#inspection Rewinder

[conpaptex]

inspection machine

[krishnaengineering25]

The rewinding inspection machine is applied in inspecting materials such as paper, film, textiles, and foil for defects.

[lcvecove]

Cleaning Max’s apartment while he’s gone and you accidentally break one of his race trophies.

𝒏ote , stop i loved writing this so much! thank you for sharing your little thought with me nonnie <3

fem!reader who is very sensitive (like me🥲) I don’t love how I ended this but that’s okay. . .

you had been so careful. so unbelievably careful not to touch the trophies as you dusted the shelf max’s whole life was displayed on.

you’d tiptoed around them like they were sleeping dragons. you used the softest cloth. held your breath. didn’t even blink too hard when you passed certain ones.

and still - still - you heard it.

that sickening clink.

that tiny shift in balance that meant something had moved when it shouldn’t have. you turned just in time to watch the austria trophy teeter and then crash.

you step down the little stool you used to reach up high, making your way over to the scene. your fingers hovered over the damage, the cloth still clutched in one hand like a murder weapon.

you whispered a panicked, “no, no, no…” under your breath, as if that would rewind time.

you hadn’t even touched it. just brushed too close, just shifted the air wrong, apparently. and now . . .

you sit back, legs folded, hand over your lips as you weigh your options.

you could call him.

you could confess in person.

you could flee the country.

“oh my god” you whisper, picking up the two pieces and inspecting them like maybe, just maybe, they’ll magically snap back together if you’re gentle enough.

but no. the clean break down the middle is unforgiving. you hold both halves in your hands like a confession.

“this is fine,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else. “this is totally, completely-”

a soft mrrp interrupts you.

you glance up to see donatello perched on the edge of the shelf, right where the empty spot now is, tail flicking innocently, blinking at you like what?

a few feet away jimmy is sprawled across max’s couch, utterly unconcerned.

your eyes narrow. “you guys suck” you huff with a pout and place the two broken halves down in front of you.

donatello lets out a quiet meow, almost smug. you look down at the broken trophy, then back up at the cat. you consider blaming him. briefly. desperately.

but you had always been a terrible liar and max would see right through it. he’d take one look at your face and know.

still you point a very stern finger “you better back me up when he gets home” as if the cat’s going to deliver a grade A defence statement in your honour.

when max steps through the door of his apartment, he’s immediately concerned by how eerily quiet it is. there’s no music softly playing like there usually is, no clatter from the kitchen.

the kind of silence that makes his chest tighten.

he toes off his shoes, hanging his keys up at the door, carefully holding the bag of takeout in his hand. “baby I’m home” he yells, a faint smile on the edge of his lips over how domestic his life has become.

when there’s no answer in response max frowns and rounds the corner into the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

sees you curled up on the couch, jimmy in your lap, tissues scattered next to you, eyes puffy and cheeks red, tears streaming down your face.

max’s heart drops straight into his stomach. the bag of takeout hits the floor with a dull thud, completely forgotten.

he’s by your side in two strides, crouching low in front of the couch, his hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch first. your knees, your arms, your face.

“what happened?” his voice is gentle but panicked, like it’s being strangled by fear. “are you hurt? what’s wrong?” he spits question after question.

you shake your head quickly, clutching jimmy tighter to your chest. the cat doesn’t protest. just purrs against you like he knows your heart is in pieces and somehow cuddling him will fix it.

“I broke it,” you whisper. your voice is hoarse, quiet, like admitting it again might make it worse.

max blinks. “broke what schat?”

your lower lip wobbles as you glance toward the shelf. his eyes follow yours, and land on the empty space where his austria trophy used to sit.

max exhales. not a sigh of anger. just a quiet release of tension. relief. but you misread it.

“i’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I was being careful, I swear. I didn’t even touch it, I just — donatello jumped up and — I don’t even really know how it happened. if it was me or the cat and I tried to catch it but I was too late and then it broke and —” you stop and take a shuddering breath that sneaks right into max’s heart.

your voice breaks as you say “and I ruined it.”

max doesn’t say anything at first. just studies you. his eyes soft, expression unreadable. then he reaches up, gently brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he says quietly

“but—” you go to protest but he just shakes his head, cutting you off, “it’s just a trophy baby” he reassures you, wiping more tears and sitting on the couch. pulling you onto his lap, jimmy jumps off and your head falls into that familiar crook of his neck.

“it’s okay” he soothes, running his hand through your hair slowly.

he lets you calm down a little before saying, “thanks for cleaning my shelf” with a kiss to your head

“didn’t even finish cleaning it. I was too scared” you admit with a little pout lifting your head to look at him. “i’m so so sorry max, really. i’ll win you another one myself if I have to” you say sincerely

“first you break my trophy and now you’re threatening to beat me in a race? who needs enemies when I’ve got a girlfriend like you” max jokes with a click of his tongue.

a breathy chuckle escapes him when you hit his chest with the back of your hand, a little glare on your face as you start to tear up again.

“i’m just kidding baby. my sweet girl. stop crying now please? it’s breaking my heart” he says, kissing your tears away and cupping your face gently.

“it’s okay. it’s just a trophy. I have lots of them. it was an accident and we can fix it. it’s not the end of the world. you’re okay. we’re okay. everything is okay. okay?” he says and you nod, pressing your lips to his softly.

“i love you” you whisper and he smiles, kissing you again.

“i love you more” he says, gently moving you next to him and getting up to grab the food he dropped earlier. somehow its all still perfectly packaged and in place and max starts placing things on the table.

“wanna watch the austria race? we could relive the trophy’s glory days” max jokes as he settles back on the couch, laughing when you throw a pillow his way.

“you’re an ass” you say, kicking his thigh with your foot, but both of you settle into that comfortable silence as you watch tv, the broken trophy long forgotten.

[militaryapple]

Hi, I'm not sure if you're taking request but I love the way you write Caleb ☺️ Is it possible you can do a cute little fake dating troupe in college with Caleb?

It goes like, reader (non MC) and Caleb are friends and reader wanted a bf but she can't find one so she tried out this "men will start chasing you when you have a bf" theory with Caleb when Caleb thinks this is an opportunity to do couple things with his crush 🫢

wc. 939.

add ons: hii yes I can!! so glad u guys love my caleb he's so crazy I miss him

college. it was definitely something. work load 20 times heavier, professors who don’t really give a fuck wether you live or die or right, and dating. how you loathed the couples in your university. was it because you were unable to get a boyfriend yourself? maybe. was it also because half of every guy on campus was either a massive jerk, a guy in a frat or taken? maybe.. partly.. yeah.

everytime you were close to finding a guy, a perfect suitable guy who was funny or sweet or kind— he had to bail or he already had a girlfriend! yeah, total dreamboat. you could only sigh at the thought of you and someone on a date, going to the movies or watching some corny movie. wow you were really single and mindlessly scrolling on social media wasn’t helping your case one bit. post after post, jesus how did they do it? then you had an idea.

maybe you were pathetic and desperate.. oh fuck you’re in college. what’s worse? graduating with no love life or dying without someone who loves you. yeah, you would take your chances.

you silently typed up on your phone “how to become more attractive to men”. was it weird? yes. did you care? not really. it’s not your roommate was here, she would go on about how “life is amazing without a lover!” and “you don’t need to cry over a man!” in which she was silently resigned everytime you brought up how she had a boyfriend. so it’s come to this. better now than never anyways.

“men like taken woman, gives them a chase.” well fuck! that was your issue from the start?! what were you gonna do? get a boyfriend out of thin air to make guys ma— then you heard a knock.

you closed out of the tab as you walk to your dorm door, opening it as your gaze shifted upward, and holy mother of pearls did you find the holy grail. he was your answer.

“hey, pipsqueak!” caleb said as he held his arms out for you waiting for a hug, just to be greeted by a grab on the wrist and a soft ‘thud’ on your bed. you stared up at him, inspecting him closely. caleb was a perfect candidate! he could be your fake boyfriend!

.

.

“be my fake boyfriend.”

you were met with small chuckle as he covered his mouth and muffled out apologies. you were embarrassed, god this was embarrassing. if only you could rewind 2 minutes. god god god.

caleb smiled widely, “are you sure you want me as your fake boyfriend? what’s this even for anyways, pipsqueak?” his eyes soften as he got more comfortable on your bed. you could only smile in content. he didn’t say no, so you’ll take that as a win.

“guys are more attracted to you when you have a boyfriend.” you said shoving your phone in his face. he scanned over the phone closely before pushing your hand down to look at you. god were you pretty.

“that’s.. not real pipsqueak.” he said trying to cover his laugh. were you serious about this? you couldn’t actually believe this crap. this is why caleb prefers for you to come to him for this sort of thing, not some lousy thread you found on a very sketchy site. though he couldn’t just trample on your dreams so he went along with it, even if it was funny.

“I’m serious!” you snapped back. “just for a while, until someone shows interest in me! well more interest than my supposed boyfriend.. please caleb?” you begged, and he could never say no to you. you jumped up happily before leaning in for a hug but instead you were met by a subtle push and “ah-ah”. you looked at caleb puzzled as he got up. his arms moving to your hip while he leaned down, his and your breath almost kissing.

“if im gonna be your boyfriend for a while pipsqueak, don’t I deserve a little reward for helping you out?” he smiled, “even if it’s a fake we have to get used to kissing.”

kissing.

your first kiss, would be him.

you stared up at awe, he was handsome. just one kiss, it wouldn’t be bad right? you were flustered but no backing down now. better make this as real as possible.

You nodded in subtle approval before you leaned in, your lips touching as his grip on you held tighter. his free hand cupping your face. he was a natural at kissing, his movements were tender and he was so gentle with you. it was as if he didn’t want to wreck you. caleb moved his head back, breaking away from the sweet moment. “okay then, it’s official.” he said softly.

caleb would take you out often, every week, everyday to be exact and there seemed to be absolutely no luck with other guys. it’s not like it mattered anyways though, you were having fun with caleb, almost like he was your actual boyfriend.

as for caleb, this was perfect, he was almost glad he checked on you the day he did. you were a dream, and this “fake boyfriend” idea? would soon wash away when you start to only think of him as your actual boyfriend. taking you out, kissing you, holding you while you’re upset. everything.

as for the guys who chase you around? haha as if! he personally made sure on your first day of university that everyone knew you were his. well it doesn’t matter, it worked out either way. for both you and him.

