box of stuff from my room #and I can’t find it and I found gtn but the cover is SO BENT and I’m so mad rn I hate this house I hate whoever packed my stuff #when I said I was doing it where is it !!!! #*sound of glass breaking as camera zooms in on my face*

[osleeplessflowero]

Sans doesn't know how many minutes he'd spent in a sealed off room of the lab, keeping the door shut, staring at it with trembling eyelights and hands. When Alphys told him the recent project had..gone awry, he hadn't expected things to turn out this bad.

Raising a shaky hand, he pushes his glasses up further onto his face so they don't fall. He'd already been scolded once by his younger brother for breaking the last pair by accident.. don't need a repeat of that.

Experimenting with souls had been a common theme the last few months to see how well they'd do under different conditions, but..this attempt? It's..

He hears banging on the door, likely someone's hands along with the sounds of something slithering across the floor. Wet, goopy noises can also be heard accompanied by strange, out-of-sync breathing. ..It knows where he is. He doesn't know what it wants to do with him, and frankly, he's scared to find out.

A walkie talkie beeps on his belt. He quickly grabs it out of instinct, almost dropping it in the process as he holds it up to where he can hear from.

"alphys, i hope you are responding to tell me you are going to lure it away from me." He speaks in a hushed tone, knowing it's still listening outside.

"I-I'm making my way down there now, Sans. I.. I don't know what happened, they're.. it's just like the Determination projects-" Alphys fidgets around as she scurries through her lab, picking up this and that and dropping anything unimportant in the moment.

"I-I don't.. kn-know what their Intent is. If you end up exposed, PLEASE be careful. One bad hit and you're dust!" She stresses her words despite her stuttering, opening the door to the elevator and heading down.

"don't gotta tell me twice. i'm staying in here." He'd considered shortcutting, but..he's still gotta help her study this entity, even if he doesn't really want to get near it. No calling it quits now. ..He's still going to keep a door as a barrier though, just to be safe.

Several different pitches of giggles are heard through the door as the entity lightly hits it in the same spots, until it manages to make a dent. Letting out a breath, Sans walks over to the monitors in the room to look outside through the cameras. Empty rooms are scattered about on each one, able to be viewed from different angles.

He looks over to see this strange mass outside via the door camera.

A large, white mess of a form wriggles and writhes, its upper half constantly changing between various physical forms and species types. Two arms rest on the door gently, while two more above them seem to be the ones hitting it. Its eyes are black hollow voids with every form change, the one thing that remains consistent. Upon zooming in a little more, Sans can see a little melty smile on its face.

He can't help but wonder what it could possibly be thinking..or what it's trying to do. Turning to the door, he contemplates. He could Check them.. there's not that much of a distance. Might as well, right?

He focuses on the door, his eyelights flickering out before one returns with a bright, brilliant shade of blue. His focus is brought to its soul, a bright, vibrant mess of colors and static, constantly shifting forms. There are some different colored strings coming out of it in different directions. Guess this is what happens when you try experimenting on something distorted..

Okay..that part's kinda obvious. But why do they want to see him?

Another sound is heard from his walkie talkie, so he holds it up.

"how close are you?" "Very, I-I should be able to get down there in a few more minutes. C-Can you hold off until then?" "yeah, just please hurry up."

Alphys stops responding, so he turns back to the cameras, only to see the mass looking up at it with a widened grin. He jolts, only to see a bigger dent be formed in the door from the impact of its hits..

"they're gonna break it down at this rate-"

Some white, goopy hands begin to pull on the bottom of the door to try and lift it. He quickly rushes over, trying to pull it back down. "shit shit shit shit-" "Sans, I'm almost there! Oh my stars, why is it?-"

It pulls open the door with all of its strength, launching itself into the room. Sans braces himself for impact, his eyes squeezing shut. ..But..he doesn't take a hit? What's going on?

He opens his eyes, looking both up and down as the figure rapidly changes shapes, hugging him tightly. Clinging to him, like if they were to let go they'd be lost.

"uh..hey there." He chuckles nervously, confused by this whole scenario. One bizarre thing after another.. "so..is this what you wanted the whole time?"

It nuzzles its heads against him, its smile content.

"taking that as a yes. well, uh..i guess this is okay. have i melted your heart? hearts? same thing."

Various giggles come out of "You", as Alphys enters the room abruptly.

"Sans! Are you-" She halts, seeing how the mass is reacting to him so...affectionately? How peculiar. "..Are you okay?"

"well, i think so. they haven't lashed out at me or anything, just..done this. feels kinda weird, very cold."

"Well, at l-least they don't have a Hostile intent..this..this could prove useful! Tests could go by a lot easier if it trusts you. And it seems to really like you already, s-so.."

"how would you feel about me stickin' around?" He asks, "You" perk up instantly at that. "you like the sound of that?"

He's suddenly squeezed much tighter as those voids on your face shift to be shaped like hearts. "i guess i have my answer."

"Have you Checked them at all?" "huh? oh, yeah, i did earlier." "What does their soul look like in the current state?" "well, it's a flashing mess of colors and distortion. also had some weird looking strings coming out of it." "..Strings?" "yeah. different colors as well." "Did you see where they were leading?" She walks over, putting a hand on "Your" shoulder before recoiling once you let out a sound of warning.

"well, a few were leading to me, but a few were spreading off in different directions, too." "..Oh my stars." "what? what's wrong?" "I think I might need to look over your soul." "why?" "Just..trust me, okay?"

#“me and the amalgamate i pulled by being a punny guy” #sleeplessflower's oneshots #undertale x reader #sans au x reader #sans x reader #science sans x reader technically

[the-roo-too]

free fall -> spiderwoman! mo jihye

-the biggest downside of working as a reporter is definitely the field work

warnings: injuries

genre: sprinkle of angst?; it’s mostly fluff tho

notes: spiderwoman danielle would be so 🫶🫶 this was kinda made in honour of spider!jimin fic getting 150 notes 💪

˚₊𖠌༺ 🕷️༻𖠌₊˚

when you first became a reporter for the local newspaper, you had very light tasks to do. take a picture of the school’s swimming team, see the christmas lights, do some photos on the fair. then, the villains appeared. your peaceful job suddenly turned into the most dangerous one, albeit very interesting. now, you always had to be there with the villains, so you could have material before other reporters.

just like now, someone evil attacked the main street, so you of course had to be there. it was some green guy, green goblin if you remembered the last article correctly.

click!

you sighed as you took the photo of the villain. it came out a bit blurry, but it was still a good shot. as you looked up from your hide (so technically you leaned over some café’s menu sign), you noticed a familiar red and blue blur.

spiderwoman. always on the spot.

“they should pay me more for the heroes.” you grumbled under your breath, reading the camera to take a shot of the mysterious superhero. just as you did that, something exploded near you. the force of the explosion made you fly away from your safe spot and as you hit your head on the floor, you heard the sound of glass breaking and everything went dark.

˚₊𖠌༺ 🕷️༻𖠌₊˚

you slipped in and out of consciousness, seeing the colourful blurs zoom past you. it felt like you couldn’t move, so you just laid there, trying to make out the shapes around you. a small thought lingered in the back of your mind.

is this the end?

then, by some miracle, the gods decided to spare you. just as your eyes were closing, you felt strong arms slowly lift you up bridal style.

you let out a groan of pain and your saviour hummed quietly.

“it’s okay… you’re safe with me..”

˚₊𖠌༺ 🕷️༻𖠌₊˚

a chain of curses woke you up. for a short second, you couldn’t remember anything, till the memories flooded your mind again.

you quickly opened your eyes, frowning when you noticed you were suddenly home. that ceiling was definitely yours, you’d recognise that stupid stickers anywhere.

then, the pain hit you like a truck. you winced, bringing your hand up to touch your wounded head. just then, a figure walked into your room.

“who hides their first aid kit so hard-“ the voice stopped as the figure noticed you’re awake. you immediately recognised the suit, but your eyes widened when you saw the superhero wasn’t wearing her mask.

her face was also enveloped in shock, as you could only blur out one thing.

“..danielle?”

˚₊𖠌༺ 🕷️༻𖠌₊˚

“sorry..” she muttered as you winced, feeling the cotton pad press against your wound. “there’s usually no civilians… i should’ve been more careful.”

“don’t worry, danielle..” it felt weird, looking at one of the most famous heroes now and seeing your neighbour’s face. “it’s my job, you couldn’t know anyone would be stupid enough to come so close.”

with a deflated sigh, danielle lowered the hand that was holding the cotton pad. “you’re a reporter… are you gonna tell, uhm..” she awkwardly gestured to herself and the spiderwoman’s mask lying on your nightstand.

“no, of course not.”

“really?”you nodded your head softly, making her smile.

“i would’ve never though that my neighbour would be the famous spiderwoman…” you chuckled slightly. “guess you’re really ‘friendly neighbourhood spiderwoman’ huh?”

she laughed a bit. “yeah, guess you could say that.” danielle then cleared her throat. “so um… do you maybe wanna get a coffee after this? maybe tomorrow, my treat?”

“me?”

“well, i think you’re very pretty! and i kinda owe you for that camera you broke…”

“no, no you don’t owe- MY CAMERA BROKE?!”

˚₊𖠌༺ 🕷️༻𖠌₊˚

#newjeans #newjeans x reader #new jeans #new jeans x reader #danielle #danielle marsh #danielle x reader #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye #mo jihye x reader #hanni #minji #hyein #haerin

[noblebs]

💬?

thank you! 🖤

I think I've shared a couple lines here and there of these scenes.... but in the interest of forcing positivity upon myself, I like them both a lot so I'll share both lol

from chapter 3 of EWT:

Orion remembers seeing photos when the story broke: grainy opportunistic action shots sandwiched by columns of text reporting the monstrous operative of a heretofore poorly understood government agency crashing a diplomatic convention. The most prominent and well-distributed of the photos was of the agent himself, a dark, broad figure towering over everyone else in the shot. It's the low angle and the camera's zoom, she always thought, that lent him such an imposing height. As it turns out, there couldn't be a camera operator in the world who could make a demon standing 8 feet tall with arching horns to top it off less imposing. He squeezes through his own front door like a grizzly bear trying to use a dog door. The harsh sunlight gleams on his skin—is it skin, or is it actually the obsidian it looks like? A wife beater stretches across his deep chest, probably the largest manufactured size but still decidedly too small, a sliver of beer belly bulging above his waistband. Orion fights to keep too wide a smile from splitting his face. "Good afternoon," he all but purrs, "I'm Orion. Do you have a minute?" Devilant crosses his arms and considers him; his eyes burn bright orange like the embers of a dying fire. "Whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'." Orion smiles coyly. "If I had something to sell, I doubt you could afford it. I work with Annex, and—" "Oh. Piss off, then." He interrupts her with a dismissive wave of his hand and turns back to the door. It bangs shut behind him, the wood rattling in the frame. Not the first time it's endured such treatment. She lunges forward and skips one of the two steps onto the porch, twisting the door handle before it can get locked in her face and throwing it open. "Hey," Devilant grumbles, sounding more bewildered than angry. "Get the hell out of my house."

from chapter 4:

"No." Madrigal snorts, her nose wrinkling, and shakes her head. "That's not what I mean. I meant...this." She lifts her hand toward his neck. He flinches back. "Wait, don't—" "It's okay. I think I understand." Her fingertips skate beneath Orion's jaw, following the upper edge where teeth break ragged through the skin of his throat. Her thumb presses against his larynx, a featherlight touch that crushes the breath out of his lungs. No one risks touching his teeth. But she is cautious like they are fragile, not dangerous. "I might not look it, but I know what it is to be lonely like this. One of a kind isn't all it's cracked up to be." Orion's appetite swells once more with such a ferocity she barely keeps a grip on her impulses. Madrigal looks at her with such intense honesty; her hands are so confident. This was what she sensed, the hound in her blood catching a scent, even from more than fifty feet away. She wants to sink her teeth deep into that expression on Madrigal's face and never let her go. Madrigal smiles—must feel the accelerated pulse kicking up under her fingers—and lets her hand slip away. "Finish your wine. It's the least you can do after making me pay for it." Orion takes a deep breath, still unsteady and distracted by the tension winding up inside her chest, but manages to smirk and dutifully take a sip. She lights a cigarette just to give her other hand something to hold: a tether to the here and now, a leash to draw her back from swallowing Madrigal whole in public. "I don't recall making you do anything. You came over here begging for a reason to talk to me." "Begging?" Madrigal straightens her posture and frowns severely. "I wouldn't be caught dead. I took pity on you." Orion scoffs. "Your pity put you out seventeen dollars for one glass, so I hope it was worth it." "Oh, I think it will be."

