#but worse because it’s not manageable I think???

[imsofreakingtired]

ok since the people are asking for a sequel to this fic... i must deliver 🫡

crawling back to you

content warning(s): angst - buT THERES A HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR

"crawlin' back to you, ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'cause i always do maybe i'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."

~~~

Sevika catches you halfway back to the apartment. You are bathed in the neon light of the sign of the Last Drop several steps ahead, making you feel like a hologram. That might have been all you were to Sevika. A hologram. Something pleasant to look at, not tempting enough to touch.

“Baby,” she says, “let me explain.” 

She’s not even out of breath. Your world is falling apart and she probably just decided to walk leisurely after you, as if you barely mattered more than just another one of her girls. 

You avoid her gaze. “I thought you were busy tonight.” 

“I am,” she snaps. “This is ridiculous.” 

You’re silent.

“Did you actually think I was going to Babette's every night? You think I’d lie to you that way?” 

“I don't know,” you hiss. “Would you?” 

You know people are overhearing the two of you, but your anger bubbles over like a boiling vat of undiluted Shimmer. Sevika glares down at you, and you feel a twist in your heart. This is the end of everything. Even though she’s the one at fault, she’s the one with the records in Babette’s and not you, you feel like you’re the one pulling all the wrong strings. 

Your question hurts her more than she would ever let on. Of all the people who’d accuse her of lying, she never thought the dagger would be driven home by you. She wants to tell you she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she went into the arms of a stranger rather than risk being vulnerable to you. She wants to tell you all she was trying to do was protect you from her. She wants to ask: if she showed you the cracks in her skin where she’d broken and put herself together again, would you still stay?

But she can’t, because now there’s a wall of ice between you and you are already turning away. This time, she doesn’t follow. 

When she comes home late that night, the apartment is empty. 

~~~

You have found a small, run-down inn where the rats skitter beneath the floorboards and the water doesn’t run half the time, and you’ve sworn every single person you know to secrecy regarding your whereabouts. Every day that goes by feels heavier without Sevika. 

You smoke Shimmer vaporizers to escape the lonely silence of the room, you find work in a scrap metal shop and spend every waking minute of the day trying not to miss her. Trying not to fall into that endless pit of remorse. Go back, go back, get the fuck back and apologize. She was a mess when you met her. You know she can’t live without you. You’re terrified she might do something dangerous and reckless to herself, that she might hurt herself or worse. You find yourself wondering at night if she had eaten dinner or if she had just gone to sleep after a smoke and a shot of whiskey. You have nightmares of seeing her dead at your feet. 

One night it rains like Zaun has never seen before. It’s like the sky has opened up like a wailing mouth, or a gaping wound. Torrents of rainwater rush between buildings and submerge basements. It’s a night no one in their right mind would ever bother going out in. 

So of course that’s the night you hear the banging on your door. 

You open it, a broken bottle in hand, ready for a threat. You think it could be the manager, a sneaking thief who stealthily raises the price of the rooms with each passing week. 

Instead you see Sevika. 

Her prosthetic arm is detached and she isn’t wearing her cloak. Her hair is plastered wetly against her face. Her clothes are drenched. 

Your first thought: is she out of her mind?

Your second: oh my gods. She’s lost her mind.

“How did you know I was here?” You demand loudly. “Are you trying to catch your death?” 

The second part of the sentence comes out as instinct, and you’re embarrassed but it’s too late. Her brows were knit together like thunderclouds, but her expression softens slightly when she hears the concern in your voice. She had been preparing herself for anything. She was convinced you had already found someone new, and were living with them. Now there’s hope. You might still care about her. 

“Get the fuck in here,” you snap, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the room as if she’s a misbehaving child. You yank the moth-eaten sheets off the bed and throw them around her shoulders. “Are you drunk? Why aren’t you saying anything?” 

Fear pierces through your irritation. Has something happened? Is she sick? Is she running from something?

Sevika looks down at you, watching wordlessly as you try to rub the water off her skin. When you let go of her, she lets the sheets fall to the floor. 

You throw your hands up helplessly. “What are you doing here? Who told you I was here?” 

“You think I needed a gingerbread trail to find you?” 

You fall quiet, cursing yourself inwardly. Sevika probably knew where you were since the day you left. 

You know why she’s here. You can see it in her eyes, where all her unspoken emotions betray her. But she can’t translate them into words. She can’t say the words you need to hear. 

You sit down on the bed with a heavy sigh. The room is silent but for the sound of dripping water. Finally you speak. 

“Babette says you only went there once.” You look at her. “Why?” 

She looks down. “I was drunk.” 

“You gonna use that excuse every time from now on?”

“No,” she says sharply. “I thought—I thought I didn’t have you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—I—” 

She comes forward suddenly, and you instinctively draw back, thinking she might hit something. There’s a desperate look in her face that you’ve never seen before. But she doesn’t raise her hand. She kneels on the floor in front of you. 

“Sevika, what—?”

“Take me back,” she pleads, her voice rough. “I swear it’ll never happen again, so—take me back.” 

You try to stay angry. You try to push her away. But when you look in her dark grey eyes and see the tears standing on the lashes, you find you can’t do either. You feel the heat of her body against your knees, and as you slowly remove the string tying her hair and run your fingers through the wet strands you realize with a pang just how badly you missed her. 

Sevika gives a sigh and lays her head down in your lap. 

“You’re not entirely forgiven yet,” you tell her. 

“I know,” she says, her voice muffled. 

It’s as close as she’ll ever come to saying she’s sorry. You think it’s not a bad start. 

~~~

note: your honor she is just a sad wet puppy in the rain and has done nothing wrong in her life ever 😭🙏

~~~

taglist~

@notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @ 00valentina-writes00  @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @lez-zuha @mascdom @tiyawnyana  

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | smutty stuff | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

you somehow managed to convince andy to leave without suspicion in the morning, although the sly man in his phone wasn't convinced with your excuses and abrupt change in your mood. caleb was resting in your room and it took everything to prevent your friend from finding him.

"i can bring you pads before i leave," andy pops in making you gasp, thinking he already left. "no, it's okay!" you squeak out nervously, sighing in relief when he finally leaves.

you shut your door and lean your back against it, sliding down and sitting there for a few minutes.

"y/n?"

you hear a muffled voice from your bedroom. you get on your feet with a grunt and go to your kitchen, bringing some water for the man in your bed.

you hold in your laugh when you see the lanky ass dude wrapped into a burrito in your sheets, hair dishelved and the aftermath of a good night's sleep (drool stains lmao) very evident. you waltz closer to him and push his hair back that was covering his forehead.

"drink some water, loser," you bring the glass towards his face. he remains still, looking at you with a blank expression. you blink twice when you realize that his hands were wrapped inside your sheets.

you bring the rim of the glass towards his lips, ignoring the way your cheeks were heating up. caleb wasn't doing any better, his ears were turning pink and his cheeks had a sunkissed glow, which you assumed was from the heat of being in your thick sheets.

those few seconds passed by very slowly. each gulp made his adam's apple bob and you couldn't help but stare at his jawline, unholy thoughts consuming your mind in that process.

you hear a groan coming from him, indicating you to turn away the glass. you apologize and move it away, trying not to stare at the water droplets sliding down the sides of his mouth towards his neck, slowly reaching his colla- "ahem," he coughs to get your attention. "too hot?" he asks with a smug expression.

"huh?" you were too dazed to comprehend whatever he was saying. "oh- what? sorry, i wasn't paying attention," you recover. "clearly, you were too busy being horny," he teases, making you blush. you quickly hide your shyness by playfully punching his arm.

"shut up, i was looking at the drool on your face. you're such a messy sleeper," you point out, trying to divert the topic. he shoots an amused smile towards you before wiping the spot around his mouth.