[kaiyunsim]

wildflower —

pairing : bf!woonhak x gn!reader

summary : you receive a text in the morning about a surprise date that woonhak planned, what really surprises you is that he brings you to a hidden patch of flowers

warnings : fluff, woonhak drives, woonhak is very clumsy but also so cute, wc : 2.2k

a/n : wrote this bc i ran into yung kai a while back :o his music is so beautiful omg. this was hiding in the drafts for a little too long

queueing : wildflower - yung kai, blue - yung kai, soft spot - keshi, i like u - niki, my heart it beats for you - grentperez

you wake up to a text from woonhak that just says: ‘dress cute? idk haha. also maybe bring snacks. :)’

you stare at the message, still half-asleep, but you smile a little. it’s very him. casual, chaotic, weirdly sweet. you throw on something comfortable, grab the snack bag you packed in case woonhak pulled something like this, and head downstairs just in time to see his car roll up.

he honks twice, then immediately looks like he regrets it. he’s sitting upright in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the wheel like it’s an exam he didn’t study for. when you open the door, he stiffens for a second, then flashes a quick, slightly too big smile.

“hi,” he says, barely above a whisper, and looks straight ahead like someone seeing their middle school crush stare back at them.

he’s not messy, just… extremely deliberate. like he practiced how to say hi on the way over but still managed to mess it up. you slide into the seat beside him. he swallows.

“you good?” you ask, buckling in.

“yeah, yeah,” he says too fast. “just… excited. or something.”

you catch him glancing at you again as he pulls out of the driveway, and then again at the next stoplight. his face is already pink. it’s cute, but also charming.

five minutes into the drive, he says, “that color looks really nice on you,” then immediately adds, “i mean, the hoodie. your hoodie. i just like the... color. yeah.”

you blink at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “you’re such a dork.”

he groans, thumping his forehead lightly against the wheel. “i’m trying, okay? flirting is not my strength.”

“it’s not,” you agree, laughing. “but it’s kinda cute.”

that earns you a quiet “shut up” under his breath, but he’s smiling, so you let it slide.

he fiddles with the AUX cord at the next red light, scrolling through his phone with exaggerated concentration. then, suddenly—

“welcome back to tire time. today we’re breaking down the anatomy of a V6 engine—”

“oh my god—” he groans as he fumbles so hard he almost drops the phone, groaning. “that was not supposed to— ugh— here.” he shoves the phone toward you like it’s on fire. “you pick. just… not car parts.”

you scroll and find his, ‘skrrr’ playlist, the one you both made together for long drives. songs with ‘windows down’ energy and ‘nothing too serious’ lyrics. the car fills with something familiar and warm, and you settle in.

“see?” you say. “this is already better.”

“you’re better,” he says before thinking, and then immediately makes a face like he wants to rewind time. “i didn’t mean like— wait. no. i did. but not— uh—”

you snort. “oh my god, again? you’re nervous at this point.”

“i’m not!” he insists, eyes glued to the road. “i just haven’t done… this before. the whole, like, surprise trip with someone i— uh... like. a lot.”

you glance over. he’s gripping the steering wheel like it might run away if he doesn’t.

“well, it’s cute and i appreciate it,” you say, softer now.

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for ten minutes. then he reaches into the bag wedged between the seats and pulls out your favorite snack, holding it out to you with both hands like it’s an offering.

“brought this for you,” he says. “well. for us. but mostly you.”

you take it, pretending to inspect it seriously. “hmm. this does improve the trip.”

“thank god,” he mutters, finally loosening up a little.

the drive stretches out into soft, golden morning light. the trees blur past, and the sky’s that barely-awake blue at around 6a.m. the music plays on low volume, and woonhak hums off-key to a song he only half-remembers.

you yawn, leaning against the window. you don’t mean to fall asleep, but the road feels endless, quiet, and safe.

when you start drifting off, woonhak sneaks a glance. just once. then again. he flushes, clears his throat, adjusts his grip on the wheel like it makes a difference. you shift slightly, and he stiffens, makes sure the road ahead is straight before reaching over to tug your seatbelt so it’s not caught under your arm. then he grips the wheel again, blinking hard to stay focused.

he doesn’t say it out loud, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth says everything:

he likes driving you places. he likes when you’re here, even when you’re not saying anything. maybe especially when you are’nt.

the car ride slows into silence as woonhak pulls off the road and onto a narrow dirt path, tires crunching under loose gravel. you glance around, rubbing your eyes, expecting a park or trail sign, but there’s nothing. just trees and grass and morning light folding softly through it all.

he parks beside a half-bent fence and turns off the engine. “we’re here,” he says, like it’s obvious.

you raise an eyebrow. “...where?”

he smiles, almost proud, then hops out and comes around to your side. “you’ll see.”

you follow him across the grass, slightly damp from dew. he walks ahead with an eager pace, too quick, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he doesn’t keep momentum. and then, of course, he trips over a root.

“wah!” he stumbles, arms flailing a bit before he regains balance, cheeks turning red. “i meant to do that.”

“uh huh,” you say, trying not to laugh.

“it’s dramatic effect,” he mumbles, brushing off his jeans. “like, boom. nature.”

but when you step around him, you stop. just beyond the uneven patch of trees is an open field. quiet, wide, and warm. the grass is tall and the sun’s low, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. a small patch of wildflowers dots the center like nature forgot to organize them. yellow, white, pale purple, a few strays in between.

you turn to him. he’s already watching you, smiling like he can’t help it.

“i found it by accident,” he says. “kinda cool, right?”

“it’s beautiful,” you breathe.

you wander into the flower patch without waiting, letting your fingers skim lightly over petals. up close, they’re even messier than they looked from afar, overgrown and mismatched and somehow perfect anyway.

you crouch down to look at one that’s half purple, half white, and when you glance back over your shoulder, woonhak is still watching. but not the flowers, you.

his expression is unreadable, not intense or overwhelming. just… soft. quiet. like he’s soaking the moment in and doesn’t want to disturb it.

you smile. “you’re not looking at the flowers.”

he blinks, caught. “what? i am. i totally am.”

you plop down in the grass, settling into a spot that feels just right. he follows, pulling the snack bag between you and popping something into his mouth immediately. he chews too loudly on purpose. “this is peak dating. snacks and pollen.”

you snort, tossing a gummy at him. it bounces off his hoodie. “you’re so dumb.”

“and yet, you’re here.”

funny conversations spark while you chat with him. he points out a bird that probably isn’t even rare, and you argue over whether a flower looks more like a cloud or a fried egg.

the breeze is gentle, enough to make the wildflowers sway in slow waves.

after a while, you pull out your phone. “take a photo of me?”

he perks up. “yeah, yeah! wait, let me make it look cool.”

you pose, half-silly, half-serious, and he crouches awkwardly to get a better angle. “okay… one, two— wait. your hair’s doing that thing. okay, three.”

the shutter clicks, and when you look over, woonhak is staring at the photo on his screen like he just uncovered treasure.

“what?” you ask.

he opens his mouth, then closes it again. then stares at the phone some more.

you crawl over to peek, and he tilts the screen. it’s a little blurry, but the lighting’s beautiful, your face lit up, eyes half-squinting from the sun. it’s candid and warm and very you.

he’s still looking at it when you say, “airdrop that to me.”

“right, yeah— totally... i was gonna— yeah.” he fumbles with the screen, accidentally turning on airplane mode before groaning and trying again.

you laugh. “you okay?”

“i just—” he rubs the back of his neck. “i’ve never had a photo of someone like that on my phone before. it’s like. really good. like too good. i don’t know what to do with it.”

you shrug. “just a picture.”

he hesitates, then glances toward the flowers, voice a little quieter. “you remind me of one of them.”

you look at him. “which one?”

he gestures vaguely toward the patch, no clear direction. “i dunno. just… one of them.”

you tilt your head, smiling. “what does that mean?”

he shakes his head, face pink. “nothing. just. you’ll get it eventually, maybe.”

you don’t, not yet at least. you just think it’s a sweet place he picked, a pretty field you’ll remember later.

he doesn’t say anything more. he just looks at you like whatever he meant is obvious. and maybe it is.

the drive home is quieter than the drive there.

no music, just the low hum of the engine and woonhak’s foot tapping nervously on the brake pedal every time the car idles. he’s staring straight ahead, chewing on his bottom lip like it’s a problem he can solve.

you peek at him as he finished parking by your house. “you okay?”

he clears his throat. “yeah. just. uh…” he swallows, then turns off the engine but doesn’t move. “…about the flower thing.”

you smile, soft and patient. “yeah?”

he glances over, then immediately looks back at the dashboard. “i— i saw this little white bloom when i came here last week. just one. it was growing kinda sideways. didn’t even know what it was called, but it caught my eye.”

you stay quiet, letting him take his time.

“i don’t know. the rest of the patch was, like, all colorful and big and… perfect,” he says, hands gesturing vaguely, “but that one wasn’t trying to stand out. it just… did. kinda like you do.”

your heart feels like it’s giving a small, surprised squeeze.

he sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “ugh, that sounded dumb.”

you reach for his hand across the console. he hesitates a beat, then lets your fingers lace with his. his hand is warm and slightly clammy, but he squeezes yours gently, like it grounds him.

“also,” he adds quickly, voice picking up speed, “i— uh— i checked with jaehyun hyung if this was, like, a good idea.”

you raise your eyebrows, amused. “you what?”

“he said flowers were cliché and kind of obvious, but that you’d probably like it anyway.” he groans. “he made fun of me. a lot.”

you laugh, not letting go of his hand. “he’s right about the cliché part.”

his face falls just a little.