(shout-out to @anarchistserum for providing me the world's sexiest senior citizen, strictly speaking Devilant is her character but I got shared custody)

#everything with teeth wip #oc orion murphy #oc madrigal baptiste #oc devilant #there now he has a tag I GUESS #ngl Ive been having a really hard time feeling anything good about my writing so its nice to focus on the parts I do like #character interactions my beloved

[bobafetts-princess]

Kinktober Day 11- Erotic Photos

Pairings: Construction Worker!Boba x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Sexy pics, Boba masturbates in his truck, PiV, a little come play, thumbs in buttholes, there's a smidgeon of BDSM play, no condoms exist here

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I know I’m out of order here but this one dug a wormhole in my brain so I had to write it first

Part of my CW!Boba series!

Boba’s thumb hovers over your number, tempted to call you for some lunch break phone sex, but you’ve got a big project due at work this week and he knows you’re working hard on it. You were up later than him last night and the same time as him this morning, coffee in hand and your three screens pulled up to work on your project after your morning shower. Hair pulled back and glasses on, sweats on your lower half and work blouse on the upper for your zoom meetings. He’d kissed you sweetly, hands cupping your jaw before he’d headed out the door. Because of how much work you’ve been doing lately, you’ve been exhausted and haven’t been in the mood for sex. Boba doesn’t care, of course, but his body is aching for yours. He’s supportive of you and your career, he wants you to be successful, he knows how much this project means to you. But when you got in the shower with him that morning, sleepily kissing him before washing your body, he had to fight the urge to bend you over and take you right there. But before he could act on it, pull your ass back into his hips, you were rinsing off and out. So he’d been half hard all day, thinking about the way you looked that morning and every morning prior, and he was aching.

“Son of a bitch,” he grunts, slamming the truck door shut and putting it in gear. He drives off to a spot that you usually take advantage off when you come by on lunch breaks, a quiet spot in a patch of trees at the edge of town. A text comes in from Fennec as he pulls in his normal spot, one that reads ‘well aren’t you grouchy this week?’ Boba rolls his eyes and closes the text app, and opens his contact app to your name again. He’s almost ready to hit the call button, even if its just to see how your project is going when a text comes in from you.

Princess: This project will be the death of me, I can’t wait for it to be over.

Me: I’m sorry, Princess. Anything I can do for you?

Princess: Never let me take on a project this big again.

Princess: Shit, another work call. Gotta go, I love you. Take-out for dinner?

Me: I love you too, take-out sounds good. 

His head slumps back against his headrest, there goes that brilliant idea, and he palms himself lightly through his jeans. It feels so good that he starts to harden under the touch and he has to remove his hand or he’ll be hard all day. He grabs his phone again, intending to distract himself as he closes out his apps. But when he moves to close out his photos app, an idea pops in his head. He’d been showing Fennec some pictures from your recent trip to the apple orchard, but those weren’t the pictures he was looking for now. 

You and Boba have a shared album, one that houses all the inappropriate pictures the two of you have taken over the course of your relationship. Some you’ve taken of yourself, some Boba has taken of you, and some you’ve set up and taken of the two of you together. He rests one hand on his cock as the other swipes through the camera roll. He finds one you took yourself, laying on your stomach in bed, camera pointed over your shoulder to showcase your ass. He groans as he takes in your form, the roundness of your ass, and the half shot of your face, the way your back is arched. You’re naked but he can’t see anything inappropriate, just your skin, and Boba can’t stop thinking about what all that soft skin feels like under his hands. He’s fully hard now, massaging himself through the rough fabric of his jeans as he swipes to the next picture. Its the same angle, but this time you’re laying on your back. One leg is stretched long, the other kicked up at the knee and resting against the wall. Boba groans a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath as he takes in your bare breasts. He groans again when he takes in your hand, posed between spread and bare legs and Boba imagines what the center of you feels like. 

“Goddamnit,” he growls, flipping further through the camera roll. He scrolls past a couple pictures of himself, fisting his cock while he was away on a convention a few months back. He scrolls past a final one where come covers his fist before reaching another set of you. This one he took, before he pounded you from behind as soon as he got home from said convention. It’s a shot of your ass and pussy, bent over and spread wide. He can see how wet you are, your pussy soaked from how enthusiastically Boba ate you out before he took this. He’d begged for this picture, something he can look at if he ever has to go out of town again, and you’d obliged happily.

He keeps flipping, finding more that you’d taken and sent to him during long days at work, pictures in full length mirrors fully naked, pictures of you laying down, hands between your legs or on your breasts. Boba needs to get his pants off, now, or he’s going to combust. He sets the phone down, working his pants and boxer briefs down just enough to let his cock out. He hisses as he takes the picture of you in on the screen, spread eagle on your back, arms and legs bound. You’re blindfolded, nipple clamps on and a vibrator propped up between your legs. Your mouth is dropped open, a cry of ecstasy he can still hear in his mind. You’d asked for him to do this to you, openly begged him to take pictures that maybe the two of you could look at later together. He’d happily obliged and then fucked you again later when you went back through all the pictures and videos together. 

He groans out loud when his hand makes contact with his cock, its not nearly as good as when you do it, and completely incomparable to the feeling of your mouth or your pussy, but it’ll do for now. He flips through another set of photos, ones he took after he’d fucked you. You’re bent over again and he can see how well fucked your pussy is, a feat he’d accomplished and was proud of. But the thing that makes him groan aloud, rubbing a thumb at the head of his cock is the fact that your pussy is covered in cum. He’d asked before he’d entered you if he could take a picture after and as you pushed back against him you’d moaned an ‘offuckingcourse’

The next set is one of his favorites that he’s taken, one of the few times you’d decided to be on top. You’d sat on his cock before reaching over and grabbing his phone, handing it to him with a mischievous grin. Your rhythm was sensual as you moved, hands groping at your breasts and behind your head to give him good shots. His favorite though was one with your head tipped back, fingers pulling on your nipples and holding the weight of them up. Boba’s stroke sped up, and his head dipped back as the sparks of pleasure snapped through him. He flipped to the next picture, you smiling down at him, one hand between your legs as you touched yourself. Boba’s hand was on your tit, massaging the soft flesh and Boba imagined what it felt like as he stroked himself. 

Boba flips to the next set, a short few of him fucking you from behind. He can see how much his cock stretches you from this angle and he curses softly. The next picture he has a thumb buried in your ass, your upper half laid out flat on the bed as you take him in two holes. He can hear in his mind the way your breath hitches as he wets his thumb and sticks it in your back hole. He can imagine the way you beg for him to fuck you back there, even though you both know you’re not ready. The pictures stop after that one, he’d been too worked up to continue taking them and you’d not been able to walk right the next day because of how hard he’d fucked you. 

He’s getting close, his balls are tight and he looks for something specific. He knows he’s got a video saved  in the album and he’s aching to find it. He sighs with relief when he does, turning the sound on high. Your cries start echoing through the cab immediately and Boba groans right along with them. He’s taking you from behind, hands tight on your hips as he fucks you. The camera is shaking because he’s struggling to hold it as his hips move, your cries pitching up as he hits something deep and devestating in your core. 

“Fuck, Boba!” You cry out, hands reaching behind you to grab the forearm that’s not holding the camera. He groans, remembering what it feels like to be in your sweet pussy and he’s barely holding on. He wants to last until the end of the video, he knows it’s not long, but your cries are hitting the base of his cock and he’s going to come, soon. 

“That’s it, Princess, love when you come all over my cock,” he snarls and he can hear how tight his own voice is and how hard he’s holding off an orgasm in the video. 

“Are you still recording?” You ask, throwing your ass back against him and he can hear himself grunt a yes through the back of the camera. “Pull out and come all over my pussy,” you tell him and he can’t feel it but he knows you’re clenching your inner muscles on him. “I want to watch this back and see your come covering my pussy,” you beg and Boba on camera breaks, he watches himself pull out and hears himself groan as spurts of his come cover your pussy. Boba in the cab of his truck comes hard too, spurting ropes so hard he nearly hits the ceiling. He keeps stroking as he watches the video, watching you reach between your legs and swipe a finger through his come and bring it to your mouth. He hears himself murmur a soft ‘fuck’ on the video and he has to concur with his own sentiments. 

He finally clicks the phone shut, finding a leftover towel and cleaning himself up as best as he can when his phone rings, a video call with you.

“Hey, Princess,” he answers and he can see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes and two different coffee cups sitting next to you.

“Hey baby,” you reply, scrubbing a hand over your face. “On your lunch break?” He nods and you smile. “Thinking of me?” You ask, almost like you already know the answer.

“I’m always thinking of you, Princess,” he tells you, debating on telling you what he just spent his lunch break doing. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, resting your chin on the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching at his chin. “I actually just spent my lunch break looking at pictures of us,” he says, hoping you’ll know which pictures he’s talking about.

“Oh? Get yourself a little worked up?”

“More than a little,” he admits and you laugh. 

“Want to come home and take a couple more? I got my project turned in a few days early so my boss offered me a couple extra paid days off. I’ve missed you,” you say, a suggestive purr in your voice but Boba doesn’t hear most of the last half of your sentence. He’s switching out apps to tell Fennec that he won’t be back today and he won’t be back in to work until a new week starts.

“I’ll be home in 20,” He grunts, throwing the truck in drive.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Tags: @firstofficerwiggles @grinningnexu @darkhairedmenrule @starlitnotes @rexandechosandwich @too-manyfandomstocount

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba Fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba Fett fanfic #construction worker boba #CW!Boba #Karie writes Kinktober 2022 #Karie writes Kinktober #karie writes #kinktober 2022 #kinktober prompts

[standbyric]

[PART I]

04: Take a Break

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female!Driver OC x Pierre Gasly Premise: Formula One, Female Racing Driver Rating: 18+; Mature themes (explicit language, death, trauma innuendos, motorsport accident, mentions of sex) Timeline: Back and forth Word Count: 5k Sum: Perth break and unexpected coincidence.

⬅️ Chapter 03 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 05 ➡️

CAME the two much-needed weeks’ break.

After securing double podiums on the doubleheader race weekends, the trip back to Perth tasted so much sweeter than honey for the Australian Honey-badger.

It was just after his compulsory over-the-break workout—well, Michael was the one who deemed it compulsory, the honey-badger was reluctant, but yeah, same shit. Like always with his shenanigan, this time Daniel leapt over the fence of his ranch in the name of parkour—because walking through the gate was for the weak, he argued—as he darted in giant steps into the house, all the way to the living room. 

Stripping off his sweaty oversized tank top before hooping it to the laundry basket, screaming a silent ‘hell, yeah! C’mon!’, complete with the victory air pumps, as he threw himself over the sofa in one loud poof.

“Gross.” Scotty James croaked at the sight of his half-naked friend sprawled over the sofa. The pro snowboarder had joined the man-child badger on his workout session. And only now, he’d begun wondering why he thought it was a good idea and said yes. Michael then followed, closing the door behind him. The two friends had chosen to be civilised and used the backdoor.

Daniel ignored the prudishness of his buddies as he took his iPad out, getting himself comfortable on the sofa. 

With one hand scrolling through Youtube, his other free hand grabbed an open bag of chips he found lying on the coffee table—must’ve been his sister’s leftover, he thought—and started munching casually.

That earned him a disapproving look from Michael.

“What? It’s half a bag, Mike, and look—less salt,” he growled in between his chomping.

Michael kept his silence, only squinting his eyes at the badger before turning away with a defeated sigh. He took the chair on the round dining table next to Scotty, deciding that the sofa sloshed with Daniel’s sweat was a no-no to sit.

Daniel’s scrolling stopped as he spotted a video from Audi’s channel with a thumbnail of Zea sporting a pair of glasses, pen in hand, looking serious.

“Didn’t know she wears glasses?” Daniel muttered, finger already pressing the video.