"gone?" he asks.

"mhm."

you prepare to leave when he tugs at your hand, causing you to stumble and fall onto your bed. he puts you in a gentle headlock while his other hand is comfortably wrapped around your waist. his back was pressed into you, and you definitely didn't ignore the feeling of something hard rubbing against your butt.

caleb was slightly aware of the effect he had on you, and he finally gets to experiment with it. sly fucker.

"will you tell me what happened to your back now?" you ask the question that's been eating you alive since he arrived. he groans in annoyance, "can't i tell you tomorrow?" he whines.

"no, you rat. i won't let you stay here if you don't tell me," you threaten. "fine, fine," he mumbles before turning you to face him, manhandling you in a way. you suddenly hold in your breath, realising how close your faces were.

it gets worse when he pulls you closer to him by your waist, his hands sliding down your back just enough to grope your ass, but not quite there yet. you try not to gasp when you feel his cold fingers brush against your exposed lower back.

"i entered this world with the help of some confidential technology in skyhaven. i had to travel through the fabric of time and space, and enter a specific wormhole that led to this universe. i wasn't exactly well-versed in this area and got attacked by a few wanderers before i reached the wormhole entrance. i tried to escape quickly because i wasn't in the mood to fight but one of them got an opening. so that explains the wound." he explains.

you nod along as he spoke more about it, some of the information going over your head but most of it shocking you. you take a whiff of his scent subtly, although he notices it due to going through years of training. he's not a colonel for no reason. "are you done sniffing me like a dog?" he teases you.

"asshole, let me fix you up," you say, upset not at his remark but that he would go through all that for you. no one's ever done that and it felt so fucking nice to be someone's first and only choice.

he grumbles out incoherent words while turning around, abruptly removing his shirt and you thanked all forces when you saw the blessed sight of his back. the bruise on his back wasn't serious, just alarmingly red. you take your first aid kit from your bathroom cabinet and rub some ointment on it to ease the pain.

"thanks, doggy."

you reply with a slap on his bruise making him wince in pain.

he turns towards you, giving you the pleasure of looking at his bare chest and chiseled abdomen. you were nearly drooling at the sight, an animalistic urge to lick his abs surfacing through your brain, making you slap yourself. "ouch, are you alright?" caleb asks while laughing.

"you seem like you're enjoying it more than being concerned about me," you state while rubbing your cheek. "you seem like you're enjoying the sight," he retorts, making you pout.

you stick your tongue out at him and set the first aid kit aside, crawling into bed next to him. it felt like you've known him for years with how easy it was for you to be domestic around him.

you feel the familiar bulge pressing against your butt as he spoons you, and you can feel his smirk though he wasn't facing you entirely. your body jerks when you feel his cold fingers brush against your neck. he pushes your hair away from your face, brushing it behind your ear. you shiver when you feel the cold fingertips against your earlobe.

arousal instantly pools in your loins when you feel a soft groan coming from him when you move again, the bulge growing slightly bigger, larger even.

"i might do something you may or may not like," he whispers against your ear which doesn't help at all. not wanting to appear the only one affected, you challenge him. "have you considered i might do something you may like?"

you, yourself were surprised at the sheer boldness in your voice. your pussy throbs when you hear him groan, much louder and clearer now. you decide to take it as a sign to continue, a new found confidence emerging within. you slowly grind against his bulge and gasp when you feel him grip your waist tightly, trying to stop you from moving, but it was really just him trying to control himself.

his grip was tight enough to leave a bruise, not a painful one though. you wince when you feel his nails dig into your plush skin, making him loosen his grip.

"you really are something," he lets out, a desperate undertone in his voice that made you cave in to temptation. his knee parts your legs and nestles itself between them, right at your core.

you grind against it as your wetness increases rapidly. "just like that, princess," he praises.

your movements accelerate as you feel your clit throb, soft moans eliciting as your desire for something bigger, something raw, increases. "please," you beg desperately. "please what, baby?" he teases you, making you let out a frustrated whine.

"i want y-your fingers," you let out between moans. you gasp when he suddenly flips you onto your back with ease. your breath hitches when you notice the way his pupils were dilated, an inexplicable glint present behind those gorgeous eyes. beads of sweat slide down his temple, making everything all the more hotter than it already was, literally and figuratively.

his lips attach themselves to yours, molding with each other as if it were meant to be. his neediness was as clear as day, and you weren't any better. his tongue works its way inside your mouth, exploring the wet cavern. he smirks against your lips when he hears you whine.

you frown in disappointment when he pulls away, only to replace it with a dazed smile as he leaves wet kisses against your jaw, moving lower to your neck.

he sucks on the side of your neck leaving a mark where it was gonna be so very visible to everyone. you moan when you feel his teeth graze against your skin as he nips on it. he continues his ministrations, leaving hickies all over your neck and collarbone, marking you as his.

he pulls your shirt up to your neck, taking a moment to admire your tits before marking them all over hungrily. he attaches his lips to your left nipple, while his fingers toy with the other. "you're so beautiful," he breathes out in between. you try not to be affected with the way his gaze pierces into you as he continues toying with your breasts.

his spit stains your skin in such a way that it makes your nipples more sensitive. he shifts to the other breast, doing the same movements that leave you panting for more.

he quickly undresses your lower body without you realising it, too dazed to think properly. he lets out a ragged breath when he notices how wet you were, slick gathering near your folds. your breath hitches when you feel his warm breath against your pussy.

without wasting anymore time, he dives in to give your pussy a long sloppy lick, making you let out a breathy moan. his tongue dives in and out of your slit, not giving you time to adjust to the feeling.

"caleb!" you gasp when you feel his thumb circle harshly against your clit. his tongue works wonders on your pussy, not letting you catch a break with the way it explored your insides. "you taste so good, sweetheart." his remark makes your pussy clench. your hands travel to his hair, tugging at the silky strands eliciting a moan out of him.

before you could register every sensation, he starts sucking on your clit, hands making their way under your shirt. his fingers toy with your nipples, overwhelming you with having dual stimulation as you let out soft moans and whimpers.

he retracts his right hand and brings it down to your cunt, your slick acting as lube. his long, slender, slightly cold fingers circle your slit, while his tongue busies itself on your clit and his left hand plays with your breast.

he plunges two fingers in without a warning making your wince at the sting which slowly turned into sheer pleasure. "hah- that feels so good!" you let out when you feel his fingers move in a wave-like manner inside you. he moans at your voice, sending vibrations straight to your clit, amplifying the pleasure.

he goes on to knead your other breast, loving the way you writhe against him. he licks a long stripe against your pussy before going back to stimulating your clit.

his fingers work your insides relentlessly, aiming at the spongy spot that made you arch your back. your legs close onto his head in a crushing manner but all you received was a husky moan. clearly, the man loves it.

"don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, oh my god, don't stop," you blabber as you feel a familiar build-up in your lower belly.

his hand that was initially kneading your tits was now gripping your thigh, slapping it harshly to leave a print making your pussy clench around his fingers. "caleb, i'm close!" you moan out loud. "cum for me, princess," he groans against your clit, increasing your pleasure tenfold.

your hips buck as your orgasm hits you violently, tears forming at the corner of your eyes when you feel his fingers and mouth continue despite your orgasm. you tug weakly at his hair, trying to pull away from the exploding pleasure.

you moan helplessly as he continues overstimulating your poor cunt before finally stopping. you pant breathlessly, gasping for air.

you watch as he licks his fingers, closing his eyes for a second to enjoy your nectar. "you like that, doggy?" his nickname making you frown, not liking it one bit. "no, it was so underwhelming. two outta ten," you reply with a grin.