“but i love it,” you say, and his eyes snap to yours.

relief hits him like a wave. his shoulders drop, mouth opening a little like he wants to say something and doesn’t know how to word it. instead, he leans back toward the rear seat, awkwardly reaching around, bumping his elbow in the process.

“wait, i forgot— i have one more thing.”

you watch as he pulls out a crumpled paper bag, opens it slowly, and reveals a small, slightly uneven bouquet. wildflowers again, some of them a bit messy from the day, others still bright and clashing in the best way.

“i made this. well, my hyungs helped,” he says, shyly. “we were guessing what you’d like. i picked the little ones. sungho hyung said the purple ones looked good. i dunno what any of them are called, but i liked how they looked together.”

you stare at the bouquet, something warm blooming in your chest.

“woonhak.”

he fidgets. “you don’t have to keep them or anything. i just thought… i don’t know. maybe they’d remind you of today.”

you hold them carefully, as if they might fall apart if you grip too hard. “you are— actually insane.”

his eyes go wide. “what? why?”

“insanely cute,” you say.

he opens his mouth to protest, but it fades into a sheepish smile. “oh. okay. that one’s allowed.”

you lean over, resting your head briefly against his shoulder. he freezes, then relaxes, letting your closeness settle.

no big declarations. no dramatic kiss in the dark. just his hand still holding yours, your fingers tracing the edge of the bouquet like you’re memorizing it.

after a while, you unbuckle your seatbelt, open the door. “walk me to the porch?”

“sure,” he says, voice small but appreciative.

you step out, flowers in hand. he walks beside you all the way to the steps, then stops.

you wave. “thanks for today.”

“you liked it?” he asks, not hiding the hope in his voice.

“i’ll remember it forever,” you say. and you mean it.

you step inside. woonhak waits by the curb, watching until the porch light clicks off. only then does he get back in the car, gripping the wheel with both hands, exhaling a long, quiet breath.

his phone buzzes in the cupholder. he taps it open. it’s that photo, the one he took earlier, sun catching your face, your expression half-squinting, half-glowing.

except now, it's in your shared album titled, "wildflower date ⛄🌼". he smiles at it for a long time.

and of course, you do too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver @solkver @lov3lyaaru @tanghuyuj

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

[revelboo]

I love the humans reaction to chromedome and rewind :D those two are going to have their hands full with that one, it's going to be so good. I can already imagine the humans reaction when they find out that cybertronians fuck XD

When the human scares the giant Cybertronians by asking them so many inappropriate questions

Circles Pt 2

Chromedome x Reader x Rewind

• Head craning as your feet dangle off the ground, you inspect the bigger of the two. “So is there someone in there piloting you or are you autonomous? Can I pilot you? Is that a gun? Can I shoot something?” Can hardly breathe you’re so excited and he’s just staring down at you. But this is the best day of your life even with the pain. Kicking your legs, your mouth opens and the big guy presses a servo over your mouth. Cutting off your questions and you have so many. Want to know everything.

• “How about we play the quiet game for a minute,” Chromedome groans, shifting you in his hands and shuddering. “Did you just lick me?” Primus, what is wrong with you? Half tempted to just drop you and let you molest Rewind since he’s the one so concerned about the poor humans, but can’t do that to him even if it tempting. It’s like he’d willed you into annoying existence with the power of his worry. “Who on board doesn’t have a human?”

• Calmer now that you’re not touching him at least, Rewind glares. “We are not pawning them off on someone else.” Though you are taking what should be a traumatic experience fairly well. Maybe something’s wrong with you? Seems likely since you’d asked if you could play with Domey’s cannons. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Whirl, just saying whatever pops into your head without thinking through whether you should say it. Just blurting it out.

• “Pawning is such a mean word. Think how much companionship would mean to-” Hesitating while he tries to remember who on board hasn’t been stuck with a human yet, Chromedome cautiously moves his servo away from your mouth. “Trailbreaker. Big guy needs a friend. I bet you’d just love Trailbreaker.” Anyone but them, because you’re a tiny bit scary. Way too intense. Wonders what his mnemonic needles would do you a human. Probably kill you or accidentally lobotomize you, but you’d be quiet at least. But Rewind would hate him for it.

• “There’s more of you?” Giddy with that prospect, you wish the big guy would put you down so you can examine the little guy up close. He’s bigger than you, but closer to your size at least. “Tell me everything. Who made you? You never told me your names and-” The servo presses back over your mouth again cutting you off.

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[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 7} MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Total word count 11k Chapter word count 2.2k

You meet with Ultra Magnus briefly—little more than an exchange of pleasantries and business. He stands as rigid as ever, posture impeccable, optics scanning you as if assessing your readiness for duty. You think about telling him. The words sit at the edge of your tongue, heavy and certain: I’m resigning.

But something stops you. Maybe the timing isn’t right. Maybe you just don’t want to deal with whatever reaction he might have. Instead, you nod along to whatever he’s saying, make an excuse about being needed elsewhere, and leave.

Elsewhere turns out to be the ship’s repurposed presentation room, now a makeshift movie theater. The walls still bear traces of their original function—screens meant for briefings and tactical analyses, now adjusted to accommodate entertainment. Your usual crowd is already there when you arrive: Swerve, talking animatedly; Tailgate, bouncing with enthusiasm; Rewind, inspecting the setup with keen interest; and Chromedome, standing slightly apart, arms crossed in a loose but thoughtful manner.

You’re here to help install some human tech—a simple but effective resolution upgrade that should bring the video quality up to standards a Cybertronian processor might not typically prioritize. It’s a task you enjoy, something tactile and familiar, and the banter around you makes it all the better.

“So, wait,” Swerve says, peering over your shoulder. “You’re telling me that your movies were always this... fuzzy?”

“Not fuzzy,” you correct, tightening a connection. “Just lower resolution. Human eyes are a lot more discerning than you’d think.”

Rewind, ever the archivist, hums in agreement. “It makes sense. Your visual fidelity technology had to be top-tier to make up for organic limitations. Cybertronian optics process differently—we don’t always need that kind of refinement.”

Tailgate pipes up, “Yeah, but I still think it’s weird. If you can’t see in, like, multiple spectrums, what’s the point of making it so crisp?”

You laugh. “Because we like things to look good.”

The conversation flows easily, filled with the kind of light-hearted exchanges you’ve come to expect from this group. But amid the chatter, your attention drifts to Chromedome. He’s present, polite when addressed, but never fully engaged. There’s a distance—not unkind, but undeniable. It isn’t the first time you’ve noticed this with some of the larger bots. They acknowledge you, even respect you, but there’s an invisible barrier between acknowledgment and true camaraderie.

Size. A simple thing, but a defining factor. The minibots don’t feel so out of reach—perhaps because they, too, know what it’s like to be the smaller presence in a vast world. You look at Tailgate, at Swerve, at Rewind, and feel a familiar warmth settle in your chest. The small have to stick together. Even if you barely reach Swerve’s hip, there’s a shared understanding here that transcends stature.

Eventually, the installation is done. Chromedome is the first to leave, murmuring something about needing to check in with Rewind later. The rest of you head into a backroom to start uploading footage, eager to see if the system works as intended.

And that’s when he arrives.

Megatron’s presence is felt before it’s seen—a shift in atmosphere, a tension that settles like a tangible weight. He steps into the dimly lit space, expression unreadable, optics glinting with something you can’t quite place.

The chatter dies down. Swerve, always one to recognize an awkward moment before it happens, mutters something about checking the front display and quickly excuses himself. Tailgate follows after a brief pause, Rewind lingering only a moment longer before he, too, disappears through the doorway.

That leaves just you. And Megatron.

He doesn’t speak right away. His optics flick toward the newly installed tech, then back to you. You sense his attention, but it’s not sharp, not demanding. Not yet.

“Y/N you seem… distracted.”

His voice isn’t just measured—it’s cold. There’s no room for pleasantries.

You rest a hand against the console, watching him. “Is that a problem?”

His optics narrow, something simmering behind them. “It will be.”

That lands heavier than you expect.

You swallow, holding your ground. “Why?”

He steps closer, not looming, but enough to make the distance between you feel small. “Because there’s no room for uncertainty here.” His tone is flat, clipped. “Not for me. Not for you.”

Your fingers curl slightly against the console. You crane your neck to meet him in the optic, “I don’t think I’ve been careless.”

Megatron’s optics flash. “Then what do you call this?” His hand flicks toward you—not quite a gesture, not quite dismissive, but something in between. “You hesitate. Your mind is elsewhere. I see it. Everyone sees it.”

You hold his gaze, pulse in your throat. “And what? That makes me a liability?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Maybe because he doesn’t know the answer himself.

You exhale sharply. “One moment, you act like I barely matter. Next, you’re keeping me close. What am I supposed to make of that?”

That brings the briefest flicker of hesitation. It’s quick, nearly imperceptible, but it’s there.

“I’m not obligated to explain myself to you.” His tone should be final, but something about it isn’t.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. “I think you want me to be useful.” You glance at him, watching for any reaction. “Beyond that? I have no idea.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something too tightly wound. His vents cycle once, slow and deliberate, like he’s forcing the tension from his frame.

“…That makes two of us.”

That shouldn’t throw you. But it does.

For a second, it feels like the whole conversation is leading somewhere dangerous, like pressing forward might tip it over an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

So you don’t. Instead, you say the first thing that slips past your lips before you can overthink it.

“…Would you like to watch a movie?”

He hesitates. Not out of doubt, not out of calculation—but because for once, he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

The moment lingers just long enough before he steps back, exhaling as he turns toward the exit. “We’ll see,” is all he says before he leaves.

The door hisses shut behind him.

You barely have a second to process what just happened before Swerve and Tailgate barrel back in, the shift in atmosphere immediate.

“So what was that?” Swerve says, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Tailgate bounces beside him. “Are you inviting Megatron to movie night?”

You roll your eyes, pushing off the console as you head for the door. “He won’t show.”