The video began with a shaky frame zooming out from Zea’s face. She looked extra sharp reading god-knows-what, finger continuously twirling her pen—Daniel swore she looked like one of those kick-ass eggheads from Fast & Furious—while running something that appeared hella complicated on the computer.

“Go away, Will. I’m trying to be productive here.” Her voice collided with the rapid sound of typing from the keyboard.

Must be Will Stevens…her teammate, Daniel thought.

“And how many times have I told you to stop zooming in; I can see it from the lens—Oh my God, you still suck at taking videos.” Zea stopped her typing, looking straight at the camera. “That’s gonna be another drunken footage. Don’t you feel bad for Jax? He needs to work the extra hours having to edit every footage you take. Give the man a break, mate.”

She was speed-talking again; at least, that was what Daniel had decided to call her habit. He mirrored Will Stevens’ laughter behind the camera as Zea looked at her teammate accusingly with-what her eyebrows creasing, her glasses dipping on her nose.

Cute.

What?

And then she and a couple of people whose looks screamed intellect from head to toe for Daniel to assume must be Audi engineers started discussing something he couldn’t decipher before working directly on the car. He whistled through his teeth, cracking a grin. “Damn, she’s so badass!”

The visual of Zea skilfully mechanising the car, all the while being acknowledged—like she should—by her peers, was hotter than decent to admit. He wasn’t even going to touch the topic of her tattoo breathing out all its glory through that sleeveless shirt. How many times had he mentioned she rocked that??

“Badass who?” Scotty looked up from his phone. 

“Her.”

Michael snickered at Scotty’s straight face after Daniel’s deliberate attempt at being vague—and failing shamefully so. “Let him be,” he waved his hand, “you know what he’s like when he’s crushing on a girl.”

“Am not!” Daniel shouted his protest.

“Oh! You mean the ‘we’re colleagues for now’ girl?” Scotty conveniently ignored him, finding this whole his buddy-became-lame-every-time-he’s-crushing-on-a-chick thing entertaining.

Michael laughed, throwing his head back with genuine amusement before his eyes settled back to Scotty. “Believe me; he’s totally swerved direction. He’s into smart chicks now. Like, genius-level smart,” he continued, to which Scotty snorted. “Oh, good. She’s smart. He’s an idiot. See? Balance.”

“Shut the fuck up, you two!” Daniel’s scream was again ignored as his buddies cracked up in satisfaction. Which part of being a fan did they not understand?

Daniel shook his head at the indecent roaring noises his friends continued making, trying to focus on Zea as she explained something technical to the viewers.

But he wasn’t joking.

The admiration he felt was beyond genuine. She was probably the most technically involved driver on the paddock—hell, she was on par with the engineers and mechanics; she knew her car in and out.

So he’d decided he’d be her fan. What was so wrong with that? Especially after that ballsy stunt she pulled back in Hungary.

Daniel’s mind reeled back to the cool-down room after Zea’s  dramatic win.

24 July 2016. 3.17 PM. Cool-down room and the subsequent press conference post-Hungarian Grand Prix.

[From left to right] Daniel Ricciardo (Red Bull) and Zeahire Sinaga (Audi) 

Zea flinched as soon as she entered the cool-down room.

That was probably one of the few times she’d felt Lewis and Daniel to be so much bigger than she was. The three of them were already in a staring match; theirs fervent, hers victorious. Hers definitely was nowhere near helping subdue the intensity of the situation, not that she intended to anyway. Let a woman revel in her poignant victory. And thank goodness cameras seemed to be absent for this weekend’s cool-down room. 

“Heyyyyy,” her greetings trailed, awkward and defensive, aimed to simply break the silence. But Daniel and Lewis were still busy catching their breath—and mind, let’s be honest—to respond.

“So, uh… I guess congratulations on the podium, boys. Yay…”

Silence once more proved to be the sole reply available as both Lewis and Daniel busied themselves with wiping their sweat away. Heavy breathing, the look in their eyes was still intense. 

Okay.

One. Maybe that little wave she gave them was unnecessary, just to fill her quota of being an arrogant prick. And two, she pulled off that theoretically difficult move flawlessly, which may or may not tickle their self-esteem—the former seemed to be more apparent. But hey, we have already established she could be the worst person alive and a horrible rub-the-entire-bottle-of-alcohol-to-the-open-wound kind of opportunist, so save the judgment.

But come on. The silent treatment? Really? And they say her species was the dramatic one.

“Okay. I am so sorry, boys.” She’d raised both arms, renouncing her surrender—no harm in being the bigger person here. 

“I admit that wave was so unnecessary. That was me being an absolute…jerk. Forgive me.” She hoped she’d sounded sincere enough because, while it must’ve brazenly pricked their pride a little too deep somewhere—what did they say about men and pride again—they still had to admit what she did was fun, theatrical, and entertaining. Especially for the thousands of spectators watching. 

“So, can we hug it out?” That was when Zea squinted her eyes, trying to minimise her contact with the two fuming drivers across her.

Still no response.

Zea swallowed a sigh.

“Really? You two are seriously just gonna leave a girl hanging?” How very gentlemanly. But then again, she heard from the grapevine that chivalry was in danger of facing the same fate as Dinosaurs. Yep. Extinct.

Zea wagged her open arms, evidently waiting for a hug back. Or at least a fist bump? Signalling they were cool? Come on; one can only be so petty. And had she mentioned she wasn’t born with a side of patience in her DNA?

Lewis was the first to finally relax his expression. Good lad.

He exhaled hard; the annoyed look he’d been wearing was now replaced with curiosity.

He put down the water bottle he’d been drinking, tipping his head toward Zea. “How did you do that?” he prodded. “How did you find the right timing to hit the throttle? You could’ve come home without any tyres left.”

Daniel’s ears spiked up. He wasn’t going to lie; more than being pissed at her shenanigan was his interest in how she made that last move, well, worked.

“I really wanna say practice, but that was honestly the first time I’ve ever done anything like that and believe me—something I will never do again; so, yeah, math.” Zea wasn’t lying there. “It was a risky move; that’s why I first asked Marq for the rate of my tyre degradation.”

“No fucking way. You did not drive and count something else at the same time, woman.”

“What—the math?” Zea shrugged, her innocence oozing from every pore as she batted her lashes at Daniel. “Yes, fucking way. You can drive and count something else at the same time. Now that I mastered with practice.”

A slight grin edged at Daniel’s lips, his eyes darkening as his mood seemed to shift from pissed off to intrigued. Like he couldn’t quite believe she had it in her. He’d come to acknowledgement she was smart, but this smart? She was almost a genius. 

Lewis chuckled. “Aha! So it was code for tyre degradation! Great. Now we’re on to something.”

Zea blinked twice before laughing after realising she’d given out her cryptic code on her own. Lewis followed with a giggle like he’d caught her red-handed.

“I’m sorry. I was really struggling with pace, and you guys were closing in with DRS; I had to make that gamble. And hey, you’re leading the championship now, Lew; I’d say it’s a fair trade?” Zea cleared her throat before continuing. “Even though you lost to me and only leading by three points ahead of Nico,” she grinned as Lewis once again threw her a disgruntled look.

But with the giggling and her joking around with Lewis, Daniel soon followed to regain his composure. There was just something about it that soothed his hot temper after being played. But then again, they were racing fair and square—there was no need to drag this on. So he scurried closer to her.

“Hugs?” she said, noticing him inching closer. Daniel stared. Still intrigued by the way her mind worked. 

“Nope?” she made that pop sound with her nope, and Daniel kept his eyes steady on her.

“Okay. It seems you’re still mad. That’s alright. It was indeed a shitty move. I’d be mad, too, in your shoes. Take your time to forgive me.” No, Daniel wasn’t mad or anything; he was actually thinking of something else along the line she calls him Lew?? When did they get so close?

“Come here; let’s hug it out.” That was Lewis offering Zea a hug, but just before the deal was done, Zea pushed the Merc boy to a halt. “On second thought, I’m good. Let’s just say we’ve hugged it out. We’re cool now, yeah?” The laugh from Lewis was spontaneous upon seeing Zea over-dramatically pressing her nose, groaning.

That gave Daniel an idea.

In one swift move, he locked her neck, forcing her face against the nook of his armpit.

“Oh sh—HOLY SHIT! You piece of disgusting human!” Her muffled scream got both Daniel and Lewis laughing out in satisfaction. They even went so far as to stamp their ‘genius’ move with a fist bump. 

“Now we’re cool, woman!”

Not surprisingly, Zea had to enter her geek mode as she attempted to explain whatever she did in that last lap that got her rear wheels slightly smoking and her unannounced pit-stop in English terms without sounding like a conceited cunt during the subsequent press conference.

“Do you mind sharing, then, when the pit stop code happened?”

“Nah, we’re not that cool; we could only handle being so cryptic. We’ve already discussed this back in Silverstone—hey, we had double DNFs in the first lap; talk about so much free time.” Zea rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick in her voice.

Ironically, the room seemed nonchalant, so instead, they laughed in response. Talk about being so shallow.

“We agreed that if all six of them start with Super-softs, then I’d pit at forty—no questions asked—because the earliest window to pit for the others would be lap forty-four.

“But then so much happened. The Quali yesterday was a mess, too; we haven’t really had the chance to discuss it again. So I crossed my fingers and prayed they were ready… they were. Basic undercut strategy, nothing fancy, really.” Yeah, only with insane precision, thanks to Zea’s head.

“Zea, just trying to take your opinion. You are currently in fourth and Stevens at ten in the driver’s standing. Do you maybe see Audi has the potential to fight for the constructor's title sometime in the future?”

“Oh?” Zea stopped fumbling with her fingers, finding it interesting how the question opted her opinion for the Constructor’s Championship instead of the Driver’s, as if they’d already established she’d never had a chance of winning anyway—no point in asking.

“Interesting question.” Zea chuckled before her voice turned serious. “I personally think Audi as a constructor, is a powerhouse. They didn’t win rallies and endurance out of fluke; come on. But I believe transition needs time. A team is not built in a year or two; this is only our second year. Give it another two or three years and trust me—we’ll be contending for the title.”

The remaining of the conference went surprisingly enjoyable, even when things got a bit heated up upon queries on Zea’s escape from penalty even after being held for three hours and forty minutes for that double yellow issue.  

“But it’s not, definitely not, about Zea’s penalty; it’s about the safety issue and being clear for us.” Lewis made an effort to annunciate clearly, sitting up straighter in his chair to stress his points. “The fact she didn’t get penalised means the message we’re sending to the lower series is that it’s possible to lose only a tenth of a second in lap time in the double-waved yellow flag.”

“Can I speak up about this?” Zea raised her hand, to which the press line-up nodded.

“I do second Lewis, actually.” Zea glanced at the Brit. “It’s a fact that the double-yellow rule hasn’t been the clearest. But I do need to clear out the reason why I wasn’t penalised.

“The rule requires us to significantly slow down. By the time I was out, the track had fully dried, which definitely wasn’t the case for these two gentlemen. Dry track means I went so much faster on every corner, so that timing you talked about with Nico yesterday? Hell yeah, extremely important.” Zea could see Lewis nodding his head slightly from the corner of her eyes.

“But where the wordings ‘significantly slower’ was not defined, we looked at percentage—significant being more than 50%, let’s say. This means if I run at 200, I should’ve immediately run at 80—that’s 60% slower.

“My telemetry showed 290-294, which means I should immediately hit…” Zea angled her head a little, possibly calculating, “116-120; you don’t need to bother using your calculator, darling. The numbers are published in the FIA report. It’s online.” That got the room chuckling as Zea vocalised her notice of one reporter looking visibly sceptical at her quick mentions of numbers.

“My speed was 113 at turn 8—that’s 61% slower. For comparison, Lewis and Daniel were 67% slower. So, yeah, it was a straightforward case for the stewards; I lifted enough, and then I had gone quick enough on the other corners to make up for the lost time.” Hopefully, that was enough to settle any more nonsense the press might capitalise on that incident because not only it was incomparable to Jules’ accident, but it was also disrespectful to him. 

And then afterwards, Lewis had his giggles back on; Daniel went jester mode, as usual—seemed very happy about his podium finish. Until that question was raised. 

“Back in 2013, Sir Stirling Moss said women lack the mental aptitude to compete in F1. Earlier this year, before the season begins, Mr Ecclestone said that women drivers are not physically able to drive quickly enough in Formula One.”