"oh, really? then i must've been dreaming when i saw someone whining like a slut," he says with a cocky tone, shifting to trap your hands on top of your head with one hand, while the other grips your jaw. you squirm in anticipation, your already flushed face turning warmer as you felt arousal pooling once again. his fingers caress your jaw, tracing your skin gently but with a sense of possessiveness hidden behind his actions.

he leans in to kiss you roughly, teeth grazing against your lower lip while his hand moves lower to grip your neck, just tightly enough to make you want more.

when he pulls away, he takes a moment to admire the mess he made. your lips were swollen, your chest and neck were scattered with hickeys and you were flushed, still recovering from your intense orgasm.

he groans when he hears your doorbell ring, falling back faceflat onto the bed as you scramble to make yourself look presentable in front of whoever that was.

you grab your turtle neck from your closet and wear your shorts, ignoring the slick feeling near your core from your recent endeavours. caleb wasn't pleased with the way your nipples were sticking out in that thin material of the turtle neck. only he gets to see that sight, no one else.

"stop," he says, making you turn towards him. "what?" you raise a brow, looking nearly judgemental. "wear this," he says before throwing his jacket towards you. you catch it and wear it quickly before leaving to check up on the unknown visitor.

[laswells-ashtray]

Soooo because I can't write this properly, so I'm entrusting you with this.

Nik hurt Price comfort.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Nikolai knows he isn't a young man anymore.

He hears men in their twenties make internet references that go over his head, they all sound like gibberish but apparently, they're humorous to surrounding 20-something year old men.

There are specks of grey starting to appear when he lets his stubble grow out and one stubborn steel strand behind his left ear that he can't seem to hide when he tucks his hair back.

But the excruciating sharp pain that spreads throughout his knee more often than not when he gets out of bed in the morning is a slap in the face to the man he once was.

Realistically he'd always known that the work he does would catch up with him but something about taking that extra minute in the morning just so that he can move without his right knee going out from under him is humiliating.

It isn't just his age, old injuries have a way of making themselves known but it would seem that the older he gets, the longer the list of pains that ail him.

Nikolai is a grown man, he can admit that it awakens an insecurity inside of him that he thought buried. Is he still good enough for John? He had proven himself many years ago but he no longer has the same vitality and agility that he had so often taken for granted.

John is a man in his prime. When did he pass his?

There are many things that a man can ponder whilst waiting to regain the full use of his right knee and yet Nikolai always seems to fall back into that swirling pool of shame and self-doubt. He has yet to find a way out of the water without letting himself drown, choking back into awareness.

One hand rests on the edge of his nightstand, holding him steady as he keeps his weight on his left leg. It's a practised routine by now.

Curling his toes into the carpeted floor beneath him acts as a source of amusement, it is one of few actions that can offer him a distraction as he waits out the aching.

John's string of curses as he batters his pinky off of the doorway is as close to a greeting as he'll receive, he believes that the phrase Sergeant MacTavish would use to describe his partner's ordeal is Fucked It.

The captain somehow manages to overcome his anguish as he approaches Nikolai, stopping in front of him and offering his knee a look of contempt as if the joint had assaulted him personally.

When will it become an inconvenience to him? A flaw that he just can't see past.

"Still playing up?"

He offers John a reluctant nod, there's no use in denying the obvious.

"Why not sit down? It's clearly worse than usual and you're only doing yourself more harm standing, give it a bit of time as you sit down then try to walk around again later."

John's suggestion is deliberately gentle and by the look on his face, Nikolai knows that he's expecting a fight. Maybe he expects the pilot to blow up at him like he has before on one of his worst days, a memory that causes guilt to hack away at what little parts he has that remain undamaged.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of their bed and pretends to miss John's obvious relief.

The other man is quick to park himself beside Nikolai only to fall back until he's sprawled on top of the duvet, fingers hooked on the edge of the mattress as he stares up at their ceiling.

"Back's fucked today. Was thinking of staying in for a bit but if neither of us are up to it then we could go for a lazy day. Bed and Bond, best way to go."

He glances down at his partner, catching the faint grimace on his face as he tries to shift his weight off of the lower left side of his back.

"Okay."

For both of their sakes, he can succumb to his desire for laziness in the name of pain relief.

"C'mere, lie down with me. Can get a catnap in if I've got a good-looking man in my bed and he'll let me use him as a pillow."

The sincerity in John's tone is almost sickening, as is the warm look as he lifts his head just to admire Nikolai. There's an undeniable honesty about the devotion that the other man dedicates to him, his very existence even in its worst state is something that John cherishes. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting them both.

So, he nudges John's shoulder and waits for the other man to settle back onto the side of the bed that he had abandoned only an hour ago before he makes the move to lie down. The pain in his knee is no longer torturous, throbbing lessened to a mere irritation.

The pilot feigns exasperation almost as well as the captain often hides it. "Flattery will gain you nothing."

In lieu of responding, John just plants his face on one of his tits and nuzzles into his chest hair.

[xechu]

The Downfall

cw: 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, angst, swearing, Sukuna kinda toxic here

wc: 1K

summary: the argument that leads to your break-up(?) with Sukuna

a/n: part of this au. I think I need to come up with a name for this au now. This happens before the events of 'Warm on a Cold Night'. Thank you for reading. x

P.S. I've now created a master list for this series: Cross My Heart - check it out!

Banner credit @cafekitsune

You currently found yourself in a confrontation with your boyfriend. This particular argument was triggered by the events of a few nights ago when you received a call from the hospital at 2:30 AM. The blood drained from your face as dread consumed you; deep down, you had anticipated receiving a call like this eventually, given Sukuna's reckless lifestyle and tendencies. You hate to admit it, but you would have been a fool not to expect him to land in some kind of trouble. Though this was the first—and you desperately hoped to be the last—time you had to pick him up from a hospital, the underlying context of your arguments had always been the same, and this was no exception.

Sukuna's choices and the company he kept had always been the root of your arguments throughout your four-year relationship. When he was on his own, he was manageable—proud, and stubborn, yes, but manageable. However, when he associated himself with the likes of his old college classmates—Shiu, Toji, and Yorozu—it was like an explosion waiting to happen.

You despised how they reveled in his reckless behavior, always spurring on his worst instincts. The ungodly trio (yes, that’s what you secretly called them) reminded you of high school big shots trying desperately to relive their glory days. Of course, Sukuna was the only one of the group who was actually making something of himself, and it broke your heart watching his hard work crumble because of these so-called friends.

When you got the call about the ER visit, something within you finally snapped. It all started when Sukuna mentioned going to the bar with "some friends." It didn't take long into your relationship for you to catch on, whenever he opted not to mention specific names it meant that he was his going to see his college mates, which he knew you had reservations about. You clenched your jaw, anxiety already beginning to swirl within you, but you still managed to force a smile and say, “Alright, Ryo. I hope you have fun, and please, stay safe.”

The altercation unfolded when a man tried to hit on Yorozu. After several attempts to shrug him off, the man finally decided to leave, but Toji and Shiu wanted to take things a notch further, and to take the matter outside. Sukuna initially tried to break up the fight, but the man, adrenaline-fueled and panicked as he perceived himself to be ganged up by three large men, pulled a knife. And of course, it was your boyfriend who ended up injured, while Shiu and Toji—who instigated the whole debacle—was completely unscathed.

“I’m worried for you, Ryo—can’t you understand that?” You struggled to hold back the emotions bubbling inside you.

“I don’t need you to be worried for me, Y/N. You’re making something out of nothing again,” he said, frustration clear in his voice.

“How can you even call them your friends? They could have gotten you killed! And for what? Just because they wanted to feel good about themselves?”

“But I’m fine, aren’t I?” He lifted up his shirt, and gestured to the bandaged wound on his abdomen. As if that was supposed to make everything suddenly alright.