---

Later that evening…

The steady hum of Tailgate’s engine fills the corridors as he drives you toward the repurposed theater room, his usual enthusiasm bubbling through the quiet ride. It’s comfortable, even if the question he asks isn’t.

“So, you and Megatron,” he starts, voice light but curious. “What’s the story there?”

You huff a small laugh, leaning back as the hallway blurs past. “There’s no story.”

Tailgate lets out a thoughtful hum, turning a corner a little faster than necessary. “Well, yet,” he muses. “But, y’know… It’s kinda interesting, right? You two talk a lot. More than anyone else, I think.”

That’s an exaggeration, but you don’t bother correcting him. Instead, you shake your head, keeping your response measured. “It’s like, we speak to each other, but we say very little and yet it feels like a lot.” 

“But it’s not like that Tailgate.” you amended lightly

“But if it was, I’d be supportive!” he says quickly, like he can already sense your reluctance. “I mean, yeah, he used to be Megatron, but he’s, like, different now, right? He’s trying.”

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something so earnestly Tailgate about this—about the way he sees the world. Simple. Hopeful. It’s hard to be annoyed when you know he means well.

“I’ve never been one for uncalculated risks,” you admit, watching the corridor lights flick past. “But now’s not the worst time to start.”

Tailgate makes an excited revving sound, and you flick his dashboard in response, a silent drop it. He gets the message, coasting into the open space near the presentation room.

“Okay, okay, I won’t bug you about it.” The second the doors slide open, he transforms and gestures grandly toward the entrance. “But if something happens, I totally called it.”

You step out, shaking your head as you walk inside. The theater space is already filling up, dim light from the projector casting long shadows along the walls. A few bots have already taken their seats, drawn in by the promise of a classic Noir films.

Rewind sits near the front, adjusting his lenses, likely preparing to compare the film’s historical accuracy against Earth’s actual mid-century crime scene. Rung has settled in beside him, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the flickering previews with quiet interest. Perceptor, as expected, is in the corner, his optic display already analyzing the cinematography, probably breaking it down frame by frame. Chromedome, arms crossed, remains a little more detached, but he’s here, which means something.

It’s the kind of film that draws in the more analytical bots—those who appreciate subtext, who like stories that don’t tie themselves into neat resolutions.

You finish setting up the system. The film is about to begin. Then, just before the lights dim completely, the door at the back of the room hisses open. A presence lingers in the doorway. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Megatron doesn’t enter right away. He stands at the threshold, scanning the room, the audience, the screen. Assessing.

And then, without a word, he steps inside and takes a seat.

The film unfolds in flickering black and white. Rain slicks the streets, a lone detective leans against a payphone, the brim of his hat shadowing tired eyes. A woman’s voice crackles through the receiver—smooth, practiced, hiding something beneath the surface.

The room stays quiet, absorbed.

Megatron doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shift in his seat, doesn’t vent in frustration the way some bots do when they find human storytelling too slow. He just watches. You steal a glance at him once, maybe twice. His optics stay fixed on the screen, tracking every detail like he’s dissecting it.

He’s enjoying it.

You can tell by the way he leans forward slightly—not enough for most to notice, but enough that you do.

The movie rolls on. The detective chases a truth he already knows will ruin him. The woman in the fur coat isn’t who she says she is. The city is soaked in betrayal, and everyone’s hands are dirty. The atmosphere settles in like cigarette smoke in a room with no open windows.

And then, finally, the last line.

“You can’t rewrite history, but you can choose what parts to carry with you.”

A final shot—tail lights disappearing into the night. The music swells, then fades. The projector hums to a stop.

Murmurs rise from the audience. Rewind starts talking before the credits even finish rolling, already dissecting the historical accuracy of the setting. Nightbeat is animated, pointing out the film’s detective tropes with enthusiasm. You push yourself up onto your feet, stretching, satisfied that the night went well.

“I enjoyed that.”

You turn.

Megatron stands just beside you just out of periphery, arms folded, optics still carrying the last of whatever thoughts the film left him with.

You turn. “…Yeah?”

A small nod. “Yes. The dialogue was sharp. Efficient.” He tilts his head slightly. “And the conclusion—predictable, yet… satisfying.”

You covet a strange, almost ridiculous sense of pride at that. Like you won something.

“Well,” you say, “I’ll have to pick another one sometime.”

Something about that makes him pause. The set of his jaw loosens as if he was about to say the first thing on his mind, before tightening to reconsider. As if the thought is something he hadn’t considered before.

“…I’d be interested in that.”

Your fingers curl slightly at your side. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the warmth tickling your cheeks. .

Megatron shifts—only slightly—but then does something unexpected.

He smiles.

Not fully. Not broadly. It’s barely there. But it’s the honest to goodness real thing.

And worse—awkward.

The great and terrible Megatron does not know how to properly smile at someone. The realization nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

“Thank you,” he says, voice quieter now. “For the invitation.”

He straightens, stepping back toward the exit. He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, then meets your gaze.

“Goodnight, Ambassador.”

It shouldn’t be anything. Just words. 

“…Goodnight, Megatron.”

The door shuts behind him.

A second later, the overhead lights flicker back on, bright and unflinching.

You blink against the sudden change, heat still lingering on your face. Your hand twitches at your side, resisting the urge to touch your own cheek—like that would somehow erase the evidence.

No one’s looking at you. No one cares that you’re standing here, flushed and off-balance over nothing. Absurdly, painfully obvious.

You inhale sharply, shaking it off as you scan the room. Tailgate is by the exit, already transformed, idling expectantly. You make your way over.

“Give me a ride home?”

He beeps his horn cheerfully, like he���s been waiting for you to ask. “Of course!”

The doors open, and you climb in, settling into the seat. The engine hums beneath you as he pulls out of the theater.

[thatbennybee]

Rewinding Our Fate Ch3: Reassure

Poppy called out for him a few times before coming to a clearing she remembered well. A rock stood in the middle with a “welcome" mat that read "GO AWAY." On top of it, a hunched-over gray troll sat, face in his paws. She slowly approached, then sat next to him when he acknowledged she was there but didn’t tell her to leave.

“So…” She started but had no idea where she wanted her first question to go. She didn’t want to mess this up, she almost got him to open up a couple of minutes ago. “I can tell there’s something you really wanna tell me.”

He said nothing but nodded his head with his paws still covering his face.

“But you think you’ll sound stupid for saying it, right?” The princess rubbed his back gently so as not to scare him. She expected him to flinch away at the very least, but instead, he leaned into her touch. This was good. This was a good thing.

“I promise, whatever you have to say, I’ll listen. Even if my friends don’t. I want to apologize for that, by the way. For letting them talk to you like that, it wasn’t very princess-like for me to be a bystander to bullying.”

Branch’s head shot up, looking in front of his field of vision at the forest before looking at Poppy and shaking his head.

“No, Poppy, no. It’s my fault for being so shitty-Er... U-Unkind in the first place. I don’t expect them to like me. I just don’t want to see your friends get hurt.” He had unconsciously placed a paw on top of hers and gripped it as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

“H-Hurt?” Poppy inquired. Taking his paw into her own. If he was going to touch her like it didn’t matter to him, then she’d take full advantage if it helped him open up to her. Branch’s eyes widened at her question, he winced as if he had said the wrong thing and looked away from her.

“Oh. Well… No, never mind.” He sighed, starting to move his paw away.

No, no! I’m so close, go full throttle, Poppy!

“Tell me.” She cupped his cheek in her free paw, turning his face to hers. He looked into her eyes with such fond, endearment. Full of so many emotions she couldn’t identify. He swallowed, cupping his own paw over hers on his face, then flattened his lips before opening them to speak.

“A-A dream,” He sputtered, inspecting her face. “I had… This… Dream. Where my life was better, less lonely. Where we were—” He stopped himself and looked down for a moment and then back up with her with such pain in his expression; as if he were holding back something as he spoke. “Friends. Best friends.”

Poppy’s eyes lit up. Her tail twitched in excitement. This was shocking, to say the least.

“And that’s why you were so sad? Because you woke up and we weren’t best friends?” She was starting to understand. A dream like that when you’re so lonely has to really hurt.

“It was more than that. I lived a life, made friends… W-We went on so many adventures together. It was like… 3 months of life… Gone, in an instant.” Branch was on the brink of tears.

Her heart broke for him. A dream where he lived such a life where he seemed happy enough that waking up from it would break him like this… It had to have felt so real. How would she have felt if she woke up this morning and the Snack Pack members weren’t her friends?

“Oh, Branch… I’m so sorry. That has to feel just terrible. Dreams like that are just horrible once you wake up.”

“But it’s worse than that. Because I woke up and everything you guys have done and said in that dream happened exactly like this.” Branch shook his head, pulling away from her touch, leaning back against the rock, and looking up at the trees.

“Wait, is that why you were guessing our words like that? I thought maybe we’d just become predictable after all this time.”

Branch only shook his head, then he closed his eyes.

“Today is the day where everything starts.” He muttered.

“Huh?” She was confused again. “Branch, stop being so cryptic and just explain… Um. Please?”

He groans and paws at his scalp before dropping his arms in defeat. “Fine. But when I sound like a crazy person, just do me a favor and leave fast, this is depressing enough.”

“I’m all ears, Branch m’man. Shoot.” She mimicked his posture and leaned back against the rock, looking up at the trees with him. He had watched her with a sideways glance without moving his head. She could’ve sworn she heard a puff of air that could’ve been a laugh, but she wasn’t sure.

“Everything that happened this morning, it happened in my dream. Yknow, minus the me knowing everything part. I was more of a jerk in my dream about it.”

That made more sense, he was never that passive and he never, ever accepted an invitation without being mean or it literally being forced upon him. She didn’t say anything, though. Just a hum of acknowledgment to let him know to continue.

“You don’t listen to me about the noise and… And you throw this massive party. I didn’t go of course, but… I-It’s so loud and bright that… That…!” He tenses up as he recalls, his eyes are wide and strained. Poppy quickly squeezes his paw and he squeezes back, calming himself with a big exhale. He shuts his eyes tight.