Oh shit. Zea didn’t like where this was heading. Her raised eyebrow and a slight shift in her chair gave enough indication.

“In fact, his exact words were, ‘I don’t know whether a woman would physically be able to drive an F1 car quickly and they wouldn’t be taken seriously.’ Question to all drivers, do you believe that’s truly the reason for the lack of women in Formula One?”

Oh shit. Gotta give it to Ralf for being ballsy. As usual. Maybe that was why the paddock kept him around for every press conference. He squeezed the juice where it was the sweetest.

Daniel immediately glanced at Zea, only for his eyes to meet contact with Lewis. The Brit had apparently thought the same. Interestingly, the two share a similar vigilant look in their glance. 

But to their surprise, Zea didn’t show emotion, like her feelings were in a sudden vacuum. 

“Zea, perhaps you want to start?”

A smile shot up almost instantly on Zea’s face. But if there were one thing Daniel would notice was that her eyes didn’t fold into the usual twin crescent moon.

“Aww, well, that’s unfortunate.” The soft tone of her voice could’ve almost deceived Daniel into a sense of calm if he didn’t catch how hard her fists were clasped into a ball underneath the table. “Well, can’t say he’s entirely wrong, ‘cause I don’t remember having balls….” It seemed like she chose to twist a joke.

It worked. Everyone started giggling. 

“So this whole time, none of you guys have taken me seriously, then? Not even the both of you?” She took Daniel by surprise when she alternated her head between himself and Lewis without losing her smile, her tone humorous. 

“Evidently, you just beat us here, fair and square. Pulled a move I didn’t think was possible unless you’re either fearless or confident enough in your skills,” Lewis spoke up. “I don’t think we have any reason to not take her seriously?” He cocked up his head, glancing at Daniel.

Zea fought a smirk from creeping up not-so-discreetly on her face. 

Good. Go on, Lew.

“Absolutely, mate,” Daniel responded. “You heard her talking technical. You saw how she drove. If anything, we should be upping our game.”

“And if I’m not mistaken, Indycar has no power-steering? I remember seeing quite a few women driving there.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right!” Daniel snapped his finger at Lewis’ question. “Should’ve been much more difficult to drive, but it’s been quite some time since female drivers are involved in Indy.”

The edges of Zea’s mouth curled like she was suppressing a smile as her two colleagues behaved according to her bait. You see, sometimes, it is more effective to make a point by using others’ mouths. Look at her two colleagues proving her point. She didn’t even have to lift a finger.

But it was only natural; because only experts could appreciate the worth of another expert. What the hell did Mr Ecclestone know about driving anyway.

“Do you guys not take me seriously, then?” Zea finally spoke, directing—almost in a challenging tone—her question to the press.

“N-no! We do. We most definitely do,” was murmured roughly after. 

Zea kept her smile, but the look in her eyes changed, and her tone dropped lower. “Exactly.”

Daniel’s eyes stayed on Zea, watching her ease back into her chair.

“So. What other compliments did they have for us women?”

She was smiling. Beautifully, might he add. But something was intimidating about it that Daniel couldn’t put his finger on. And he knew that the press had felt it, too, because look at them gulping. 

The elevator ride down after the conference was even more interesting. It made Daniel wonder if Zea, along with Irza—he’d taken his turn to accompany his twin instead of Margareth this time—and Elijah, seemed to have forgotten entirely about Lewis and Daniel riding in the same elevator.

“So, uh, remind me again. How much of a crime is it to… blow up someone’s car?”

Daniel could barely hide his eyes widening in surprise. Never in his twenty-seven years of life had he heard a criminal plot discussed openly like this.

“In terms of…?” The fact that Irza responded calmly just heightened Daniel’s curiosity.

“Uhm… paperwork for you?” 

“Just the car? Or with the owner inside?” That was Elijah inquiring. And by now, Daniel was convinced that discussion on something along the line of this topic had been a regular thing. Should he be concerned?

“Well, the latter sounds incredibly tempting….” Was she being sarcastic? But Daniel couldn’t find any hint of playfulness in her tone.

“Well, if the person ends up dying, then—“

“—Obviously, yes. I know, Irza. I know.” She wasn’t facing him, but Daniel could’ve practically heard the eye roll she’d put on when saying that.

“But we’ve long established I’m an arse anyway.”

“Then it’s gonna be a lot of paperwork. For Alby and me.”

Zea sighed softly, her voice with just a hint of sadness. “But what if you can’t trace it back to me?”

A short pause from Irza as he tilted his head to the side, perhaps thinking. “Still a lot of paperwork—wait, actually, more. Extra, ‘cause then we’d need to cover up your track.”

“Just out of curiosity, Z, whose car? The Eccle-something guy? Or the Moss guy?” Elijah probed.

“Well, I’m sure we can throw the Moss guy somewhere in Maracanã Stadium, where dozens of football players would rightfully stomp him. But my conscience doesn’t allow me to harm that Eccle guy…directly?”

“Girl, you better make a decision??”

“Surely the Eccle guy has a son? A daughter? Who has a car? Wait, he is wifed, right? How old is he again?”

“I don’t know. Might-soon-die-of-a-heart-attack years old?” Daniel covered his face as he felt laughter bubbling in his throat. He heard Lewis and Michael scoffing as they, too, tried to swallow their laugh from Elijah’s remark. 

The elevator dinged, and the metal doors opened up.

That was when Zea turned around, catching her two colleagues off guard.

Oh. So apparently, she had been aware they were in the elevator together. 

“I haven’t said thank you for what you guys did back there, whatever your intention was. Thank you.”

Then, the three Audi personnel immediately jumped off, leaving Daniel and Lewis, along with their respective teams, in a mix of confusion and stifled laughter.

“What was that, man?” Lewis was beyond flabbergasted. 

Daniel was already rumbling in laughter. He threw his head back and laughed, his voice bouncing off the metal walls as he took a second to compose himself. “She’s fuckin’ ruthless, mate! That’s what it was!”

If that were the kind of conversation she’d share with her brother daily, then damn. 

Damn. 

How much more intriguing could she get?

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head at the memory and decided to pull up another video, still ignoring his buddies making fun of him in the background—they were still convinced he’d had it bad for her.

He kept scrolling, starting to discover how Audi would release a short two-minute video of their drivers doing a random mini-challenge for every race week.

Grabbing a handful of chips and chugging it down, Daniel tuned in to their newest challenge video, where Will Stevens donned a black, tight bodysuit paired with yellow flippers.

Daniel immediately burst out laughing. “Holy shit! What the fuck is he wearing?!”

“The things I do for views.” Will Stevens’ voice was subdued by Zea’s delightful laugh, matching Daniel’s. “What the [beep], Will?! Why do you look like a giant black [beep] sperm?!” Daniel laughed out louder, clenching his stomach at the exact description Zea had blurted.

“Mate, seriously, what the fuck are you watching?” Scotty started to sound concerned.

“He looks like a giant black sperm! Hahaha!” Daniel responded in between his laugh. He was laughing so hard his breath had started making hitching sounds. 

“What?!” Scotty’s worry was ignored as Daniel continued to laugh uncontrollably, feeling more and more tears bubble up his eyes.

“Do I just start painting his face?” 

“Don’t you dare mess it up.”

“You already look messed up.”

“[Beep] you. And why are you laughing again?”

“Mate, your face anatomy is literally 70% forehead.”

“What—Nonsense! What do you mean 70%—then my forehead should reach up here!” Stevens pointed at his nose, which only made Zea laugh even louder. 

“Wait, hold on. I don’t exactly remember how Daffy Duck looks.” At that point, Daniel couldn’t take it anymore. His laughter turned to giggles, which were quickly overtaken by a series of loud, boisterous cries. “Hahahaha! Oh shit, oh God, I can’t breathe.” He wheezed out between giggles as he watched Will Stevens turn more and more unrecognisable.

The video ended with Zea being reduced to the floor from laughing because of how ridiculous Stevens had ended up looking. 

Daniel tried his best to regain control over his breathing as another fit of giggles erupted from him. When it finally subsided enough for him to catch his breath, he turned back to Scotty. “Maybe Red Bull should start doing these nonsensical challenge videos. That was so fucking funny.” 

Scotty looked at Daniel; his eyebrows creased, judgment apparent in his face. “Mate, whatever this is,” he gestured all over Daniel, “—this is a new level of sad.”

“Shut up. Your judgement is not welcomed here.”

“I mean, look at you, mate. Getting desperately horny over your… colleague?”

“Who the fuck is—I’m her fan!”

“Yeah, right.”

“And don’t talk about her like that!” Daniel threw a pillow over to Scotty, who laughed his arse off.

“Hey, you two! Language!” Michelle, Daniel’s older sister, came from the kitchen, carrying one-year-old Noah. “What’s going on? I heard yelling,” she exclaimed, placing Noah in his baby chair next to the dining table.

“Daniel was being, uh… questionable,” Scotty told her with a smirk before continuing. “And now he thinks his behaviour is a ‘fan behaviour’.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow, and Daniel rolled his eyes and returned to his iPad. The three kept silent for a few seconds before Scotty spoke again. “He's crushing so bad it's painful to watch.”

"Oh..." Michelle finally registered what the heck was happening to her little brother. "It doesn't have anything to do with a certain woman, who's a racing driver, who recently won in Hungary, is it?" she asked with fake innocence.

That got Michael, who was busy texting on his phone, laughing hard while Daniel pouted his lips when he registered his sister’s teasing tone.

"You know she's in Perth, right?” Michelle added.

“What?” 

“Oh!” Scotty snapped his finger, “for the Audi launching thing, isn’t it? I forgot it’s today!”

“What??”

Michelle shook her head, snickering at Daniel as she turned on the TV, cocking her head to tell her brother to watch. 

“So, do you consider Australia to be your home?”

It was Zea on the TV, a live interview that immediately got Daniel’s attention. “Oh, shit. She is in Perth!” he exclaimed.

“I can’t deny it, can I? I did spend a good chunk of my childhood in Melbourne, so…yeah. But I have to say this is my first time visiting Perth. I had to move to Europe with my brothers to pursue my racing career, so, yeah… haven’t had the chance to come here.”

“Text her or something. Ask her out. Grab a beer?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Daniel sighed in defeat. “Just to set the record straight, I don't have feelings towards her. Except for admiration as a fan.”

“Sure you don’t,” said Scotty sarcastically.

Daniel ignored him.

The interviewer started talking again, and Michelle switched the channel to a kid’s show just as a commercial break started. She glanced at Daniel, who was now deep into his iPad again, looking very invested.

“So, are you gonna text her or not?” Michelle asked, breaking Daniel’s attention. 

The siblings looked at each other briefly before Daniel sighed. “I don’t have her number.”

“WHAT?!” Both Scotty and Michelle exclaimed at the same time.

“Holy shit, mate. I called it—this is a new level of sad!”

“Shut up!” Daniel snapped at them, turning away. They could practically see steam coming out of his ears. They roared in laughter.

“Uh, mate? I think you might be in luck?” Michael spoke up. “Remember Adrian? And his girlfriend Katey Ash?”

“Katey Ashley, the professional billiards player?”

“Yep,” Michael nodded at Scotty. “He’s asking me if we’re back in Perth ‘cause he’s meeting up with, check this out: Irza. Apparently, they’re friends.” Michael looked up from his phone. “And Katey is, guess what, friends with Zea, so tonight they’re meeting up in Pot Black, you know, that billiards bar.”

“Fuck. That’s like a 20-minute ride from here.” Daniel grunted; he couldn’t stop the grin slowly forming in his mouth. Was the universe really attesting to his agenda of getting closer to her?

As a fan, he meant. 

“Ooh~ Look at you~ Looking so radiant now~ Who was it who said I don’t have any feelings for her~” Scotty teased. He received another pillow thrown by Daniel, and the rest of them burst into another round of laughter.

Oh.

Seemed like an interesting night might be in the bag.