“If you were fine, I wouldn’t have gotten a call that you were in the ER being treated for a stab wound!” You were in utter disbelief at how he could be so nonchalant about it.

“It’s just a minor wound that needed some stitches, that’s it. They made it sound worse than it really was.”

“This is not minor," your brows creased, "I don’t want to get a call one day saying they found your body in a ditch or something! Please, if you cared about me, you’d stop getting yourself into these situations.”

“Why are you always bringing up these what-if scenarios?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration amping up by the second. “It’s always like this with you. I love you, I really do, but you struggle with internalizing things, and then you make it my problem!”

“What are you trying to say?” You tried to remain calm, though there was an undertone of warning, telling him that he ought to choose his next words carefully—

“That you’re being a pain in the ass!” he snapped. “My life has always been like this, and I’ve been able to get by just fine! You knew who I was before you got together with me. Now it’s suddenly not good enough for you anymore? You just can’t accept it?”

“It’s not like that! You know it's not!" Devastation lacing your voice at the accusation.

“Then I don’t know what the fuck you want from me! You’re always worried or anxious about something when you have no reason to be. I told you I'm fine, you know I can handle myself.”

“I’m only like this because I care about you! Can’t you see they’re tearing you down? Everything you’ve fought for—what good is it if you keep going down this path? If only you could put in an ounce of the respect you have for your work into your personal life, I wouldn’t be so worried all the time!”

“Don’t twist this into my issue! You’re not doing any of this for me; you’re doing it because you can’t get over your own fucking head.”

“Ryo, you don’t mean that...” A pang of hurt struck you. Though he saw the flash of hurt in your eyes, he was too caught up in the heat of the moment to acknowledge it.

“I can't put up with this right now,” he spat, his voice cold. “Don’t come find me.” He grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the front door behind him.

You sank into the couch and broke down, uncontrollable sobs wracking your body as your hands covered your face. It seemed that time and time again, he had chosen them over you. Chosen his own way of life over what you had built together. Were you not part of his life? Did you not deserve even a sliver consolation and reassurance? You didn’t know how much more you could take, and this felt like the last straw.

a/n #2: Kind of been in a rut lately with my writing, my creative motor went on vacation. Unfortunately, I don't make the rules - it goes when it goes.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Banner © @cafekitsune

[wihellib]

This is interesting.

I have my issues with MC, they make a lot of decisions I shake my head at, but the vitriol directed at them seems way over the top at times.

And you’re right that Minhyeok is not a saint. He’s very manipulative, adept at guiding situations to his preference. He likes infantilizing the MC. He loves that they need and depend on him and so he actively encourages that type of behaviour from them (which is definitely not in their best interest). Not only that, but because of his care towards the MC (again that he encourages), Minhyeok feels entitled to receive their love in return. The MC owes him that, which is not a healthy mindset at all.

To me, the MC has several reasons for acting the way they do.

MC seems to always have had low self confidence, made worse from the bullying they received due to being Minhyeok’s friend.

The game makes it clear that the MC coming home to find their parents dead was an extremely traumatic event for them. It makes sense for it to exacerbate all the ‘worst’ parts of MC’s personality.

MC retreated within themselves. Minhyeok only managed to pull them out enough to benefit himself, by making them wholly dependent on him. They only truly start coming out of their protective shell after going to Hell, after they’re away from Minhyeok, but it’s a slow process.

The sex stuff could easily be a special interest. I do think, in part, it’s due to the fact they’re a descendant of Solomon and horny is etched in their genes.

I'm gonna talk about whb!Mc/Ra-on but It's just me trying to make them make sense for me. I'm not a doctor. This is everywhere

With the small scrapes of MC's childhood came out.

Mc is extremely dissociative

Mc doesn't feel like they have a real personality and that might be a trauma response

They lost their parents at an extremely young age and would be a complete recluse if it wasn't for minhyeok constantly dragging them out of his room. They are still mourning them to the point that every year they get driven to the cemetery to take care of their graves. They still won't step foot into the family house after the incident basically living with the Kim family. Wouldn't you think they would have a bigger reaction to ppyong telling them he visited the grave?

But no they push on as if it means nothing to them because it was a traumatic experience and they just got themselves thrown into an active warzone in the span of a couple days. maybe the lack of reaction is more of a defense mechanism. They've only known the devils for a little bit at this point, I wouldn't be too interested in being openly vulnerable either.

Dissociation can be triggered by constant disturbing experiences and in one day

They saw their closest friend get killed

Was almost murder by Gabriel

Finding out angels & demonsapparently exist

Satan pops out of nowhere and almost immediately tries to fuck them.

They make a deal with Satan to bring minhyeok back to life

Now they have to help with a war , break all the pacts they so say have and pick a king to rule over all of hell

In order to stay alive in hell they have to constantly be fucking someone and drink their best friends cum.

I'm surprised becoming dissociative is all that happened. They also have been experiencing intense flashbacks on multiple occasions not being able to tell if they're real or not. They obviously don't have emotional healthy reactions. All key symptoms of a dissociative disorder

Unhealthy attachment to Minhyeok

Ra-on has stated in both events and in the main story line that minhyeok is extremely important to them.

They are childhood best friends and started living together soon after the death of their parents.

Both Minhyeok and Minseok have told ppyong that mc was constantly bullied and socially ostracized unlike minhyeok who is revealed to be extremely popular amongst others. He has other friends besides Ra-on, he keeps getting hit on by both men and women, and has a lot of active activities.

Minhyeok takes care of ra-on like a mother would while at their lowest point and ra-on hates themselves for it. They have become completely dependent on him for almost everything, they have no one else besides minhyeok and that's a bad relationship to have. Neither can fully understand or see how toxic this way of thinking is for the both of them besides the fact that Ra-on could never believe minhyeok could have a crush on him.

He's the only reason why mc goes to hell and the only reason they are interested in returning to Earth . Even when they're about to die or sleeping with the devils they somehow always go back to thinking about Minhyeok. It's understandable to the extent that he's all they have, the only person still there for them but still unhealthy in the long run.

Sex and stuff

Mc to me feels like someone who's special interest is sex

I have a hard time believing they were ever with anyone before Satan with the backstory PB has provided but they have an extreme knowledge in sexual concepts and devices.

They watched porn, read books about BDSM, and are always open to talk about it, but shows a lot of hesitation in the actual act.

Sex is a very taboo subject in most countries and hell is the complete opposite of that. Sex is not only a popular part of the history, it's also extremely encouraged. Most devils are already horny on-site especially if Ra-on is around (some even openly have boners around them and try to seduce them )

Ra-on is not used to all this positive attention being completely on them maybe even forcing themselves to become even lewder and indulge in kinks they normally would never do to keep this attention on them. That could also be the reason why they never seem to bother when demons call them Solomon because it's a positive relation in most eyes. They are experiencing things they could never pull off on earth with the status they have up there and they are thriving off of it, feeling wanted and needed in a way they've never experienced before.

That's all I got. I didn't expect it to be this long.

[hy6erion]

Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

~🍒

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥)

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

[waitsobs]

THE LONG GAME ⋆˚࿔ chapter thirty-nine

When popular actress y/n l/n's private account gets exposed, it is revealed that she has a crush on one of the girls from the girl group katseye. y//n tries to de-escalate the situation, but makes it worse, and loses her chance with the girl. The only way she think of winning the girl over is by playing the long game. 

EVIL MANAGER

When y/n stepped into her manager’s office, she expected a standard meeting—nothing out of the ordinary. But as soon as the words left his mouth, she realized she was in for something  worse. 

“You want me to what?” y/n practically shouted, her eyes going wide in disbelief.  Her mouth was hanging open, not even trying to hide how stunned she was.