“T-That a Bergen finds you. She was hiding out in the woods nearby. Waiting for a sign.” With this, Poppy gasps, she’s invested in his story. “And your giant Poppy firework only solidified that it was trolls.”

Poppy froze. Her blood running cold.

“Branch?”

“Yeah?”

“You said… A giant Poppy firework, right?”

“Uh-huh. I never saw it myself, I was in my bunker. You told me later that Cooper had made it for the party and you were so excited to see it in action.”

That was weird. Cooper did have a giant Poppy firework planned for tonight’s party. And she was totally hyped to see it.

“W-What else did I tell you about this party?”

“Well, that you were so nervous about messing up your speech or not saying everything you wanted to. That you’d filled up dozens of journals trying to get the speech right.”

Poppy’s tail patted the grass in agitation. That was true, too. She had an entire stack of journals full of scrapped 20th-anniversary speeches beside her desk. How would Branch know any of that? That was way more than a coincidence, he'd have to have been in her pod looking at her things or in Cooper's listening to their top-secret party plans which would be even less likely. Branch never cared about stuff like that, and based on how he was telling her, it seemed like she had told Branch about this herself after the dust had settled and they were looking back at this moment fondly. But the stuff Branch was saying hadn't happened yet.

It'd be happening tonight.

“Poppy? You okay?” Branch was looking at her now, as she looked visibly disturbed.

“Um. Well. D-Did I end up getting the speech right?” She mustered up a twitchy grin. Branch only shook his head.

“Bergen found you before you could finish. Took all your friends.”

Poppy jolted and sat up on her knees, facing Branch. It heightened his own anxiety with the panicked look she was giving him.

“What?! No, no that can’t happen!”

“P-Poppy, relax. It was just some dumb dream of mine, maybe it won’t actually happen in the real world...” Branch muttered. This time, Poppy was the one to shake her head, much more insistently.

“No, Branch. T-The stuff you said about the fireworks? A-And my speech? That stuff was true.” Poppy grabbed his shoulders, making Branch’s eyes widen. “Maybe… Maybe it wasn’t just any old dream, maybe it was a… a…” She seemed to be struggling to find the right words in her uncomfortable panic.

“A premonition.” Branch finished. Realization filled their eyes as they looked at each other. They sprung up from their spot on the ground.

“Branch. Do you remember what that Bergen looked like?”

“How could I forget her?” He tensed up, recalling something he clearly didn’t want to talk about.

“Then maybe, just maybe. We can try and go find her. Y’know, test this theory further?” Poppy squeezed his arms with her paws, clearly distressed. “See if it’s true?”

Branch stared at her for a moment before breaking eye contact to search somewhere within himself for an answer. “I-I dunno Poppy… Going through with this over a dream? I mean…”

Poppy shook her head more adamantly.

“No, Branch. I believe you. And even if we don’t find a Bergen... and everything’s fine? We’ll throw that party and we can become friends. Just like in that dream. How’s that?” Poppy gave him her signature toothy smile.

He looked at her so softly, so full of fondness as he blinked away tears.

“Okay. Let’s go find that Bergen.” Branch nodded curtly, seemingly filled with newfound confidence as he took her paws in his.

The hand-holding was a very new behavior from him, but for some reason, it felt natural. Or, maybe because Branch did it so casually without realizing it, it certainly felt that way.

She could get used to this Branch.

Original End Note: Poppy has taken a liking to Branch's vulnerable side and the fact that he lets her touch him! She doesn't know why, but it's so exciting!

*Start* | < Previous | Next >

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

OMG I’m so excited for this!!! Can I request Vil with the prompt rainy nights?? Can it be fluffy and romantic? Anyway I hope you have a wonderful day!! :)

Rainy Nights; Vil Schoenheit

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established romantic relationship

Content Warning; Reader cries because of a movie, death (movie)

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; I had a vision; watching old movies with Vil as the rain came down. I had a lot of fun writing this, and this is also my first solo Vil piece, so I hope I did him justice here.

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

You were rummaging around the TV console, going through the numerous DVDs and VHS tapes that were just sitting around and collecting dust. Tonight was your night for movie night, as yesterday was Vil’s, so you were weighing your options. Sure, there were streaming services, but there’s just something that hits differently with a physical copy, flaws and all. Plus it’s not like you could go out since it was raining like no tomorrow outside. So, movie night.

“Having any luck,” Vil gently called from the washroom, still doing his nightly routine.

Your eyes still scoured the various cases, trying to find the perfect one. “Not yet. Just give me a minute, m’kay?”

Vil gave you a hum as an answer, leaving you be.

Horror movie? No, he wouldn’t like that. Mystery? Too predictable… And then you found what looked like the most faded cases, colour worn away from age and a hand going back time and time again. That one.

Pulling it out, you dusted off the case, inspecting the title. Of the smudged-out words, you could make out The, some kind of smudged-out word, Blossom. It looked like a black-and-white movie, and on the front were the protagonists with their backs together, flower petals surrounding them, and a dagger above them. This, this is perfect.

Vil came out of the washroom, wearing his matching royal purple pyjamas and house robe, and glowing from the various skin products that he used. He looked curiously over your shoulder. “Hmm, The Bitter Blossom,” he mused, turning his gaze to you. “Is that your pick, Schatz?” His tone was light, a sign that he approved, and was mildly surprised at your pick.

“Mhm,” you hummed, placing the VHS tape into the VCR player. Whoever had played it last had saved you the trouble of rewinding it. “Have you watched it before?”

“Surprisingly, no. Copies of it are extremely hard to come by.” He got the sofa ready, adjusting the pillows, grabbing one of the many quilts, and a box of tissues, just in case. He noticed the look you were giving him, “I haven’t watched it, but I have heard about how it ends.”

You raised a brow, but shrugged. You pressed play and scrambled over to your spot next to Vil, getting comfy and pulling that handy quilt over the both of you — the rain had made it a little bit chilly.

The Bitter Blossom started playing. Not only was it in black-and-white, but it was also a silent film. The protagonists were two lovers who met by chance, their relationship going from cold strangers to a budding romance. 

But why had Vil grabbed the tissues? The movie was almost over, it couldn’t possibly—

But then the antagonist, a jealous ex of one of the main protagonists, stabbed the love interest in the back with a dagger. The movie ended with the protagonist hugging their love interest, flower blossoms falling down around them.

“Do not let the bitter blossom of hatred and vengeance bloom in your heart or mind, my love. Do not let it ruin the happiness which we fleetingly had.” The words flashed on the screen before the movie ended with the screen fading into black.

That, that was why Vil had grabbed the tissues. Wait, were you crying? That would explain why Vil was gently dabbing away the stray tears as they rolled down your face.

“A lovely film, love,” he whispered, “I should have warned you about the ending—”

You stopped him by grabbing softly at his hand, bringing it up to cup your face. “No, it’s alright. It was a beautiful movie,” you hiccuped, leaning into his touch. 

Vil caressed calming strokes on your cheek, the slow movements helping you focus on him. He placed a kiss on your forehead, a gentle hum escaping as the kiss lingered. “Oh potato,” your old nickname from when the two of you were still just only acquaintances, “what am I going to do with you?”

You grabbed a tissue and loudly blew your nose, “Cuddles?”