⬅️ Chapter 03 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 05 ➡️

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Finally back! I think I have something with the train ride back home, always getting ideas there haha. Anyway, I hope this one is a fun read. I'm trying to get my chappies below or like max 5k. Might be hard on chappies with races, though. Aaaand I had a lot of fun with the manip 🤣 Wanted to do one with the three of them together (Zea, Dan, Lew) but I think maybe sometime later… Anyway, thank you for showing love for my writing. It means a lot ❤️

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Tag list:

@scotlynaurora @squidwardsluverxx

#daniel ricciardo #pierre gasly #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #fanfic #formula one fanfiction #danny ric #daniel ricciardo fanfic #pierre gasly fanfic #formula one fic #slow burn #much fluff #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #female!driver oc #daniel ricciardo fic #pierre gasly fic #ayrton senna #slowburn fanfic #sbrSLOWBURN

[ideasvoid]

hello, i was curious of how Trickster, Ghostface, or Frank from Legion react to a survivor who feels little to no emotion. for instance, if the killer is about to attack the survivor but the survivor just looks at them like, "that's crazy". or another is when the survivor doesn't feel anything when being chased down or stalked. if it's possible, may i please request this? i haven't found much of the headcanons anywhere. if you do write this, i truly thank you / gen.

Hello my dear! I’m not too sure if you mean they are incapable of feeling emotion or if they’ve been desensitized to the ways of the realm. As such I will leave that to reader decision and stay in a bit of a mid lane.

The Trickster - Ji-Woon Hak

Ji-Woon is a man of talent, he always has been. Whether that came to his musical abilities, or his killing. In his very humble opinion there is no one who can do it better. So when he flings a knife directly past your head to clip some of your hair and you simply look at it unflinching, he’s unsure how to feel.

Something bubbles in his chest, swirling wildly around in a way that makes him feel almost sick. You look at him, a bored expression on your face and Ji-Woon feels another alight. Rage. This was all you could muster? Indifference? You pulled the knife from the wall, freeing your hair from its hold and simply… walked up to return it.

His body shook with anger, and he roughly snatched the blade from your hand. Imagining all the ways he would make you scream and beg for his forgiveness. Never in his life had he left so… so - so under minded! He was the Trickster, Ji-Woon fucking Hak! You should fear and revere him! You should be thankful he chose you of all people to turn his attention to.

The Trickster watched you walk away, looking back down at the designer blade in his hand. He had practiced that trick for months. He huffed, straightening his coat and fixing his hair. Never mind that, one bad review wouldn’t ruin him. He was a lion among mice, a god amongst men. He’d set it right, starting with you.

The Legion - Frank Morrison

Frank watched from behind a tree, silently counting out the survivors by the generator. The whole squad was here, good shit. Turning the blade in his hand, he took a breath, channeling adrenaline in his veins. Snow kicked up as he took off, breaking into a full sprint towards the machine.

The red head with the glasses heard him first, causing a chain reaction of survivors scurrying like mice. He slashed one, than another and another Breaking off to chase the last, he smiled under his mask and he corner you. You turned to him, looking his over, his smile faltered - why were you so calm?

“Hey” you said simply. Frank lowered his knife, confusion wracking his mind. He glanced around, trying to gauge if this was some kind of joke. “Uh, hey” He watched you carefully, surely this was a trick. Some kind of new method you were trying to throw him off his game. Though, the fact that he had yet to stab you proved it was working.

You gave a nod towards him “I like your jacket”. What the hell was happening? Frank dropped his arm, adrenaline leaving his body as he huffed. “Thanks?” This was ridiculous. Frank opened his mouth, foul words ready to be unleashed when a loud alarm sounded through the resort. The doors had been powered.

The man swung around to look towards the nearest door, watching as the red head from before waved hastily for you to follow her. Rage boiled in his chest and he looked back at you.

“Damn, that’s crazy” you said, sounding just a bored as before. You held up two fingers over your chest, and took off towards your teammate. Leaving behind a very angry, very confused Frank.

Oh, this was war.

The Ghostface - Danny Johnson / Jed Olsen

Danny hummed to himself, adjusting the lens on his camera as he zoomed in to the group huddled around another of those dusty machines. He had been starved of inspiration and was practically elated at the sight of someone new. Well - newish.

The ghostface was as good of a killer as he was a reporter; often times taking in information and conversations with out anyone being aware he was ever present. It was a skill that proved itself invaluable in the realms, where interacting with others of his position could always lead to one not walking away. Extra trials to make up for resurrection didn’t exactly sound like fun if you asked him.

No he’s heard about you, heard the annoyed grumbles from one Dr. Carter about your lack of response to treatments. Seen the way the huntress seemed bored at the way you didn’t give her the chase she wanted. It was fascinating in its own way, how you could look death in the face and feel nothing - or at least show nothing. Danny had his favourites, the ones that screamed the best or made for the best photos, he wasn’t sure where to place you on his tier list.

The shutter of the camera clicked as he took his pictures, examining them with a careful eye that only a professional could hold. It made him wonder, why were you here? The entity fed off of pain and fear, that was the entire reason all of you were here. An endless game of cat and mouse served up on a silver platter for the god above to indulge in. So the fact that it brought you, someone who seemingly was void of that sweet delicacy it craved so much was… oh what was a good word for that? Dumb, stupid, pointless? Obtusely asinine? oh! That’s a good one.

You didn’t provide the same thrill of the chase, or the rush of seeing the fear in someone’s eyes. Which is most cases would make you firmly on the bottom of his kill list, but you still made for good photos. So that bumped you up a few pegs.

#the trickster #ji woon hak #the legion #frank morrison #ghostface #the ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen #dbd imagines #slasher fic #wren writes #death-in-shift

[suraan-mga2022mi4012]

Batman (2022) screenplay

The Batman (2022)

Written by: Matt Reeves and Peter Craig

Directed by: Matt Reeves

 1.  Gotham city street – night / rainy

 It’s Halloween night on a busy day in Gotham city, the weather is gloomy and rainy with the only lights being emitted from street signs and lamps. The camera pans down to reveal the massive crowd all dressed in costumes. All while the “Water tower” by Michael Giacchino plays quietly in the background.

 Batman (Narration)

The city streets are crowded for the holiday…

 The camera then cuts to Bruce Wayne walking in the middle of the crowd in his hoodie while it rains.  

 Batman (Narration)

Even with the rain

 Then a close-up shot of all the civilians from the perspective of Bruce Wayne

 Batman (Narration)

Hidden in the chaos is the element,

Waiting to strike like snakes

 Then we see the front of Bruce Wayne walking towards us in his hoodie barely able to see his face. As random civilians pass him and talk with one another.

Batman (Narration)

But I’m there too, watching

 We then see the back of Bruce Wayne again at eye level as he continues to walk through the crowd.

 Batman (Narration)

Two years of nights

 Cuts to a close-up of Bruce Wayne’s eyes as it some light shines on his face.

 Batman (Narration)

Have turned me into a nocturnal animal.

 The sound of a train plays as the screen fades to the next scene.

 2.  Outside store- continuous

 A pickup truck passes the store which is located under a rainy bridge. We then slowly zoom into the store.

 we see a green masked thug walk inside the store filled with goods and a few civilians.

 Batman (Narration)

I must choose my targets carefully

 Close-up shot of the green mask thug through the dirty window. He looks around to make sure no one is around to stop him from robbing the store.

 3.  Inside store – continuous

 As a man and a woman leave the store the green masked thug looks back at the cashier and approaches him, looks back quickly and back at the cashier pulling his gun out at him.

 Green mask thug

Come on! Give me the money!

 Cuts to a side shot of the man’s gun as they go out of focus and zoom into the window showing the city street.

 Green mask thug

Let’s go! Let’s go!

 Cashier

Alright! Alright!

 Batman (Narration)

It’s a big city.

 4.  Outside bank – continuous

 The screen fades to black as the camera pans to the left showing several thugs lighting Molotov cocktails in front of the bank.

  The scene cuts to a man spray painting on the bank pillars.

 Batman (Narration)

I can’t be everywhere

 Cuts to a shot of a thug breaking glass as they laugh and then set the bank on fire with the Molotov cocktails, their laughter fades out to the sound of a run-down train

 5.  Inside train – continuous

 The next scene cuts to a window covered in raindrops, we slowly zoom in showing the other train cart as the lights flicker. We then see a group of thugs with makeup on talking amongst one another in a group.

 We then get an over-the-shoulder shot of the gang when they all start laughing while they watch a video about one of their gang members.

 Gang leader

Look at this guy, man

 Then cut the youngest member of the group with makeup only on 1 side of his face as he ignores the rest of his gang and looks ahead worried as they continue to laugh.

 We then get a close-up of the gang leader’s phone showing the video of one of their gang members punching a man while jogging.

 As the man in the video gets punched in the face they all burst out in laughter.

 Gang leader

BOOM!

 Thug 1

Wham!

 They all continue laughing exchanging hand-shakes and hi-fives with one another as a middle-aged man gets up from his seat and stands next to the door. The gang leader notices him and stares at him from his seat.

 Thug 2

That’s what I’m talking about

 The gang leader pokes the youngest member and points at the middle-aged man.

We then an over-the-shoulder shot of the middle-aged man waiting at the exit of the train.

 It then cuts back to the train windows only it’s completely dark.

 The train starts to slow down and you can hear the shrieking of the poor-quality breaks.

 6.  Bat cave – Red lighting

 We then see Bruce Wayne applying eye makeup onto himself in a dark room with the only light source being a dim red light.

 It then pans over onto his mask which lays on a table slightly covered with cloth.

 7.  Rooftop of GCPD (Gotham city police department) - night / rainy

  Batman (Narration)

We have a signal now, for when I’m needed.

 Rain pours onto a bright light with the bat symbol stuck on it.

The camera slowly moves away from the light showing a blurry commissioner Gordon looking at the bat symbol shining in the sky.

 Batman (Narration)

But when that light hits the sky, it’s not just a call

 The camera then cuts to a far shot of commissioner Gordon looking at the symbol from the rooftop where we can see the busy street below.

 Batman (Narration)

It’s a warning…

 8.  Outside of store – night with heavy rain

 We slowly zoom into a statue where we see the green masked thug run away with the money in the background out of focus.

 Batman (Narration)

To them.

 We then cut to the green masked thug running across the rainy street with his gun in his right hand.

 He then hears the sound of a helicopter as its spotlight shines on him.  He stops and looks up to see a helicopter flying away.

 In the next shot, it reveals the bat symbol glowing in the sky from a low angle trying to replicate the thug’s perspective.

 We get a close-up of the green mask thug’s face in the darkness covered in the rain as he looks up in the sky frozen in fear.

 Batman (Narration)

Fear…is a tool

 The green masked thug then slowly looks at a dark alley as the music builds up.

 Then cuts to a shot of the dark alley slowly moving the camera closer to it.

 He slowly trembles and backs away from the alley only to walk onto oncoming traffic.

 He then is hit to the side by a taxi.

 Taxi Driver

Are you out of your mind?!

Watch where you are going grumpy!

 The green masked thug gets up in a panic and runs away as the taxi drives off.

 9.  Outside bank – continuous

 Next shot we see the helicopter flying in the sky with its spotlight, with the bat symbol glowing behind it.

 It shines over a masked man in a hoodie spraying letters on the bank pillar. He then backs up a bit behind the pillar.

 Then cuts to the bat symbol in the night sky from a low-angle perspective.

 He drops his spray paint in fear and backs up some more.

 Batman (Narration)

They think I’m hiding in the shadows.

 We slowly zoom into this dark room the canister rolled in and

 Then cut to the masked man and zoom on his face as he breathes heavily, till all the other thugs run away in fear as the noise of police sirens approach.

 Random thug

Come on!

 The masked man looks back hesitantly and runs away with the rest of the thugs as we pan out showing the bank on fire with the word “Broke” spray painted on the pillars.

 10.         Outside Train station- continuous

 The music fades away as the camera then pans down from the tall buildings onto the train station as the train comes to a stop.

 Batman (Narration)

But I am the shadows.

 The train doors open and the middle-aged man leaves the cart but is getting followed by the gang members with makeup on.

 Gang leader

Come on! Come on! WOO!

 The middle-aged man turns around and sees the whole gang stare at him and then proceeds to run with everyone chasing after him except the youngest member who hesitated.

 Thug 2

Go on, man get him!

 Gang leader

Come on, man! what are you doing?

 The gang members all laugh and chase the middle-aged man to the side of the train station.

 Middle-aged man

Somebody help me!

They pin the middle-aged man against the gate and puts his hands through the bars begging for help.