“Look, y/n, it’ll only be for three months. This could actually help you in the long run,” her manager explained, leaning forward slightly, his tone trying to sound reasonable.

“Mr. Murphy, I’m sorry, but… you want me to block Megan and stop posting for three months?” Her voice was high-pitched, almost disbelieving, like she was hearing a bad joke. “That’s crazy,” she added, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, y/n, but every time your name comes up, it’s surrounded by negativity, and that’s because of Megan. It’s affecting your image. Not being seen with her for a while and going MIA is your best option.”

y/n’s breath hitched, and her eyes darted toward the floor for a moment as she processed what she was hearing. Her jaw tightened, a deep exhale leaving her lips. It always felt like every time she was finally on the verge of something good, something had to mess it all up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. But then her manager’s next words hit her like a ton of bricks. 

“And to make sure you follow through, I want to watch you block her,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, as if to make sure she understood the seriousness of it.

y/n blinked, stunned. “Are you serious?” Her mouth parted slightly, disbelief and frustration clouding her face.

“Yes, I’m serious, y/n. And you need to be serious, too. Take your phone out and block her,” her manager said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

y/n stared at him for a while. She couldn’t believe she was being asked to do this, especially in front of him. she slowly pulled her phone out of her pocket. Her fingers hovered over the screen, but for a moment, she hesitated. 

With a sigh, she opened Twitter. Her fingers hovered over the screen, moving slowly, like she didn’t want to do it. Each click felt heavier than the last, her stomach tightening with every second she spent on the app. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

y/n’s fingers hesitated over Megan’s account, her heart racing in her chest. She stared at the screen, willing herself to do it. Her thumb trembled slightly, for a moment.

With a sharp breath, y/n slammed her thumb down on the block button, almost wincing as she did it. She was about to shove her phone back into her pocket when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“And on messages, too,” he added casually, as if this was all perfectly normal. He didn’t even flinch when y/n’s eyes shot back up to him, her expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. 

y/n groaned loudly, rolling her eyes. she unlocked her phone again, navigating to her messages. Her thumb moved sluggishly over the screen as she blocked Megan there, too. 

“There,” she said, her voice flat. “Happy now?”

Her manager leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest with a satisfied smirk. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said with a grin that made y/n want to roll her eyes even harder.

y/n gave him a flat stare, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She didn’t say anything more. She just sat there, feeling like she’d been dragged through the mud. Her mind was racing, and her body felt tense.

This wasn’t how she thought her day was going to go...

masterlist ⭑.ᐟ next

taglist: @saysirhc @urmom2314 @artrizzler19 @yeetaberry127 @yjiminswallet @lara4eclipze @meiphobic @meizinisnumberone @meganskiendielsbtc @soobnotfound @linnnsworld @1luvkarina @raviolisupremacy  @peranoo @vrtualstar @ssamlovr @gtfoiydlyj @firstclassjaylee @kristalag @xochitlisbest  @yazzyminny @esccecvp @snoopyiz @vivilvr @fearnotfearmore @apersonwhowrites @blushmimi @cassiespoiler @wtfisthisnoclueman  | taglist opened 

[spooniechef]

Produce Issues (variable spoons)

Not recipes so much this time, but a short PSA for Americans, because the issues they're about to be facing are pretty much the exact ones we faced with Brexit over here, except worse.

With all the bullshit going on, there's a pretty good chance that produce is going to get mega-expensive over there. A lot of people talk about growing your own vegetable garden, without thinking about how the people who are going to be hit hardest by price increases probably don't have a house with a garden, or in fact a house at all, and many are lucky to have an entire apartment to themselves. That makes having a vegetable garden difficult ... but it doesn't make it impossible.

Storytime: when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few years ago, I needed something. I didn't specifically know what I needed, but I knew in general. I was so angry and scared and ... well, mostly depressed. I'd been down the depression road before, and I recognised the signs well enough. I needed something to get me through the worst of it - something that I could look at and feel productive, like I wasn't a waste of space. And, most of all, something I'd have to actually continue getting out of bed in the morning for. Turned out that for me, the thing I needed was a garden.

I'm fortunate. I live in a decent-sized apartment with no flatmates, a few decent window ledges and even a balcony. Less fortunate in that all of it's north-facing and I live in the UK so it doesn't get a lot of sun at the best of times. Still, I've managed to get some pretty wonderful things out of my windowsill and balcony garden. Mostly herbs, which gives me cookery herbs, medicinal herbs, and just nice-tasting herbs for tea, but vegetables and fruit too. There are varieties of strawberries and tomatoes that do just fine in shaded areas, and peas and some varieties of lettuce will grow faster than you can eat them all. I haven't done so well that I could completely stop buying produce, but I'll get there one day.

I can't give you all the tips - it'll take too long. But I can give you some basic ones, and the titles of a few books that might be helpful for you overall. (I didn't link to the books because regional booksellers.)

Indoor Kitchen Gardening by Elizabeth Millard. This one lets you know how best to use the space you have available and how to take advantage of any lighting conditions you might have in your home.

No-Waste Kitchen Gardening by Katie Elzer-Peters. This one's particularly good because while some of the suggestions are better for outside, it's a guide to how you can grow more fruit and veg from the remnants of the stuff you bought - onions and stuff.

If you do have a balcony, best thing you can get is the humble grow-bag. It's basically like a pot, but ... fabric, sort of. They go well with "No-Waste Kitchen Gardening" because potatoes, onions, and carrots can be regrown from the leftovers of purchased ones, and if you can manage that, you've got a recursive source of staple vegetables.

Another good investment if you have a decent-sized balcony is a composter bin. Potting soil can be expensive, and turning your food waste into compost as well as a source of recursive vegetables will nourish your produce and help make a bag of potting soil stretch.

If you don't live directly in a city (and maybe even if you do, if you've got green spaces in your area), you could also look into foraging. I actually have a forager's guide, but it's for the UK. For Americans, I did a bit of a search and found the 50-State Foraging Guide, which gives basic information and information about regional foraging guides. If you've got the spoons for it, it's nice to be out in the fresh air foraging for things.

If you're going to try medicinal herbal teas, do your research and find a reputable guide. There are lots of them around, so read carefully and try to avoid ones that sound too ... witchy, I guess. I have a copy of Rosemary Gladstar's Medicinal Herbs, which I check against my copy of Culpeper's Complete Herbal - Culpeper's is old, but it's been an authority on herbal medicine for hundreds of years, so it's still pretty helpful.

Things are really tough for everyone right now, I know. There's so much going on, and so little of it's good, and it's easy to feel depressed and powerless. I honestly did find that growing things helped me feel less powerless on the whole. I'd made life happen! I'd created life out of dirt and water and hope. I've had mornings when my breakfast was alpine strawberries fresh off the plant. I've got coq au vin marinading in the fridge with three sprigs of thyme I got just by walking onto the balcony and snipping them off with the kitchen knife. I found there's no going back to dried oregano when you've had it fresh. I've learned how to dry various herbs and even my cayenne peppers. All of that was because I lavished love and attention on a pot of dirt. Which is how I think about it, because seeing an indoor garden for its mental health benefits is a lot better for ... well, the mental health ... than thinking about things like this being necessary because capitalism is bullshit and designed to crush us all.

I hope this helps. I know that nurturing something green and useful helped me. But seriously - even if you just have a little windowsill - oregano, thyme, rosemary, mint, lemon balm. They will survive anything you throw at them. Then work up to basil because homemade pesto sauce is awesome. (Though you can make lemon balm pesto too, and it's less pernickety about its growing conditions than basil tends to be.)