Vil sighed softly, but put his arm around you, resting his head against yours and placing a kiss to your temple. “Alright,” he hummed and continued humming a gentle tune until you were falling asleep. While he would prefer sleeping in bed, he supposed he could stand to cuddle with you on the sofa as the rain eased up outside.

~~~~~~~

Schatz; German for treasure, a common term of endearment

Tags; @azulashengrottospiano [I've seen the Vil brain rot and gushing], @eynnwwyjth, @xxoomiii

[robinfrinjs]

2025 24H of Le Mans: How to follow scrutineering and the test days

Preperations for this year's 24H of Le Mans already begin this Friday as cars hit the street of Le Mans for scrutineering. Both days of scrutineering are streamed live on the 24H of Le Mans YouTube channel.

You'll be able to see cars go through inspection, driver interviews and team pictures be taken. To watch all of it, is a long seat. So I have attached the schedule below and I recommend if you want to to tune in whenever your favorite teams and drivers are on (or rewind). Alternatively it's also fun to have in the background while doing other work.

Friday Stream:

Saturday Stream:

Then, on Sunday there will be two test sessions. One from 10:00-13:00 local time and the second one from 15:00-18:30 local time. Barring any last minute schedule changes of course.

The test day isn't streamed, but you can listen to Radio Le Mans. They will be doing radio commentary for both sessions. Throughout the week they're also broadcasting previews. Which is a great way to prepare for the 24H.

You'll also be able to listen to the previews after they air on their website or on Spotify right here:

All the usual WEC Live Timing will also work to follow. So you can visit FIAWEC.tv or download the app. There's also 24h-lemans.tv which is essentially just WEC TV but in Le Mans colours. Be aware that the WEC.tv app is likely to be updated soon to be branded as Le Mans tv, it will remain the same app.

Don't worry if you can't follow or listen in, I'll try my best to update on both sessions. Also with a recap following each one.

[belit0]

hello baby!

Ame and her friends are doing the hear me out cake trend, when a friend posts a photo of Indra.

Ame is like "that's my dad!"

And how would Indra's family react when they saw the video? 🤣🤣

ASJDHAKSJDHASKDHSAHDKJSAD YES, AND.-.-.-.-.-

Let me use this scenario to introduce a new character: Raizen and Fuyumi's daughter: Mayumi.

(context: in this request, Ame is 14 years old, the twins 19, Raizen 24, and heir to the business. Mayumi is 1 year old).

@shiori01 always providing the visuals

(It's a constant fight between Madara and Indra over who gets to spend more time with the family's new baby, both equally determined. And no, the one by himself with Mayumi is not Indra, it's the adult version of Raizen, a copy and paste of his dad, Uchiha genes all over.)

Ame’s on the floor in her best friend’s room, laughter bubbling as each girl slaps down another paper face onto the “HEAR ME OUT” cake.

-Ryan Gosling.

-That Naruto villain.

-Your ex.

-Shut up.

Then one girl, grinning like a sinner, drops a printed photo of a man brushing his teeth, unbothered expression, sharp eyes like a blade in motion, staring at the camera through the mirror's reflection.

Caught in the act, not planned.

-Okay. Hear me out.

The camera catches Ame staring at the photo in horror.

Her face drains of color.

-NO. No no no no. That’s my DAD!

Shrieks. Screaming. Laughter.

-Your WHAT?—

-Delete it delete it delete it!

Ame lunges for the phone as it keeps recording.

//

It starts in the kitchen.

Mid-morning.

Ivy’s in a loose cardigan, slippers, hair tied up in a pencil bun, aggressively whisking something green and glittery that probably isn’t legal.

-Stop pacing or get me a new spatula.— she snaps without looking.

Across the marble counter, Hikari is flicking through TikTok like he’s hunting for a target.

Inari is leaning next to him, arms crossed, face frozen in one of his trademark demon smiles. -I’m telling you she squeals like someone just pulled her out of a cult.—

Hikari turns the screen around. -You’re gonna love this, Mom. Prepare your soul.—

He hits play.

The phone screen flares to life.

“Hear me out—” A second beat. “THAT’S MY DAD! NO!!”

Ivy stops whisking. Completely. Eyes locked.

-Again.

Hikari rewinds. Plays it.

Inari taps the counter like a funeral drum.

“NOOOO!!”

Ivy exhales like she just finished a cigarette. -Oh, that's gorgeous, fine picture, captured with my best skills... They loved me for it. Send it to me.—

-Already did.— Inari slides her phone across the counter. -I commented from your burner too.-

-Which one? The one I use to stalk his fan edits or the one where I fight his fangirls?

-The violent one. Your alter ego with the katana profile pic.— Hikari adds.

She snorts.

-Perfect. Tag me in the next one too.

From the living room, a low voice interrupts.

-She’s going to need therapy.

Indra is on the couch in grey linen pajama pants and a black T-shirt, hair loose, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Mayumi, Raizen and Fuyumi's little girl, is lodged on his lap like a small, babbling dictator, holding a wooden spoon in one hand and gnawing on his thumb like it’s a chew toy.

He doesn’t look away from her.

He’s gently tugging a sock off her foot, inspecting her tiny toes like they might be armed.

Raizen is in the armchair, posture sharp despite the hoodie and sweatpants. A laptop on his knees, phone on the armrest, four encrypted channels open.

He glances up once, eyes cold. -She posted it herself.—

Inari, to Hikari, in a half-whisper: -That’s the scary tone. He’s annoyed and pretending not to care.-

-I don’t care.—

Hikari snorts, knowing his older brother. -He’s lying. He added it to his “Evidence of Uchiha Stupidity” folder.—

Ivy walks over, phone in hand, scrolling. -Half the comments are thirsting over your father, by the way. One said ‘I’d say no too if my dad looked like that.’ Another one called him ‘daddy in the biblical sense.’ What does that even mean?-

Indra, completely unfazed, still focused on pulling Mayumi’s tiny sweater hood over her head. -It means God will smite them.—

Inari comments, -I liked the one that said, ‘If that was my dad, I’d simply disintegrate.’—

Hikari adds more to it, -Or the one with the audio overlay: ‘Silenzio Bruno’ while Ame’s screaming.—

Raizen keeps handling their mafia empire, -You're all sick.—

Mayumi, from Indra’s lap, gurgles like she agrees.

-Buh.— she says.

Indra nods like she made a valid point. -Exactly.—

Ivy, still watching the video, sighs. -Look at her face. She's devastated. The betrayal. The collapse. All for a thirty-second thirst trap of her own father.—

Indra looks up finally, one brow raised. -There was no trap. I was brushing my teeth.—

-Your reflection was glowing, Dad.- Hikari explains like it's obvious.

-And you were shirtless. People have needs.- Inari finishes.

Indra adjusts Mayumi's position—she flops sideways like a drunk sea lion. He catches her head gently, supports her with one arm, pulls the blanket over her back with the other.

Raizen, while finishing the transfer of one million bitcoins, adds, -She’s going to exile herself. You know that, right?—

-She’s in school. We’ll tell her after lunch. Once I’ve uploaded the slowed reverb version to my group chat.- Ivy explains.

-With the whispered “that’s my dad” layered over Gregorian chanting? Already done.— Inari smirks.

-I gave it a title: ‘Ame's Villain Origin Story, Vol. I.’— Hiakri contributes.

Mayumi lets out a small, high laugh—babbles a string of vowels like she’s adding to the conversation.

Indra adjusts her head again, absently. -She says 'play it again.'—

Ivy hits replay.

And just like that, the Uchiha household becomes a looped theater of shame, dark humor, and generational trauma wrapped in modern chaos—muffled only by Mayumi’s quiet gurgles and the sound of Ame, somewhere far away, screaming into the void.

[in1-nutshell]

OMG can you do sparkling! buddy in MTMTE? 🥹

Sparkling Buddy is going to have some wild adventures in the near future.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the sparkling on the Lost Light with Skids, Rewind, and Ravage

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain reader

MTMTE

The ship hit a small pod outside.

The crew brought it inside for further inspection.

To everyone’s surprise, a sparkling was inside.

There was a mad dash to get the little one straight to the med bay for inspection.

Turns out that the little one was okay.

Not too bad out of shape or malnourished

A meeting was soon held about how the sparkling would be raised and who was going to be their primary guardian.

Apparently, that got a lot of bots arguing on who the sparkling would belong to.

But not as much as what to name the sparkling.

Cue the random name generator wheel spinning over several hundred names.

The little arrow landed on ‘Buddy’.

Half of the bots believe it was Swerve who put down the name, but the name stuck around.

Everyone pitched in to help babysit the sparkling on their weekly rotations before a primary guardian could be drawn.

Skids

One of the top best babysitters on board.

Mainly for two reasons.

One was that he could keep the kiddo entertained for long periods of time.

Two he could match their speed when they got playful.

Constantly had the sparkling either in his servos or on his shoulder.

Loves to throw the sparkling up and down and hear them laugh and chirp.

Has this possibly given Magnus a stroke?

There is a possibility…

Despite what many bots tell him not to do, Skids brings Buddy into the vents with him.

His defense? He was teaching Buddy who were the crewmembers they could trust to be with.

Definitely has not lost Buddy on accident in the vents.

Nope hasn’t happened.

“Has anyone seen Skids? I have Buddy’s toy and I don’t know where he is.”--Rung

Meanwhile in the vents…

Skids pointing at Rung walking down the hallway.

“And who is that, Buddy?”--Skids

Happy chirping sounds.

“Smart one aren’t ya.”—Skids

Rewind

Rewind is going to film everything this little sparkling does.

He can’t help it!

They are so cute trying to learn about the world around them and he has a camera bolted to his helm.

Of course he is going to film it.

From the best times.

To the worst times.

Has plenty of educational films for Buddy to watch while he is babysitting them.

Rewind has them all saved on a special file.

Sometimes when movie night is going slow, he’ll sneak in a couple videos of Buddy doing some goofy activities.

It usually raises everyone’s spirits on gloomier days.

Rewind often carries Buddy in his arms or when he is feeling extra goofy, he’ll give them a ‘piggyback ride’.

He wants a sparkling but doesn’t know how to bring it up to Chromedome yet.

Maybe they will get their chance in the future.

But for now, he is happy to babysit and take videos of the sparkling.

Buddy trying to near how to walk.

Rewind filming the entire thing.

“C’mon Buddy! You almost got—DOMEY OUT OF THE WAY!—There you go! Up! Up! Up! Oooohhhh! Almost had it there, Buddy!”

Rewind picks up the fallen sparkling whole is just giggling at the little camera.

“Maybe next time.”—Rewind

Buddy pats him on the helm.

Ravage

Ravage claims that he doesn’t want anything to do with the sparkling.

He is saying this as he is cuddling said sparkling.

He has firmly stated time and time again that he does not care for them.

But his actions tell a different story.

Ravage is constantly watching over the sparkling from hidden spot throughout the ship, especially with bots he doesn’t really trust yet.

Which is most of the crew.

Has let the sparkling ride on his back while sprinting down the halls.

Buddy crawling around the hallways unattended.

Ravage walking towards Buddy before gently grabbing them like a kitten.

He continues to walk until he reaches Megatron’s empty habsuite and puts Buddy down on the berth.

“I swear… these mechs will look away for a second and BAM! Your already halfway across the ship.”--Ravage

Buddy just starts playing with their servo.

[multifandomfix]

It’s Good To Be Bad — Leland Townsend

Summary: You’ve done something you’re not proud of, but Leland hopes to wipe you of your shame and bring out the darker side of you.

Word Count: 1,023

Warnings: Manipulation, vague references to immoral acts, Leland is his own warning

The quiet in your apartment is oppressive, pressing down on you like a weight. You sit at the kitchen table, the remnants of a half eaten meal in front of you, untouched for hours now. Your hands are still, but your mind is not. It’s running circles around the thing you did, the choice you made, the line you crossed. You wish you could take it back, rewind the night, undo the decision before it ever took root. But there’s no erasing it. No undoing. Only sitting in the aftermath of what you’ve done.