  Middle-aged man

Help! Help!

 We cut to a far shot of the train leaving as we then see the gang members grab the middle-aged man.

 We then see the gang leader with his hand on the youngest member’s head in a controlling way forcing him to watch the members bully the middle-aged man.

 Thug 2

Where are you going, huh?

 The youngest member then looks at the bat symbol and the music started to quietly play again as he then follows behind the gang leader hesitantly.

 Gang leader

Come on

 The gang members surround the middle-aged man and restrain him then hold him up as the youngest member approaches him, while the gang leader watches behind him with his hand on his shoulder.

 We cut to another shot of the bat symbol in the night sky from a low angle perspective.

 Thug 3

You can’t lose

 Then cut to a side shot of the scared middle-aged man with the youngest member as everyone laughs and cheers in the background.

 Gang leader

Now knock his ass out

 Thug 3

Show time. Show time, man

 Thug 2

Come on!

 Thug 1

Come on. Do it, man

 We get a close-up of the middle-aged man with his eyes closed in fear and the youngest member who is about to attack before they all hear the sound of heavy footsteps.

They all go quiet to stop and look around at the dark hallway where the footsteps are coming from.

 Then cuts to an over-the-shoulder shot of the gang members looking at the dark hallway

 We get quick shots back and forth between the gang members and the dark hallway. The gang leader pulls out a machete and steps forward.

 “Water tower” by Michael Giacchino then resumes as we see Batman step out of the dark hallway and into the light slowly approaching the gang members menacingly as they look and laugh.

 The gang leader looks back at his gang pointing at batman mocking him

 Gang leader

You see this guy?

 Then we get a close-up shot of Batman’s boots as he steps into the rainy puddles.

 Then it cuts to the youngest member looking at Batman in fear while the rest laugh.

 It then quickly cuts back to Batman’s face, cold and heartless. The lighting gives the effect that his eyes are hollow.

  Gang leader

The hell are you supposed to be?

 Batman slowly approaches the gang leader and the rest of the group and stands in front of them as they laugh at him.

 The Gang leader lifts up his arm to swing his machete only for it to be grabbed by Batman. Batman then breaks the gang leader’s arm and proceeds to punch him in the face several times.

 Batman knocks the Gang leader onto the ground only to give him additional punches knocking him unconscious.

 Batman

I’m vengeance

 The youngest member then looks in shock at Batman while the rest of the gang look at each other ready to attack batman.

  -End scene 1-

[hotcoffeetransformation]

Jason swore loudly and had to resist the urge to throw his controller down, pissed that he kept dying cause of the game's stupid glitches (Also known as own mistakes). Still, he regained his composure, and smiled before saying

"Alright chat, we're gonna finish up this one and then we're gonna move on to another game. There should be a poll on top for what we do next"

Jason was a moderately successfully game streamer, averaging about 200 to 300 viewers a night, entirely based on his wit and skill. He knew for sure that they weren't coming for his looks, given his weedy, thin frame, overly pimpled face and large, nerdy glasses. Still, it was enough for him, and he was happy with the progress that he'd made.

As Jason got himself set up for the next game, he heard a shocking sound from above him. The victory theme from one of his favorite JRPGs was blaring through the speakers, and he came up, staring at the screen in shock. He knew what that sound meant. That meant someone had tipped him one thousand dollars, completely out of nowhere.

He looked in shock at the notification on the stream, seeing that it was from someone named JockBro69, with the simple message "Can't wait to get to know you better, cutie~"

Jason was completely stunned. Not only had someone actually redeemed the donation goal that he set as a joke (That being that whoever was stupid enough to tip 1000 dollars got to have a 15 minute private chat with him), it was also someone that he'd never seen in his chat before.

Thoroughly weirded out, but knowing that he had to honor his commitment, he sent the guy a quick private message.

"Dude, I don't know how to thank you enough! Guess I'll see ya pretty soon!"

With that, he sent the man his private zoom link, and said goodbye to the chat, who were still going wild over this turn of events, before pausing,the stream and hopping over to discord for the call.

Not two seconds after his stream stopped, he got a requested video call on discord from the guy, and he opened it up, giving a second for the video to load, but when it did, he was completely dumbfounded again. He was expecting the mysterious donator to be some fat, sweaty silicon valley nerd with too much and money on his hands, but instead what met him was possibly the hottest man he's ever seen, standing up and looking down at his webcam with a friendly expression.

"Fuck, bro! Its so good to finally fucking meet you, I've been such a big fan for a long time, and this is a really big deal for me~

The man had a deep, rumbling, pleasant voice, that shot straight down Jacob's spine and left him feeling strangely... inadequate. Like the fact that his voice wasn't as smooth or melodic as this guy's was his fault, and he should be ashamed of that fact. Still, this guy was pretty pleasant to look at, Jason had to admit. He wasn't gay, definitely not, but he could acknowledge when another guy simply looked good.

Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not entirely sure of what he should do or say. Still, this guy spent 1000 dollars on this meeting, so he had to try anyway.

"So, umm.... I see your username is jockbro69... What's your actual name thought? I don't think I've ever seen you in chat before..."

The other man actually laughed at this, before looking confused and saying

"What are you talking about bro? Its me, Ethan! I'm in your chat all the time! Man, I guess what they say about playing games so much is true, huh?"

At this statement, Jason actually went pale with shock. THIS was Ethan? This was the guy who's username used to be runningLink? Who was an active fan of the zelda series, constantly begged Jason to play them, and bemoaned the fact that no would date him? It just didn't seem right...

Still, Jason, ever the semi professional, continued on, pretending that he wasn't shocked at the news.

"Well, thanks for supporting me so much! Seriously, this means a lot to me... Ummm... so I guess tell me some of your favorite things about the channel then!"

The man laughed again, the sound coming out in a slow, dumb chuckle, before saying

"What's my favorite thing? Do I even have to say, bro? Its the amazing piece of eye candy I'm looking at right now. You're super hot, bro~"

At this, Jason was shocked, but he chuckled awkwardly while blushing, and said

"Really? I don't think I've ever heard a single person say that before. I guess I consider myself slightly below average..."

The guy looked confused at that, before pressing on

"Really, bro? You look super hot to me, you got those bright, blinding blue eyes that you can just get lost in~"

At this point, Jason knew the man was just messing with him. His eyes have always, and will always be a dark, muddy brown, hidden behind his massive frames. Jason was about to respond, when Ethan continued

"Yeah, and you got that super stylish haircut too, really makes you look super masculine~"

Now Jason was REALLY confused. The guy was right, he did always get complements on his eyes, the bright, shocking blue visible and striking even through his huge glasses. But his hair was always a long, unkempt greasy mess.

"Ethan, are you sure you're okay, you're not just seeing things? Cause I don't know what you're talking about"

Ethan ignored the comment, just continuing to press on

"And you've got that hot, manly face, with your strong jaw and amazing profile"

Jason was confused again. Sure, his stylish haircut did help him look much better, but his face had always been pretty androgynous, with hints of baby fat still present in his cheeks. Again, before he could interrupt, Ethan continued,

"And you've got that smooth smooth skin, that hot stubble, that sexy smirk of yours. You're the full package bro~"

Jason laughed at this. Ethan was clearly being way too complementary. Sure his face had a great shape to it, with strong cheekbones and a square jaw, but his skin was still acne marked as hell, his smile was crooked and awkward, and he'd never been able to grow any facial hair, no matter how much he tried.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about Ethan. Sure I've got some good features, but the overall package isn't much to write home about~"

Ethan smirked again, his eyes lighting up with humor, as if he knew something I didn't.

"Nah, bro, you're underselling yourself. Plus, you've got that body~"

"What about my body? I think its pretty average, though I guess I'm a bit on the skinny side..."

Jason looked down at himself, trying to contemplate what Ethan meant. Sure, he'd been blessed with an attractive, manly face, but it didn't change the fact that his body was still below average at best.

"Again, bro! Putting yourself down. You really think those massive logs you have for arms are below average?"

Jason looked down at his skinny arms, and said

"More like logs than twigs man, seriously."

"And what about your legs? You've spent so long working on em, you've got thighs and glutes to kill for~"

Jason laughed again

"I dunno man! Most people say the exact opposite. They say I spend too much time on arms and not enough on my torso and legs. What can I say though? I love having big, beefy arms."

"Of course you do, bro? Who wouldn't? Especially when right in between em, you got your big, pillowy chest, your sexy abs, and your super toned back~"

Jason was seriously starting to wonder if Ethan was on something. Anyone could clearly see from first glance that Jason's body was badly proportioned, his arms and legs being massive from months to years of work, while he neglected his back, pecs and ab muscles. Still, he thought he looked pretty alright honestly.

"And I especially love how you're not only super sexy, you know it and flaunt it~ I don't think I've ever seen you once wear a shirt. The most you'll wear is a necklace, and even then, not like that covers anything, bro~ Only makes you look sexier"

Now here Jason had to disagree. He knew that he had cultivated and developed an amazing body over his years of going to the gym, but that was all for his own personal satisfaction. He never flaunted it unnecessarily, especially not during a stream.

"And I love the fact that you're such a fucking bro, bro. Every other word out of your mouth is bro and dude, you can't go even five minutes without flexing and thinking of fucking, or going to the gym, or hanging out with your other hot bros. We all know that your brain is basically only good for working out and looking hot. No smart's up there. And you've got your deep, sexy voice, too. Makes it even hotter that you're a gay bro, just like me"

Jason HAD to laugh at that. What the guy was saying was just so ridiculous.

"What the hell are you talking about? Look, I know that I like to show off my sexy body a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm some kind of dumb jock. And I'm definitely straight, dude. Don't know why you'd think I'm gay"

Ethan pressed on, completely unabashed by Jason's last comments.

"But you know the best fucking part, bro? Its that power of yours. The fact that any weak ass nerd who looks at you and your huge fucking muscles grows into a hot, dumb bro like us within seconds~"

Jason was busy flexing, staring at his own bicep in awe, as if he was shocked by him impressive he was. He looked up at Ethan blearily, saying

"Sorry, bro, what'd you say? I guess I got a bit fucking distracted. Huhuhu. But who could blame me~"

"Nah, it was nothing bro. You don't need to worry about it. Now should head back to the stream?"

Jason gasped in excitement, having forgotten entirely about the fact that there was a whole stream audience full of lame ass nerds, just ready for him to make as sexy as he and Ethan were.

"You got it bro~ This is gonna be so fucking hot~"

Jason left the call, going back to the stream and restarting, glad to see that a full 300 people were still watching, even through the extended break. The second he turned his camera on, he could see that people were confused for some reason, saying a stranger broke into his house. How stupid could these people be? How did they not recognize him? Still, not like it would matter for long...

"Hey bros! How're we all fucking doing? Welcomes to today's stream..."

He trailed off, looking blankly at the camera, before saying

"You know what? Fuck video games! Who needs them when you can do this~"

And as his pecs bounced and bounced hypnotically, the chat slowly transitioned from messages like "What the fuck is happening?" or "Who is this dumb jock?" to "Fuck, bro! Your pecs look so fucking hot today!" and "Huhuhu, I love making my pecs bounce like Jace's~"

And so the stream continued, Jace showing everyone all the amazing things his body could do, while anyone that was watching, whether they wanted to or not, began to copy him exactly. And as the stream went on, the viewer count rose, and rose, and rose...

#musclegrowth #straight to gay #jockification #himbo tf #jock #muscle

[jellybeandrawsthings]

☹️hi i dont usually do this thing where i ask for art/thoughts on things but ive had a super bad day and i was just curious as to what your take on your wounded-on-krypton Kara would be doing with Lena if she hadn't of come out as Supergirl but they still met and fell in love- would Kara just be floating around Lena's apartment during quarantine listening to Lena read books and making her gf tea's and flying out to get her her supplies so Lena would stay safe from getting sick? I really love your art.

aww, I'm sorry u had a bad day, I made a little doodle and tried writing a little story for it as well that should answear your queastion about my scarred!Kara and her relationship with Lena if she didn’t became Supergirl (tho I'm not a writer, so its quality might not be the best)  hopefully it will make u feel even just a little bit better

The first time she met Lena, Kara was going to L-Corp to get a prosthetic replacement from their new Cybernetic Futures program since she kind of destroyed her old one.