[longwayaround]

"You're sure? Because whatever you need, if it's... distance or time or... whatever it might be, I'll do it," he promised her. It wouldn't be easy, no, but what mattered most was to make sure that Rose was alright, that him simply being there wasn't making things worse somehow. Even if she was the one who sought him out.

In time, hopefully, things would get easier.

But that wasn't the only thing on his mind, was it? If it were... then it'd be easier. Then at least he would know that at some point, it might all be resolved.

"There's also... the baby," he managed after a long moment, and he sighed. It didn't feel fair to bring it up, it didn't feel fair to ask at all, but he had to. He had to, or she would be able to tell that something was wrong, and it'd just make things harder.

He ran a hand through his hair once again, letting it linger at the back of his head, fingers gripping short locks of hair as he tried to think of how to say this. "I know you can't know yet, I get that. I'm not going to hold you to anything you say, alright? But I need to know... how do you see this working? Do you really think you'll want to stay here? For good?"

Because he'd have her on board for as long as she wanted to stay, but if this wasn't going to last, then he needed to know. He needed to know to distance himself, to stop thinking of a future rather than just a few months. He'd already had to say goodbye to her too many times to go through it again unprepared.

Rose didn't know what she expected him to say, but she felt herself relax when she said that he didn't want her to leave. There was part of her that had worried that he would want her to leave. Especially now there was a baby too.

"Of course I miss him. I always will miss him." Rose told The Doctor. "I know you can't be him. Just like I knew that he couldn't be you." She said. Rose knew what he was saying. It might be harder for her because of how similar they were. "I admit that seeing you for the first time after losing him did hurt in a way. But that was because of just that, it was the first time seeing the face again." Rose said. "But if I found it that hard, I would have avoided you completly."

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Lost In The Woods (And Feelings) - William Eklund

Summary: Y/n and her best friend, hockey player William, go on a week-long camping trip despite having zero experience. As the days go by, Y/n realizes she’s in love with William but believes nothing can happen between.

Words: 849

Y/n had no idea what made her to agree to this.

Camping. A full week of camping.

She and William had been best friends for years, ever since they met back in Sweden. And even after he moved to San Jose for his hockey career, they had managed to keep their friendship intact. FaceTiming at odd hours, sending each other stupid reels, meeting during any kinds of holidays. All that became a new part of their daily routine. And somehow, in between their late-night calls and playful teasing, they convinced themselves that going on a camping trip together was a brilliant idea.

It was not.

“Are you sure you know how to set up a tent?” Y/n asked, arms crossed as she watched William struggle.

“Of course,” he said confidently, before glancing at the tent bag. “I mean… how hard can it be?”

It turned out to be very hard.

“William, that’s not where the pole goes.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Are you a camping expert all of a sudden or what?”

“I don’t have to be an expert to know that the tent is not supposed to be collapsing,” Y/n protested, stepping back just in time to avoid being caught under the falling mess.

William groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to her with his best innocent smile. “Okay, well, time for a different plan.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You’re cute,” she muttered under her breath, not realizing she had said it out loud until William shot her a smirk.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning away to hide the blushing.

After what felt like hours and with the help of YouTube tutorials, they got the tent set up. It still leaned to one side more than the other, which made Y/n secretly question its stability.

That night, they sat by the fire, eating burnt marshmallows because neither of them had the patience to cook them properly. The air was cool, stars lit up the sky above them, and for a moment, Y/n let herself pretend that this was just their life.

Just the two of them, away from everything, no worries about distance or careers or the inevitable goodbye waiting for them at the end of this trip.

“This is nice,” William said, stretching his legs out and tilting his head back to look at the stars.

Y/n hummed in agreement. “Even though we are world’s worst campers in history?”

“Especially because of that.”

She smiled, leaning her head against her knees. “I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.”

William turned his head to look at her, his expression softer than usual. “Me neither.”

The way he was looking at her made Y/n’s stomach flip, but she forced herself to push the feeling away.

As the days went by, Y/n found herself slipping into a dangerous kind of comfort.

They got lost on a hike. Twice.

"Are you sure we’re going the right way?" she asked.

"Of course I am," William said, though his eyes were filled with uncertainty.

"That’s what you said twenty minutes ago, and we ended up in the same place," Y/n pointed out.

"Fine. I’ll check the GPS - oh."

"What?"

"There’s no service."

Y/n groaned. "Great. We’re going to die out here. With no water and food."

"Relax," William said, placing his arm around her shoulder. "Worst case scenario, we have to eat berries and live in the woods forever."

"Oh, fantastic. That was totally my life plan."

He grinned. "Could be worse. At least you’re stuck with me."

And that was the problem.

The more time they spent together, the more Y/n realized she didn’t want to be stuck with anyone else.

But she also knew nothing could ever happen between them. He lived in San Jose. His life was there, his career, his future. She was in Sweden, and as much as she wanted to believe in something more, reality was much different.

On their last night, as they sat by the fire, Y/n found herself staring at the flames, lost in thoughts.

William nudged her gently. “You okay?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitated before answering. “How things are going to go back to normal after this. You’ll go back to San Jose, I’ll stay in Sweden…”

William was quiet for a moment. Then, he shifted slightly, turning to face her fully.

“Would you ever move?”

Y/n was taken aback. She turned her head to look at him, trying to read his expression. “Move where?”

He shrugged, but there was something careful about the way he asked. “Anywhere.”

Y/n swallowed, her heart pounding. “I don’t know. Maybe. If the reason was good enough.”

William held her gaze for a second longer before he let out a small, almost nervous chuckle. “Good to know.”

Y/n wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but as he reached over and squeezed her hand lightly, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in her feelings as she thought.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

February 01 - Honey | word count: 672 | @black-brothers-microfic

They are sitting in the common room, a bottle of firewhiskey making it’s rounds. Regulus had already regretted agreeing to come when he first entered the Room of Requirement to find his brother and his friends already gathered around the fireplace. But he had already been spotted, and he could hardly deny his boyfriend as he made grabby hands to pull Regulus onto his lap. That’s where he sits now, in one of the two chairs while his brother and Remus occupy the other, leaving Barty, Evan, Dorcas, Marlene, and Peter on spare cushions and pillows on the ground.

He rests his head back against James’ shoulder, letting himself get lost in the feeling of James’ fingers in his hair, gently soothing the building ache. He’s been undeniably lucky with James, who somehow always manages to sense what Regulus needs, and gives it to him without question.

“What’s the worse injury you’ve had?” Marlene asks, and Regulus instantly tenses up. Out of all the questions that could have come from her mouth, it is the one that a majority of the people in this room would find uncomfortable. “I sprained my collarbone while playing rugby in primary school.”

“I fell from a tre—wait, no. My worst was when that bludger knocked me from my broom and I broke like ten bones.” James says, almost boasting as though the memory of that day doesn’t put an ache in Regulus’ bones. He had been worried sick, afraid the other boy might not wake up, or if he did, that the damage would be too severe to ever play Quidditch again.

“Mrs. Norris caught me while in animagus form last year.” Peter shudders. “I still have the scars from her teeth.”

“I think we all know what mine is.” Remus says, voice heavy. Sirius shifts in his seat, curling around Remus the best he can, as though that will shield him from the monster living in his own body. He tucks his face into Remus’ neck, muttering something there. Cheeks burning as he unwillingly intrudes in a private moment, Regulus turns to James.

“Potion explosion because somebody wasn’t paying attention.”

“You can hardly blame me when you are far more interesting than any potion we could have been brewing.”

“Uh, huh.”

“My blood oath with Evan.” Barty says, drawing everybody’s attention to him. He merely grins, wiggling his eyebrows at Evan.

“Your what?” How could he have missed two of the most important people in his live taking a blood oath? His curiosity lasts for as long as it takes for the devilish grin to materialize on Barty’s face. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“What about you, Sirius?”