A sharp knock at the door makes you flinch. Your breath catches as you rise, hesitating before unlocking it. Leland Townsend leans against the frame, looking amused, looking like he already knows. He probably does. His eyes flick down, scanning you like a puzzle he’s already solved.

“You didn’t call,” he says, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation.

“I didn’t think you needed an update,” you reply bitterly, voice hoarse from hours of fraught silence, broken only by the occasional scream of regret.

He turns to face you, his smirk slow and deliberate. “Oh, but I do. I love hearing about moral crises. They’re so…delicate.” He gestures vaguely with one hand before moving toward the table, inspecting the untouched food, the nearly empty glass beside it. “Not eating? The guilt weighing on you already?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms tight across your chest, as if you can hold yourself together that way. He watches, waiting for you to break the silence, to let him in, and you hate that it works.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” you finally admit, your voice barely registering above a whisper.

Leland hums, considering. “But you did. And the world is still spinning, isn’t it?”

You look away, but he steps closer. “Tell me,” he continues, voice soft now, almost coaxing, “was it everything you imagined?”

“No.” The answer is automatic. But your voice wavers, betraying something beneath the shame, something you don’t want to name.

Leland catches it, of course he does. He chuckles, and the sound is warm, indulgent. “Liar.”

You’re intent on defying him now. “I’m not lying.”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, searching your face. “So it didn’t feel good? Not even for a second?”

You don’t respond, because what would be the point? He already knows. It’s clear to you now. No matter what you say, he knows the truth of it.

Leland leans in, lowering his voice. “That’s the thing about moments like these. The ones that shake your little moral compass. The shame will claw at you for a while, make you sick with regret. But deep down? You liked it. That’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twists, your body tense, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. What was it about him that drew you in? How was it that he was able to poison your mind in the most delightful way?

He grins, watching the war play out in your expression. “You think you should be better than this,” he muses, brushing past you, making his way deeper into your apartment. “That you should hate what you did, hate yourself for it. But you don’t.” He glances over his shoulder. “Not really.”

You follow him, half heartedly. “I didn’t ask for your analysis.”

“Oh, but you let me in,” he reminds you, plopping onto the couch like he belongs there. “Which tells me you want it.”

You run a hand over your face, exhausted. “Why are you here?”

“To help,” he says simply. “To relieve you of this ridiculous guilt of yours.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Leland stretches, his casual confidence filling the space between you. “By showing you that there’s nothing to feel guilty about. You think you’ve done something terrible, something unforgivable.” He gestures dismissively. “But what if I told you that what you did wasn’t a mistake? That it wasn’t a moment of weakness, but a moment of clarity?”

“That’s not—” you began to protest.

“It is,” he insists. He sits forward, eyes locked onto yours. “You’ve spent your whole life coloring inside the lines, playing by the rules. And then, for once, you stepped outside of them. And now you’re panicking because it didn’t feel as bad as it was supposed to.”

You shake your head, stepping back, but Leland stands, closing the distance between you in an instant. His voice dips, quieter, more intimate. “I could help you, you know. Take this weight off your shoulders. You think you need to punish yourself for this, but what if I told you there’s nothing to punish?”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

He smiles, eyes sharp and knowing. “You already are.”

Silence stretches between you again. The air is thick with something unspoken, something you’re afraid to acknowledge. Leland reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

“You can run from it,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “Or you can embrace it.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You should shove him away, tell him to leave, swear that this—whatever this is—ends here. But your body betrays you, frozen in place, waiting, wanting.

Leland’s lips curl into a smirk. He already knows, you’re reminded. He’s just toying with you and waiting for you to say it out loud. Waiting for you to prove him right, so he can lord it over you when the time comes, knowing he was your undoing.

“I did it,” you exhale. “I liked doing it, and I want to do it again.” The words come from your mouth tasting of bile, and yet they were also oddly freeing. Your confidence builds and by the end of your sentence you’re matching him eye to eye.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something inside you shifts, something dark and dangerous and thrilling.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer.

Maybe you don’t want to be saved after all.

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @devotedlyscentedtocomedians, @lakita-fisher

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 2 - Trust Issues

Warnings: food hoarding

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint talk about Natasha. Clint realizes that bringing in a black widow may not be as easy as he thinks.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Clint yawns.

Maria throws a book at him and groans.

“I’m so bored,” he complains. “How do you do this?”

“That’s what you get, for bringing a stray home,” she rolls her eyes and throws her pen at him.

“They can’t keep me grounded forever right?”

Maria shrugs, “Ask Coulson.”

Clint throws them back at her and glances at the clock.

“I should probably go,” he sighs.

“Pick up time?”

He bows, “I am the chauffeur, am I not?”

“She’s not eating,” Maria tells him as Clint starts to walk away.

“What?”

He turns and eyes her closely.

“She doesn’t eat the food, haven’t you noticed? Not unless it’s packaged or clear liquid.”

She pauses.

“I don’t know what she does eat, have you been giving her food?”

Clint shakes his head.

“Only the occasional granola bar when I’ve eaten one?”

He pauses. “How do you know?”

Maria pauses.

“She’s been here two weeks, what has she been eating?”

“How do you know?”

Looking around, Maria opens the surveillance program on her computer, and rewinds to breakfast.

“Don’t tell Coulson I’m showing you this,” she growls.

Clint looks forward with interest, feeling voyeuristic at watching her.

He knew they’d be surveilling her, but had underestimated just how closely.

It seems stupid in hindsight.

The breakfast is delivered.

The blue tray pushed through a small opening on the floor, and Clint feels angry at how just like prison this must feel for her.

Natasha approaches it, and squats to look at the food.

She inspects the apple, and places it on the bed away from the other food. The scrambled eggs, she touches as though she’s looking for something; pressing them down; then looks at the juice box and places it next to the apple.

The tray gets pushed back, the rest of the cooked food untouched, and, after a moment, taken away.

“Breakfast she eats the most, or takes the most from, I guess.”

Clint keeps watching, but she doesn’t eat. The juice box gets drunk slowly, but the apple is placed inside the small side table drawer.

He glimpses one of the granola bars he’d given her, and he feels like an idiot for not noticing.

“Talk to her about it?”

He nods.

“Why’d you tell me? You don’t even like her?”

Maria looks at him, annoyed at the look.

“Just because I like her, doesn’t mean I want her dead.”

He looks away from the computer, Maria turning the program off.

“Clint, she’s not okay, traumatized black widows; don’t you think you’re out of your depth?”

He takes the criticism and thinks about Natasha’s face as he’d offered her a lifeline. The way she looked so sad and resigned to her fate, and the run and hide through Berlin.

“I’m all she’s got,” he shrugs.

Maria shakes her head, but says nothing.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll chat to you later?”

He leaves without the response, mulling on her words, wondering just how hard this was going to be.

.

Clint waits, just as he promised as the door opens as Natasha steps out.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Olivia tells both the receptionist and Natasha at the door.

The receptionist nods, and gives Clint a smile, ignoring Natasha as she steps out and forward.

“Sorry,” Clint says ruefully, taking the handcuffs from Olivia.

Natasha holds her hands up, face blank, eyes glazed.

They step in line with each other, the walk back to the glass prison punctuated with Clint’s quiet words.

“I feel like you look when I walk out of therapy. Did it go okay?”

He pauses, “you don’t have to answer that.”

When there’s no words, he decides to continue talking.

He knows she doesn’t trust them; any of them. He really wants to know what she talks about in therapy. If she says anything at all or if Olivia just talks to her.

He wonders idly if he needs to talk to someone too.

Probably.

The last couple of months have been… intense, for lack of a better word and he wonders if, like Maria had said, he was out of his depth.

It was not the first time he thought it.

Natasha’s despondency was affecting him.

What did he know about defectors and a traumatised super spy?

He just didn’t want her to die.

Not by his hand, or her own.

“I like her though,” he continues.

“Give her a chance, if you can. She’s… not unlike you, in her background and maybe can help? She’s there to help.”

He mulls on his own words as he leads her a different way back. He’s right.

If anyone can help her; Olivia can.

Determined to show her a different part of the complex, they go through the kitchens, and Clint picks up two apples, throwing her one and then crunching onto the other.

It gives him time to think.

He’s going to need to touch base with Olivia, make sure that she is interacting, doing what was promised.

He could ask her what he should be doing too; for her, for himself.

Clint leads the way back with practiced ease, the silence allowing him to think.

As they enter the first round of checks, he smiles easily to the straight faced guards; then as they get deeper to the third and forth stations, it’s just Clint’s badge letting them in.

It seems to bolster Natasha, the less people around, she matches his steps and bites the apple. At the noise, Clint turns and smiles.

“You don’t eat much,” he observes.

Natasha shrugs and takes another bite.

He laughs at her sass.

“Do you not like the food?”

Natasha looks down.

He feels a little mean, talking about this after she’s just had 90 minutes of therapy.

He’s sure the sessions are not the easiest, and he can see the slight tremor in her hands, despite her trying to mask it by holding onto the apple.

They reach her cell and she steps inside the glass, holding her wrists out for him to release them.

He does.

Taking the cuffs away and pushing them into his pocket.

“Just think about it, okay? If there’s food you want or prefer, just tell me? I can help.”

Natasha looks at her feet and takes two steps back, the door closing and the glass sealing shut.

.

Despite her better judgement, Natasha continues to eat the apple. The constant hunger makes her feel on edge sometimes.

She’s so used to it, that until Clint had said something, she hadn’t given it much thought.

Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, she chews on it and thinks.

Therapy had been tough.

Though not for the first time, Olivia had called her out on things that she shouldn’t know.

Details about the Red Room that only the guards, the officers or widows knew, inner workings of the KGB and Red Room procedures like the trial of the silent knife and graduation.

And whilst Natasha hadn’t had another panic attack, it had been close.

The push to talk and baiting was tempting.

How did she know?

She knew she’d eventually have to talk, but for now, whilst she could hold onto her silence, she wanted to keep it.

It was the only control she had.

Her mind feels like a minefield.

Sometimes, she feels like once she starts talking, she’ll never stop; but the years of self preservation wouldn’t let her.

She sorts the known information, finishing the apple and swallowing slowly, closing her eyes on the onslaught of images and thoughts.