Okay, she definitely destroyed her old one, but to be fair, who knew kicking a cement boulder with a prosthetic leg made from human metals but with the force of an angry and very frustrated superpowered being would destroy said metal leg. Really, who could've predicted that?

Walking into the building with warm coffee in hand proved to be more difficult than Kara hoped, her busted prosthetic making her wobble every two steps since she didn't have a spare she could wear - this was the spare - and the slippery tiled floor didn't help. Making her way to the elevator she kept glancing down focusing on her steps, this meant she didn't notice when a woman absorbed in her phone walked straight into her path. On instinct, she relaxed her body as to not harm the human she collided with, unfortunately, that meant she lost her barely-there, to begin with, balance and was sent sprawling onto the floor and her coffee splashing straight at the woman's shirt. Perfect. Just what she needed today.

She had an apology already forming on her lips when she looked up and for the first time noticed the woman, no, the goddess she bumped into. Her hair was black, but when it caught the light it shone deep chestnut brown and cascading down her back, her skin was pale and looked so soft Kara found herself wanting to touch it, her fingers twitching at her sides. The woman's eyes were green, though her right eye seemed to be two shades lighter, more gray than green. She wasn't looking at her currently occupied with taking in the state of her clothes. And Rao, her clothes. The outfit was that of a businesswoman, high heels ready to kill, dark burgundy slacks with a matching suit jacket, loose black tie, and a white shirt. A white shirt that was now covered in Kara's coffee. Oh no. She needed to fix this, like, immediately. The best place to start is with an apology, right?

———————

Lena was having a pretty normal day, all things considered. She should have known her days are never normal. She woke up early, ate a small breakfast, and went to work. There she had meetings with investors from 8 to 11, some paperwork to sign, a small meeting with the head of R&D at 12, and now she finally had enough time to take a break and maybe grab some lunch. With a certain sandwich place in mind, she made her way down to the ground floor and, while answering some last-minute e-mail made her way to the exit of the building.

Before she could even make it halfway to the wide double door, she felt something surprisingly solid and at the same time very wobbly bump into her, and then a sudden warmth and wetness on her chest. Looking down at herself confirmed what she already suspected, someone, spilled coffee on her. Thankfully it was only warm and not scalding hot the last thing she needed right now was dealing with coffee-induced burns. Making sure her shirt was the only thing damaged in the incident, Lena paid no mind to the person who bumped into her, that is until a very apologetic voice started talking to her. From the floor. Looking away from her ruined shirt, she took in the person frantically trying to apologize for spilling coffee on her, at least that's what she thinks the woman was trying to do, seeing as at his point she was rambling a mile a minute.

The woman on the floor looked young, probably around the same age as Lena herself, she had blond wavy hair gathered in a messy ponytail and hidden behind cute square-framed glasses, the bluest eyes she has ever seen. There was a burn scar covering most of the left side of her face and neck and more peeking out from under her shirt. Her left leg ended right below the knee, and the prosthetic she was wearing looked like someone put it under an industrial press and then tried to put it back into shape with a hammer. She was wearing blue sneakers, jean shorts, and a yellow tank top with tiny rainbow dinosaurs on it that gave her an unobscured view of the rippling muscles in her arms as she gesticulated wildly still rambling out something resembling an apology.

Taking it all in Lena came to one conclusion. She's cute. And so with warm coffee drying on her chest and a beautiful woman at her feet, really what else was there for Lena to do other than ask the blonde out on a date.

———————

They moved in together after a year of dating. Alex asked if they were sure, but there wasn't a doubt in their minds that this was what they wanted. It felt right. And they were glad for this decision since a few months later, they and most of the world's population were confined to their homes.

Days in quarantine were spent working from home on their laptops with their legs entwined together and sharing a blanket out of the view of the cameras. When they weren't working they were finding new ways to entertain themselves. Slowly making their way through the classics of fantasy and sci-fi literature, with Kara floating them above the couch and Lena laying on top of her chest reading aloud from her Kindle was how they were spending most of the evenings. During the weekends when there was less work, Lena tried to teach Kara how to bake - with mixed results - and Kara made it her mission to recreate as many childhood experiences Lena missed out on living with the Luthors as possible. Her blanket fort wasn't the most structurally sound, but it sure was cozy. Movie nights were a nightly routine, and cooking dinner together became the most sacred daily ritual neither of them dared or wanted to skip. Weekly game nights through zoom were initiated almost immediately after lockdown and to no one's surprise, Lena and Alex's competitiveness did not lessen with the development of not being in the same room. If anything it became worse. Bets about how long will it take for the two of them to start fighting and accusing each other of cheating were as much a tradition as game nights itself. Most days though were spent working and lounging together with Kara occasionally flying out to pick up supplies they needed. And when one day Kara flew through the balcony with two cats and a dog saying there wasn't enough space in shelters, who was Lena to refuse those cute puppy eyes (it didn't hurt that the dog and cats were adorable as well).

#consulting with the oracle #annonymous #supercorp #ficlet

[sungbeam]

𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

nct dream ot7 x reader (platonic)

0.9k words, literal crack, cursing, kahoot.

The telltale bloop of the Discord notification sound brought you out of your post homework grind daze, eyes groggy and hand drifting over to your mouse to click around on your desktop. The sound of high-pitched giggling was the first thing that met your ears, and you were suddenly aroused from whatever half-sleep stupor you were in. 

"Jesus, you're loud, Chenle," you groaned, spamming the decrease volume button until it wasn't going to burst your eardrums. You heard the muted laughter of your friends on the voice call, along with a mixture of greetings. 

The sky outside of your bedroom window was finally darkening as yet another day of quarantine passed by. You had been locked away in your room, as per usual, taking your virtual classes over zoom and burning your eyeballs out. You didn't know if the blue light glasses you bought off the internet a few weeks ago were legit, but you figured you would keep wearing them anyways. You looked decent in them. 

"And you're just BORING!" Chenle blasted through his mic and everyone audibly grimaced. Chenle's chuckle filled the voice channel. "You guys are so lame. Who wants to get schooled in Kahoot?"

You rolled your eyes, but you were already queuing up the Kahoot.it website as Chenle shared his computer screen. "And you say we're the lame ones?"

"Oh my god, wait!" Donghyuck yelled. "Can we not do the photosynthesis unit again? I fucking suck at this."

Renjun snorted, the green light flickering around his circle profile picture. "Sucks to suck."

"Oh fuck off—"

"That's enough cursing," Jaemin interrupted before you yourself intervened. "There's a child in the room."

Jisung stammered in opposition. "Hey, I'm not a child—"

"What's the code, Chenle?" Asked Jeno. "Wait, YN, HOW ARE YOU IN ALREADY?"

"Ooh, cheater," Mark teased, chuckling. Just as he said this, his own nickname for this round "Watermelon Lee" appeared beside your own name and Chenle's. 

Jeno grumbled, and you could hear the muffled sound of his keyboard as he typed in the game code. "Boo you, guys. Chenle, why didn't you say what the code was?"

"Wanted to see how long it would take you guys to stop being blind."

When everyone had finally joined the game, Chenle fired up the game. He even turned up the volume so that the sweat-breaking, nerve-wracking Kahoot theme song played in the background of yours and your friends' frantic competition and agony. 

"FUCK FUCK SHIT—I PRESSED RED INSTEAD OF YELLOW," Haechan fake sobbed into his mic. You had to cover your ears from the absolute ear rape his volume gave you, but you didn't bother hiding your laughter and joy. That mistake would definitely cost him. 

Renjun tsked. "Always bet on yellow."

"Actually," Jisung piped up, "I think most right answers tend to be blue."

You raised your brow at this, shoving a slab of spearmint gum into your mouth. "Really? So blue is like the C of Kahoot?"

Jisung hummed. "Yup."

As the current scoreboard was revealed, a mixture of reactions filled the voice channel. You were satisfied with your third place—you would happily lose to Renjun and Jaemin any day. Just below you was Jisung, and below him was Chenle. 

Mark's giggles suddenly filled the air, accompanied by Jeno's exasperated groans. "Why have I literally been five points behind you every round?"

"I dunno," Mark laughed. "Maybe you just need to get good, Jeno."

The voice channel erupted into howls of laughter and you could practically picture the deadpanned look on Jeno's face. You were this close to coaxing him into turning his camera on just so you could coo at his puppy dog pout. 

"Aw, don't be like that Markus," you said, directing your words to your screen. "Jeno's trying his best."

"I don't need this," Jeno fake sniffled from his end.

The game continued. At some point, Jeno had finally overtaken Mark, Haechan stopped pressing the wrong colors by accident (just on purpose now), and Chenle and Jisung had somehow tied for fourth. Somehow. 

All eight of you stared at the ending rankings, the voice channel at a rare quiet. Only for a moment, however. A moment you cherished. 

"Sexy." Jaemin was the one to break the silence, taking his second place ranking in stride. Out of 45 questions, he had scored 40 out of the 45 correctly. You finished behind him with 38 correct, and Renjun came in first with a whopping 44 correct. 

4th places Chenle and Jisung both scored 35 out of 45 correctly, and again, somehow ended with the exact same score. Either they were cheating or this was telepathy. 

Haechan said, "How about the loser gets to pick the next topic? All agree? Yes? Okay, I choose—"

Renjun cut him off. "Nuh-uh. I don't think so. We are not stepping one foot near genetics."

"It's not a foot; it's a mouse," he sassed back. 

"What about evolution?" Jeno suggested.

"Ah," Jaemin sighed into the mic, "beloved evolution."

You tilted your head to the side, watching Chenle click out of the current game and go hunt for a decent evolution Kahoot quiz. "Evolution is like a disease. You can't get rid of it."

"Diseases evolve," Mark chimed in. "But yeah, it's everywhere in AP Bio, man. It's like—it's like the Bogeyman, y'know?"

You frowned, but before you could say anything, Haechan beat you to it. "Uh Mark? The fuck?"

Mark was quick to try and explain himself to the background noise of his fingers clicking against keys. "Evolution, like, haunts you, y'know? You think it doesn't exist, but it totally does, and whenever you least expect it—bam! 'Explain how the conservation of metabolic pathways across all currently recognized domains is evidence for evolution?'"

Silence. 

Then, "Man, you're really salty for missing that question on the FRQ, huh."

"IT WASN'T ON THE STUDY GUIDE—!"

a/n: sighs... it never *is* on the study guide 😔

nct m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @johlee @justanotherkpopstanlol

join my permanent nct taglist!

#nct x reader #nct #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream drabbles #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct mark #nct renjun #nct jeno #nct jaemin #nct haechan #nct chenle #nct jisung

[1kook]

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu​ 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates. 

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens. 

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class. 

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him. 

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all. 

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly. 

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months. 

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got. 

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career. 

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course. 

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.” 

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you. 

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen. 

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.) 

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side. 

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly. 

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester. 

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness. 

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you. 

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face. 

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!” 

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things. 

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone. 

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought. 

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you. 

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news. 

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward. 

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason. 

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away. 

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom. 

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same. 

Apparently not. 

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed. 

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile. 

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.” 

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck. 

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot. 

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi. 

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.” 

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.  

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face. 

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments. 

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.” 

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.” 

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character. 

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester. 

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right. 

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile.  He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.” 

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?” 

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh. 

This man was dangerous for your heart. 

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.” 

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you. 

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well. 

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook. 

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡ #mine

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

#yandere nct #yandere kpop #yandere nct 127 #nct 127 yandere #yandere yuta #nct yandere #kpop yandere #yandere taeyong #yandere mark #yandere doyoung #yandere johnny #yandere taeil #yandere jaehyun #yandere jungwoo #yandere haechan #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #yuta imagines #yuta scenarios #yuta dark content #tw gore #tw violence #tw character death #tw swearing #tw murder #tw massacre #tw killing #tw blood

[astermacguffin]

I can NOT believe I haven't encountered a destiel divorce arc amv set on "sick of losing soulmates" yet because it fits sooooooo well

"What a strange being you are" - clips of 4x01 barn scene, Cas' entrance

"God knows where I would be if you haven't found me sitting all alone in the dark" - scenes of Dean in hell and getting out of his grave

"Watch how a cold broken teen will desperately lean on a superglued human of proof" - I can't pick scenes for this yet but it DOES sound very destiel core

"What the hell would I be, without you" - MANY big destiel scenes to choose from

"Brave face talk so lightly, hide the truth" - scenes of Dean gazing longingly at Cas, scenes of Cas' Emptt deal arc

"Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates, so where do we begin // I can finally see, you're as fucked up as me // So how do we win?" - clips of Dean and his previous relationships, clips of the divorce arc

"We will grow old as friends // I've promised that before so what's one more in our grey-haired circle waiting for the end?" - destiel date scenes (their diner dates, the glass clink, etc), scenes with them and their friends

"So which path will you take, cause we both know a break does exactly what it says on the tin" - divorce arc scenes, alternating between their split and their reconciliation

"I won't take no for an answer" - the climax of the amv, with their multiple hug scenes back-to-back

Closing scenes - the 15x03 clip where Cas leaves and the camera zooms out on Dean, alone.