“I think… oh! The time I was attacked by a nest of hornets.”

“I’m sorry, you were what?”

“I haven’t told you guys this one? Oh, its great!”

“It’s not great, Sirius. It was stupid and unnecessarily risky.”

“Well now I have to know.” James insists.

“Well, little Reggie here wanted honey on his toast, but we didn’t have any.”

“And instead of asking Kreacher like anybody else would have, the idiot went and—”

Sirius reaches over and clamps his hand over Regulus’ mouth. “Don’t spoil the story. Stop licking me, Reg. Anyway, I was, I don’t know, nine? ten? either way, there was this bee’s nest in the garden. Nobody ever told me there were different kinds of bees, let alone different kinds of nests. I thought they were all the same thing. Honey came from bees, and bees lived in that nest. So, I climbed on a nearby bench and pulled it down.”

“Sirius.” James gasps through laughter. “Why?”

“I thought I was being a good brother! I had no idea I was going to be attacked.”

Regulus pries Sirius’ hand from his mouth, “The idiot was bedridden for a week.”

“It was worth it.”

“How? What part of that entire incident was ‘worth it’?”

“We got to spend that whole week together, and mother couldn’t do anything about it.”

[manuellarts]

Hello hello, deidara headcanons because he's all i can think about and i cant stop yapping about him 🫶🫶🫶

this spawned because i've been racking my brain trying to get into his head and find out what happened in his past, since we don't have any canon backstory for him aside from stealing forbidden jutsu and running away

all that i had managed to get was this image of his father breaking his clay sculptures, and the fact that it had left a major impact on him. since then, i waited for more to dawn upon me

little did i know . . THAT was IT. i don't really think that he has a tragic backstory or anything, the way i see it now, is that he was always a little insane (just a little) and it's only gotten worse overtime. there was really no way that he'd live very long with that kind of mentality and lifestyle, as much as it saddens me to say it.... but just as sasori had said upon first meeting him, he just wouldn't last long

not because he lacks the skill, no. but because he is simply insane. reckless, impulsive, and completely obsessed and absorbed with himself, his art, and his vision—which i like to call vision because it is part of the way he idealizes his perception of things. the way he envisions the world and builds his perception of the world is highly idealized, and whenever the world fails to meet this idealized version of what he envisions, he immediately seeks to destroy it

if we really think about it, just.. how come that he got away with stealing forbidden jutsu? how did he know of its existence in the first place as a child? how come he suddenly decided that brutal terror was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life? when trying to answer those questions, i just realized that there was something wrong right from the beginning

i just really think that deidara has a sort of friendly façade that most of the time is not genuine .. + the fact he can switch up on people very quickly. in my views .. i really see him as someone who is very subtly manipulative, and because of the fact that he almost always is truthful, and clear about his intentions, his actual lies would go unnoticed, since yeah ! he's always truthful !

so, who was really a piece of work? his parents, or him?

i think he might've also been quite the troublesome kid behind closed doors

maybe there had always been something off about him, just not always detectable, since he'd probably passed off as a good kid in the eyes of others, but he had other plans

nothing was ever enough for him

he always wanted more

and chased his idealized visions

just how delusional can one man be ?

[dragoncoven]

Dumb Transformers One Headcanons That I Thought Of Instead Of Being A Normal Person

Warnings: Language. Talks of death and murder, but nothing worse than what has already happened in the movie. Sentinel "Prime" deserves his own Trigger Warning.

This one is mainly for if they ever go to Earth/can be applied to other versions of Transformers: the one vehicle that no transformer can take after as an alt form is the Tesla Cybertruck. That vehicle is so much of a mechanical failure that it's physically impossible for any of them to even scan it. If anyone tried to transform into one, they would get contorted into a metal cube- like the ones that Wall-e makes- and it would take several medics to undo the damage. That's how bad it is and IRL I'm convinced that the so-called "truck" is made of garbage cans and fancy duck tape. They're better for being used as flying projectiles to hit Decepticons with. The owners can just get a new one.

Like the Bumblebee movie, TF One Bee would get his name from a human he befriends during a visit to Earth. The friend would still call him Badassatron every now and then when in a joking mood.

Pompeii by Bastille, especially the MMXXIII version, would make Optimus Prime cry like a baby.

I've been thinking and reading theories on why Bee was sent to Sublevel 50 since I first saw the movie. From the simple "probably pissed off Darkwing" to "accidentally uncovered something related to Sentinel Prime's treachery", but guys what if it's both? Like Bee loading the "trash" crates onto the trains like we see in the movie, but somehow bumps into Darkwing and a bunch of energon spills out from the crate. He is taken in and reported to Sentinel, who tells Darkwing to yeet Bee down the trash chute. The Blue Bastard joyfully agrees to do so since Bee has pissed him off multiple times on other jobs. He even plays a cruel joke by telling the optimistic bot that he's got a new job for him. The whole energon debacle was forgotten over time by Bee until he goes to the surface and uncovers the truth.

Speaking of Darkwing, he runs away from both Autobots and Decepticons fearing punishment from both leaders (Optimus would put him in jail for abuse to minors and aiding and abetting Sentinel like in the headcanon above, Megatron would just give him the old Kit-Kat treatment) and would end up being spotted by the Quintessons. He's the first Cybertronian they have seen since Sentinel promised them more energon so they kidnap and question him about why they haven't received any shipment since then. They kill him after Optimus sends them that message at the end of the film saying that they won't be receiving any more energon and leave his scrapped body on Iacon's doorstep as their war declaration. Sorry that was a little dark, but I just hate the dude. Not as much as I hate Sentinel, but it's pretty close.

Speaking of Blue Bastards, Sentinel's wings are add-on upgrades that were mainly for cosmetic purposes and that's why they seemed to come off so easily when D-16 was fighting him and they both crashed to the ground.

D-16 would have mained King Dedede in Smash Bros. Dont ask me why. I just like the way "dee" sounds.

Referring to the second Bee headcanon, Sentinel did tell Darkwing verbatim to "yeet B-127 to Sublevel 50 or something, I don't care just make sure he doesn't leave". I hate them so much I hope they both die in agonizing ways (Thank you Megs for taking out the trash).

Sometimes, in order to convince D-16 to get involved in his shenanigans, Orion Pax would bring out the puppy-dog eyes and Dee is helpless against it. He does manage to build up an immunity against it and that's why Orion didn't use it to convince him to participate in the race.

Optimus would later regret that part of his life because Bee uses his own puppy-dog eyes to convince him to give him extra missions or a cookie or something.

Elita trained Badassatron in fighting and also helps him realize when someone is being mean or taking advantage of him, that boi is naive even after the movie.

Anyone caught, tried, and convicted of knowingly helping Sentinel Prime with his evil acts (so Airachnid and those golden drones if they were sentient) during his reign is sentenced to 2 eons (or whatever is considered a very long time for transformers) of jail time with community service, stuff like building new housing quarters for the newly cogged former miners and tearing down whatever Sentinel statues weren't blasted off by Megatron and the High Guard and cleaning up after the ones that did. Optimus Prime may be trying to be peaceful and forgiving but he ain't a wuss.

Those who managed to slip through the cracks of the Iacon's new Justice system still become social pariahs and even if they join the Autobots in the coming wars, no one ever fully forgives them.

Because depending on how Cybertronians are born, I find it hard to believe that Sentinel managed to be there to take every t-cog out of every bot before they onlined. He probably paid off some nurses or something to do his dirty work for him.

Elita destresses after every day by doing something completely unrelated to kicking ass and taking names- writing crack fanfic of the Primes. She keeps it private and publishes under a pen name- especially when her former-worst-employee-in-the-world becomes a Prime. No one can ever know.

Bee finds out when using her computer because she forgot to close the Cybertronian equivalent to Microsoft Word. Everyone in Iacon knows who writes the funniest Prima×Megatronus fics by the end of the day.

Orion is a semi-constant reader, but once recognized a scene from one of her stories because he and D pulled that exact same stunt once and Solus reacts the same exact way that Elita did to them. As Optimus Prime, he now knows why he got deja vu.

No one makes fun of Elita for it, but she gets hounded by fans of her writing so much that she threatens to knock out the next person who brings it up to her in person. Despite this she keeps her Cybertronian A03 account alive and even still makes posts. Though she borrows less from her private life now.

She also absolutely refuses to write anything about Optimus Prime because that's her friend.

Bee learns better control of his knife hands over time and cooks with them now. Wait. Do Transformers even cook meals like us humans do? They have energon cubes in all sizes but that's the only thing we've seen them eat so far. Do they try anything with the plants and animals that they find on the surface? Cyber-deer venison, anyone?

I'm gonna cut my ramblings off now. Maybe there'll be a next time. Idk.

[honey-dewwrites]

On the note of cat hybrid Satoru.

Imagine Satoru and Suguru met when they were kids. It’s very unusual for a hybrid and a human to forge such a strong bond and yet they did.

Satoru with his sensitive sense of smell and who gets easily overwhelmed by strong scents with Suguru who is always very mindful of this and makes sure not to overwhelm him.

Satoru with his even more sensitive eyes…

It was Suguru who had come up with the idea of tinted glasses/shades for him to wear since he couldn't bear to see Satoru distressed or in pain due to overstimulation, gifting them to him one day.

Satoru who takes that a sign of courting and immediately moves to reciprocate.

Suguru who feels so honored when Satoru asks him to scent him for the first time.

Satoru is a flustered mess as he asks him, avoiding all eye contact with a blush creeping down from his ears all the way to his neck…

And all Suguru can think is-’ He’s so cute.’ a fond smile on his face all the while.

He’s human so of course they have to work around it a little bit but they make it work.

Suguru whose the only person that Satoru allows to groom his tail, let alone touch it.

Suguru, who due to him being human and all completely misses that Satoru is courting him. And like Satoru gives him so many hints.

He becomes much more clingy and is more prone to purring and just being overall very docile compared to how he usually is.

With Suguru at least. To everyone else he’s a menace to society.

And then fast forward and Satoru is just-stealing all of Suguru’s clothes. He figures that if he can’t hint towards his interest he’ll just have to seduce him. ( Nevermind that Satoru is stealing them so he can make a nest out of the bits of clothing)

I mean there is not a single piece of clothing that is not a least slightly covered with white hair due to Satoru’s shedding.

And then begins Suguru decent into madness because, even though Satoru is tall-(he’s taller than Suguru for crying out loud-)he still somehow manages to look small in his clothes.

Now, Suguru knows rationally that it’s probably due to Suguru just having a much broader build compared to Satoru. Like he does hit the gym and has bulked up in the past couple of years but still.

Suguru quite literally malfunctions whenever he sees him.

And the worse part?

Satoru tends to wear Suguru’s shirts and only his shirts.

All that can be seen is legs for days. Miles upon miles of pale skin that seems like they’re are just begging Suguru to come and mark them up.

He just knows that Satoru bruises easily, he’s seen it….

And wait a minute, where did that come from? And Suguru spirals as he realizes that he’s in love with his best friend who just so happens to be a hybrid and Oh my god, society won’t approve of their relationship. Even though the world has come very far in terms of mindset and treatment of hybrids they are still a ways off.

And add to it Satoru is a public figure who is already, supposedly being courted by many other people, namely hybrids that his family has already signed off on and approved of.

And then there’s Shoko who is stuck between the both of them and sadly has to listen to Suguru spiral even thought Satoru don’t give a fuck about any of that shit and has openly defied his parents and scared off multiple suitors.

God help my girl Shoko, overworked and underpaid. 😔

[bizzyboysbizzydays]

Bizzyboys first dates

I love these lil guys leave me ALONE. I'm self insert trash and that's just how the cookie crumbles. I am cringe but I am free.

Yes this is based off of the post about bad dates with the Bizzyboys i think it's so funny

Patty: -I think Patty would prefer an exciting first date! Things like amusement parks or fairs, extremely high energy with LOTS of things to do. -He'd want to win you EVERY toy he possibly could. Whether or not hes good at the games is an entirely different story. -Big on PDA and affection. It might be a first date but he is hugging and hand holding like it's his last day in the Grove and he'd DIE if he didn't get attention. -Tries to pay for literally everything like the lil gentleguy he is. -Date ends with you giving him a kiss on the head, he is on cloud 9 and ready to pronounce his eternal love.

Bananathaniel: -As a cinephile obviously the first date is going to be a movie date. You two watch the movie in complete silence and go out for dinner afterwards in which the floodgates are open. -You better either be REALLY into Ban, or REALLY into movies, because he is going to talk the entire time about the movie and it's themes, camera work, acting, everything. -It's hard to be too mad about it, when he asks for your opinion and is genuinely interested in your thoughts (even if he might argue with them a little. or a lot.) -Not a lot of PDA on the first date since it's entirely focused on the movie but you do get a nice hug afterwards :)

Alexei: -This is the most obvious first date ever. You go to a fast food place and eat until you both almost pass out. -There's no PDA. Only voracious feasting that terrifies the employees and gives small children nightmares. -The date ends with you both on a couch passed out with cheeto dust everywhere. It's not your couch. It's not even Alexei's couch. How'd you get into Capochin's house.

Vibiano: -Another restaurant but this one is fancier. -It's a pretty average date, small talk and awkward chatter. -He keeps checking his phone every 4 minutes before he "suddenly gets a phone call" and has to leave, sticking you with the bill. -He makes it up later with a fully customized outfit left at your door and a note to call him later so he can "make sure it fits properly". -It does fit properly, and he takes you out on a better date for the next one.

Grujaja: -How'd you even manage to get a date with this guy. -Extremely lowkey date. You hang out in a quiet field somewhere. -You do have to constantly reassure him that it's ok and everything is fine. -If he hears a loud noise he'd 100% bail and you'd never see him again due to the embarrassment. -Maybe next time just do a home cooked meal.

Capochin: -Genuinely how did you get him to agree to this. -Despite how he tries to come off, he is extremely nervous. -The date would be something chill, he would've preferred to just. Invite you to his house and make a meal there but ultimately settled for a casual (but not too casual) restaurant. -His ass HAS NOT dated since he was around his 20s. Forgot how to date at all, actually. -The date ends with him feeling like the dumbest mother fucker ever and you having to reassure him it wasn't THAT bad and you'd had worse. -Date ends with you giving him a kiss on the cheek and him speed walking away in embarrassment.

BONUS!!!

Inspekta: -The date takes place in his domain, obviously. He's wrapped around you holding you close as you watch movies on one of the various screens under his desk. -He talks a LOT during the movie, he needs your constant undivided attention. -If you ignore him for too long he'll squeeze around you tighter and tighter like a constrictor until you finally acknowledge him again. -It's as private as a date could get, if you ignore Capo irritably bringing in snacks for the both of you. -Date ends with Inspekta patting you on the head and telling you you should come back soon. Preferably tomorrow. For longer.

Hector: -Similar to the Inspekta date, but this time its on the couch with him bear hugging you from behind. -Less talkative, but still squeezes you when he wants attention (all the time). -You probably lose feeling in a few limbs from how little movement you get, but it's hard to be mad at him when he falls asleep with his head resting against your shoulder. -It's less cute when you realize he's heavier than you and you can't escape.