SIDENOTES

One interesting thing about this hypothetical amv is that it highlights the intra- and inter-discursive nature of amvs (and fanworks in general; for a more elaborate explanation for this, please see my essay on the semantic logic of amvs).

I'll explain what I mean. In the typical format for amvs, the song typically holds more narrative force over the visual media (film, TV show, etc). This is evident in the fact that it's usually not the song which you cut up in order to fit the visual media, but the other way around: you cut up the visual media in order to match the song.

This typically entails an asymmetrical relation between the two texts. Functionally, the song recontextualizes the visual media into new and interesting ways: maybe it brings out a novel reading of the visual text, or maybe it reaffirms a preexisting but subtextual meaning in said text. This means that the song tends to function as the more "primary text" with the visual media as the "complementary text."

[Of course, this does have its exceptions. Two examples that come to mind are (1) the abbanatural edit of The Prisoner fight scene by @katebushstandean where the scene unfolds naturally while the song is laid over it. This presents a more equal footing between both musical and visual texts. The other example is (2) the My Heart Will Go On destiel crack vid by @princesscas where a specific portion of the song is repeatedly overlaid on different scenes; this dynamic presents the visual media as the primary text and the song the complementary one.]

This hypothetical amv I'm proposing presents something similar with (2) because in this case, it's the visual media that is recontextualizing the song. If I remember correctly, dodie wrote "sick of losing soulmates" about breaking up with a romantic partner who is also your best friend. The song, therefore, is a plea to remain good friends with this person despite their breakup.

Overlaying it on the destiel divorce arc radically changes the reading of the musical text. It's not just a "I still wanna be best friends" but a "I still want you back, please have me back." While in a formalistic sense, it's still the song that functions as the "primary text", in a more narrative sense it's the visual media that is doing most of the recontextualizing in this case.

Anyways. Someone with better video editing skills please make this real, I'm a better analyst than a creator lol. Also please join me in the dodienatural agenda

#spn #destiel #spn amv studies #wait this reads like an art project proposal lol #complete with the project outline/background of the study/bibliography lol #aster writes #dodienatural

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminals minds self insert #dr spencer reid #professor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #homoose writes

[burning-omen]

Mutations and pleasure headcanons

Characters: Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III, Peter Maximoff

Warning ⚠️: N*fw

Kurt Wagner:

It’s not part of his mutation but it’s worth mentioning, he’s flexible. To the point that it might be unreasonable.

He can fold himself into so many goddamn position and he’s strong enough to hold them for however long he needs to

Anyways, he has 100% just disappeared durning sex.

One moment your railing him into the mattress the next the entire room is covered in blue smoke and Kurt is nowhere to be seen.

About 10 seconds later he’s back with an extremely flustered look in his face.

Before you could question him about where he went he told you he was going to bed. He climbed in next to you and faced the wall for the rest of the night

The next morning he practically begged you to forget that it happened but to also say away from Logan for a few days.

And that’s how you figured out where he landed.

Your avoidance didn’t last long because at some point the next day you ran into Logan, who just let out a long sigh before patting you on the shoulder and walking away.

A few days later Kurt’s over it, just a freak accident, right?

Nope, happened again the next time you had sex with him.

After this kept happening he, begrudgingly, went and asked for help from no other than Logan!

The conversation was basically “hey Logan you fuck a lot right? Can you help me with my sex-teleporting problem?”

And he did, pretty much told him he just needed to be more in the moment mentally so his body wouldn’t take him out of it physically. (whatever that fuck that mean)

After he re-figured out how to stop teleporting spontaneously he decided to use this to his advantage.

I would like to introduce you all to a concept that I like to call “teleportation as a form a teasing”

Intentional teasing wasn’t one of Kurt’s strong suits so he figured that it might help

The first time it happened you were not prepared at all.

You were watching tv, as one does, your mind wandering off as some show played.

Then BOOM

There’s Kurt, looking determined but you could see he was nervous.

Carefully he climbed into your lap, staring down at you for a moment then leaning down, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, he kept going, kissing you over and over again.

He grinds himself against your thigh, groaning softly as sped up. The fabric of his underwear somehow hits every nerve just right.

You watched him as you gently kissing his neck and the bit of exposed chest just above the collar of his shirt.

“You’re bold today, sweetheart.”

“I-i know.”

And just like that, he was gone. A cloud of blue smoke left behind.

You knew this was different from the other times he’d disappeared, then he’d been so absorbed in pleasure that he just POOFED away. This was different, you barely even started, you hardly even touched him and he was gone. And even if it was an accident, he told you he had that under control now.

You just hoped that he hadn’t lied to you.

A few minutes later you wandered into Kurt's room, watching him from the doorway as he frantically arranged and rearranged the things on his desk. A nervous habit of his.

He tries his hardest not to look over at you, focusing incredibly hard on all the stuff on his desk.

He refused to look up even when he heard you close and lock the door, or when you walked up behind him, pressing your body against his as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Kurt..”

“...”

“I know you can hear me sweetheart, you wanna tell me what happened earlier?”

“Nothing..”

“Really? Nothing? Didn’t feel like nothing..”

Feel a little bad for him, he doesn’t know how to tease correctly.

You’re going to have to make him admit to attempting to tease you through the ultimate means of fucking him into the mattress until he’s seeing stars.

Scott Summers:

And now, a list of things you couldn’t do with Scott before he got some semi-permanent glasses:

Roughly fuck his face, because if you did and you knocked his glasses off you’d, at the very, very least, have your entire dick cut off.

Fucking him too hard. Period. It sounds fun but who’s going to pay for the holes in the ceiling or continuously replace your mattress when giant holes are inevitably burned into him?

So if he doesn’t have some semi-permanent glasses by the time you two start having sex everything’s going to be extremely soft and gentle

But the moment he shows you the new glasses it’s over for him.

He’s getting railed on/in/against everything you could think of, because you can do that now without bodily harm or thousands of dollars worth of property damage.

Have y’all been caught having sex in a place y’all shouldn’t be? Yes.

Do you give a flying fuck? No!

No Scott can’t do anything on his own the next day because moving hurts but hey, he had fun.

Warren Worthington III:

Hey Siri, define wing kink

For y’all’s that don’t know “Wing Kink is a related trope which often appears in wingfic (or in fanworks where a canonical character has wings), in which the character's wings are an erogenous zone and caressing them produces pleasurable feelings.” - the fanlore wiki

His wings, when you first started having sex with him, were completely off limits.

He made that undeniably clear to you.

Not because he didn’t like having them touched, but more because he didn’t think you’d like touching them.

All of that went straight out the window a few months later.

He was drunk, which had recently stopped being a normal occurrence for him. He tries to break out of his alcoholism, but it’s a slow and painful process. Instead of just outright stopping all at once he decided it would be better for him to just slow down. It works, he’s not drunk every minute of every day anymore so that’s better. He’ll drink on the weekends, and maybe take a shot before bed but other than that he won’t drink too much. But tonight he was drinking with Logan and in his attempts to keep up with him he’d ended up drunk out of his mind.

He cut himself off, he knew that if he drank more he’d blackout and he didn’t know what he’d do if he did.

So he stumbled all the way back to your room and tripped on literal air.

The sound of him hitting the floor woke you up.

Sitting up you saw Warren laying face down on the floor, giggling like a fool as he made multiple attempts to get up only to end up right back on the floor.

“Warren, it’s 3 in the morning, come lay down.”

You wanted to go over and pick him up. But you knew how he was about his wings and being touched in general.

After a few minutes of coaxing and encouraging him to get into bed he finally did.

Basically plopping down on top of you with a tired grin spread across his face

Burying his face in your chest, he closed his eyes.

After a few minutes you thought he was asleep, but you were proven wrong when he let out a long sigh and looked up at you.

“Fucking hold me..”

No, he doesn’t know how to ask for things nicely he’s a little bastard

You try and avoid his wings at first, gently draping your arms around his shoulders.

But that very quickly frustrated Warren, causing him to grab your arms and forces them around him and his wings.

Before you could try and say anything about it you could hear him snoring.

You sighed, deciding to deal with the breakage of limits could be talked about in the morning.

When you woke up Warren was already awake, still laying on your chest, just staring at you. His cheeks turned a light pinkish color when you looked down at him.

He wouldn’t say anything. He just stared at you for a solid 10 minutes before rolling over onto the other side of the bed.

He’s afraid that in his drunken state he’d made you uncomfortable, which led him to the never ending spiral of anxiety that made him say his wings were off limits in the first place.

Asking him what was wrong just led to him apologizing without actually saying what for.

Throughout the rest of the day he avoided the subject which made him ultimately avoid you.

You see? This is why you should talk to your partners, guys.

It took him awhile but he eventually said what he needed to say.

NOW ONTO THE SEXY BITS

Lightly running your finger through his lower feathers can be a way to get him in The Mood or to calm him down after a particularly rough sex (it helps with his sub drop)

This ones a bit more romantic but kiss his wings, especially the little part where they connect to his back.

He’ll melt, just straight up die on the spot because it’s just so nice and soft and feels so good.

Try not to be to rough with them, it hurts a fuck ton.

His wings are still off limits in certain aspects.

No using them to overstimulate him, he doesn’t like it. No pulling on his feathers, it hurts in the Not Good way.

But do kiss, massage, pet, and run your fingers through them.

He was very nervous when he first let you touch them, unintentionally flinching away when you reached for them.

Run your hands through his feathers while he rides you, he won’t last very long if you do.

praise him and call them beautiful, it took him a long time for him to learn to love himself and his mutation and he needs to be reassured sometimes

STILL BE CAREFUL

HIS WINGS ARE PRECIOUS AND MORE PRONE TO BAD PAIN THAN ANY OTHER PART OF HIS BODY

Just be careful with him stg I love him so much

Peter Maximoff:

Zoom zoom bitch

He fast

He has the nicest ass because of how much he runs

He can and will grab you and take you back to his room if he’s feeling especially needy.

And then he’ll act extremely bratty despite the fact that he brought you there.

He vibrates.

Most of the time unintentionally.

It’s his version of shaking, so he definitely does it when he cums

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Just...give me a moment..”

He’s gotten too eager before and fallen off the bed while trying to change position.

When I say this man gives the best blowjobs in the history of blowjobs I mean it

His tongue vibrates too. That added with the fact that he has no gag reflex AND no shame? Rip

Quickies, anywhere anytime.

Cameras can be covered in less than a second and he can have both of you looking relatively decent before anyone comes in.

You have to guide him while he rides/fucks himself onto you because he might hurt you or himself by going too fast.

He’s not aloud to use his speed when given sexual orders

Usually after being punished he’s much more shy and nervous.

Making him do things slowly only adds to that.

Make him get on his knees in front of you? Gone, he’s so blushy and embarrassed at just being in that position.

Make him strip and prep himself while you watch? Ceases to exist

Will beg and cry for you to let him speed up, but he’s just putting on a show.

Grinding against pillows or folded blankets with some kind of plug up his ass is his preferred method of masturbation because he can go as fast as he wants without worry.

He’s ripped holes in a few blankets and pillows and has very unsuccessfully hidden.

“So are we not going to talk about the hole in my brand new blank?”

“No we are not.”

#kurt wagner #scott summers #warren worthington iii #peter maximoff #Kurt Wagner x male!reader #Scott summers x male!reader #Warren Worthington III x male!reader #Peter Maximoff x male!reader #x men x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #male!reader #cinnamon #X-men headcanons