It takes her a moment to let the memory of the silent knife trial pass. The blood on her hands feeling so visceral and real she opens and closes her eyes just to check.

She breathes.

In.

Holds it.

And out.

It has become the easiest thing to do after therapy. To think and sort through all the things that were said, disclosed and asked of her.

After a day like today where she had had to do both debriefing and therapy, she knew that nightmares would be inevitable.

She just hoped that whoever was watching the cameras tonight was sleeping on the job.

Natasha breathes slowly again.

Starting with the image that comes first, she focuses as best she can on sorting real from not real. What they had said, what she had disclosed, information that still was secret and that which had become known.

They were still only on major players of the organisation; those that she knew had ties into the western world. People she had been sent after, political agendas. It was far easier to talk about than herself, though she had a feeling that was coming.

Her mind flashes to Dreykov and she bites the inside of her cheek, drawing blood.

Real or not real.

She tries to ground herself in this moment.

She didn’t trust them.

They knew too much.

She’d told them too much.

There was no going back now.

Natasha thinks of Maria again.

Always an ending thought.

The divulgence of knowing her birthdate.

Information known by a select few but, perhaps also could be found from intel files. It means that somewhere here there’s more intel on her; prior to her coming here.

What she wouldn’t give for that file.

Therapy conversations had given her pause.

It was difficult to think about without her mind flashing back; and she didn’t want to.

Not here.

Not now.

There’s a file on her.

And she wants it.

.

<3

[draculasintern]

Odds and Additions...

Pt 4

There was something different in the lab that morning. Not in the air, not quite. The hum of machines still droned like an endless conversation neither of you were willing to have. The windows were still fogged at the edges, smeared slightly from where your sleeve had wiped a circle days ago. The mugs were mismatched. The tension still unspoken.

But something had shifted. Slightly. Quietly. Barely.

Viktor entered first. Earlier than usual. You noticed only because the tools you typically organized were already set out, arranged with meticulous, almost surgical care. You didn’t thank him. He didn’t say anything. He just sat at his desk and began working, his movements slow, deliberate. Calculated. It was simple. An uneasy simple..

The silence settled in again. Familiar. Comfortless.

You tried to keep your eyes on your own schematics. You tried not to look when he pressed his fingertips hard into his ribs during a particularly long stretch of work, like something was grinding under the surface. You told yourself not to ask. It wasn’t your business. You weren’t here to care. You were here to win. You weren’t here to be soft.

But the question clung to your throat anyway.

Was he okay?

You didn’t ask it. Instead, you cleared your throat, let the noise puncture the silence like a crack in glass. “We need to finalize the framework if we’re going to meet the inspection deadline,” you said, voice crisp, professional. No emotion. No implication.

Viktor didn’t look up. “Then let’s work.”

And so you did. You always did. ═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

Until the door opened.

Both your heads turned, almost in sync, as Dean Heimerdinger stepped into the lab—alone this time. No councilors trailing behind him in thick coats and pointed glances. Just him, in his worn professor’s robes, looking more tired than usual. More… disappointed, maybe.

“Good morning,” he said, scanning the room like it might reveal something it hadn’t already told him. You both nodded. Viktor stood slower than he used to, but straighter. More formal. The silence wrapped around the three of you like a second presence. The dean let it linger for a moment before speaking.

“I’ve looked over the council’s most recent notes. They seem… intrigued,” he said, and though the word was neutral, the twist of his mouth wasn’t.

Viktor’s chin lifted slightly. “I believe we’re making progress.”

The dean gave a small nod, but his gaze shifted—to you. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Measured.

“But progress is only useful if it leads somewhere. I’m not here for spectacle. I’m here for substance.” He paused. “What I want… is something that helps people. That changes the way they live, not just how they look at it.”

You felt Viktor go still beside you.

“I understand the council has their interests,” the dean continued. “But I need someone who remembers why we started building things in the first place. Someone who doesn’t forget the difference between a prototype and a purpose.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they landed like a blade on the table. And though the dean didn’t say it, the implication hung between you and Viktor like a crackling wire: One of you still remembers. The other might’ve forgotten.

He gave a final look at the workbench—at the wires, the gears, the split blueprints—then turned toward the door.

“I’ll be back in a week,” he said. “I hope I’ll see something worth remembering.”

And then he left. The silence returned. But it wasn’t the same anymore. ═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

Viktor didn’t move. Not right away. He stared at the door for a few seconds too long, as if he could will the dean back inside, or maybe just rewind the conversation.

You shifted in your seat, the creak of your chair loud in the new quiet.

“He’s not wrong,” you said, not looking at him.

Viktor’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp and unreadable.

“I mean,” you added quickly, “about helping people.”

His fingers twitched against the edge of the table. “Is that what you think I’ve forgotten?”

You hesitated. The question wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t soft either. It was a scalpel—precise, pointed.

“I think,” you said carefully, “you’re trying to win a game that doesn’t care if you lose yourself in the process.”

He scoffed under his breath. “And you think doing nothing is nobler?”

“I think doing the right thing is harder,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “But it’s what matters.”

The words landed heavy. A breath passed. Then another.

Viktor turned away again, his voice low. “Hard doesn’t always mean possible.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to answer, because deep down, you knew that was the part that scared you most. The silence returned once more—this time with weight, with heat, with something shifting beneath the surface. Neither of you looked at each other. Neither of you moved to bridge the distance.

But for the first time in days, it felt like the rift had a shape.

And it was growing. ═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══

pt 5 Slow burn so slow they dont even have firewood yet 😞😞

[mingsolo]

pause + play

wonwoo x reader (f) / g: meet cute, 90s au, fluff, strangers to lovers / wc: 4k / warnings: cursing, some nipple action, mingyu being a sl*t, / r: nc17

written for Now, That's 90s! collab, hosted by @beomcoups and I! ngI struggled not because I couldn't write this one, but because life is kicking my ass and I couldn't find the time to really sit and think through it... anyways it turned out pretty cute please read if you can <3

A drop of sweat rolled down from your forehead, you blew some air to your face but of course it was hot and it made you dizzy. “Is this thing even on?.” you shouted from the other corner of the shop, to your co-worker, Mingyu.

You stood under the AC trying to feel if there was actually cool air coming from it but you couldn’t feel but a weak wave of hot air over you. 

“Yeah, that thing is better off.” Mingyu shouted back, where he was lining up tapes in the kids section. “By the way, could you help me check the return box? There’s some tapes missing here, they should be there.” 

You waved out, going to the returns box at the entrance of the store. A few tapes were in, three Toy Story 2, one Tarzan and a copy of 10 Things I Hate About You along with two Armageddon at the bottom. You placed the movies on the counter as Mingyu was approaching you. “We need to rewind them first, all of them!” You say inspecting the tapes, “Geez, why do they never do it?.” 

Mingyu laughs and shakes his head. “The sign even says “Please” on it, right?.” He taps the hardcover of the vhs box, where “Please rewind before returning” signs reads on it.

“And it's so hot to be in the rewind room!.” you nag once more, taking the tapes with both arms and dragging your feet to the back of the store and rewind the tapes before someone comes looking for them. Mingyu returns to his previous spot on the kids section, not without laughing at you first. 

Despite the whole minute that it took you to get there, you are now placing the tapes into the machine, leaving the door open so some of the air could get in, the small and dark room feels suffocating just by being two steps inside it. In the speakers of the store, the faint sound of Genie In a Bottle plays on and you start humming, partly because you have the song stuck in your head thanks to Mingyu playing the cd over and over when he is on shift, and because it somehow helps the task be a little less tedious.

While on it, you hear the bells ringing meaning a customer has come to the store. You peek out to see a familiar tall figure enter, waving his way in walking directly towards the back where Mingyu was at the kids section.

“Hey!” you heard the guy saying until he disappeared from your line of sight. You tried to peek out more but it won’t be possible without you stepping out of the room, so you hurried up the process to get another glance before he’s out.

In the month you have been working there, you have seen this guy come in at least once a week. You were sure he was Mingyu’s friend as he always walked directly towards him or looked for him especially after picking up some tapes. The past times he had come with you on shift without Mingyu, you had the bad luck of always doing something like rewinding tapes or in the bathroom, never getting the chance to even greet him when he entered the store.

One thing for sure, he was cute as hell. Cat like eyes and thin defined lips, huge black frames on his face, making it look smaller. And you noticed only by getting little glimpses of him, as he was always in a rush or something, never staying more than five minutes. You thought of asking Mingyu who he was but decided not to as you were still new in the store and even if you liked and had fun working with him, Mingyu has proven to be the teasing type, and he wouldn’t let you work in peace if you dare asking him about this other guy.

Just as you were cursing at Armageddon for rewinding so slowly, you heard them saying goodbyes and the chiming doorbell announcing he was out. 

With a sigh you rolled your eyes and finished your task without hurry, hoping the cat boy would come back soon and you were luckily enough to be on the counter to greet him. 

.

.

.

Today was a Monday, and the week promised to be a quiet one. Not many new releases came to the store yet so customers wandered a little bit before getting out, or just asking when would you stock Sleepy Hollow or why you had so few copies of The Sixth Sense. You tried your best to give every customer a smile at the beginning but after a month of getting the same questions over and over, you just shrugged and advised people to come back later, and maybe the previous customer had brought it back by then. 

Mingyu was way better with customers, both girls and guys. ‘I’ll get it ready and rewinded this afternoon for you’ he said with a wink to a middle aged lady, who shamelessly smiled and flirted with him while her kid smudged chocolate from the bar he was eating on a copy of Inspector Gadget.

“Great, now I have to clean that.” you glared at Mingyu as he saved the piece of paper with the woman’s number on his back pocket once she and the chocolate kid were gone. “I swear to God I’ve seen her come in with her husband.” you arch your eyebrows at him. 

“That doesn’t seem like a me problem.” He shot gun fingers at you and got back to his task on the counter, where a few other ladies waited for him.

You chuckled and started spraying windex on Mathew Broderick’s face covered in chocolate, laughing at how Mingyu flirted shamelessly with every single one of them, all at once, but they didn’t seem to mind. 

Once good ol’ Mathew’s face was clean you left the tape back on the shelf, when you heard the bell ring. “Y/n, can you help?” Mingyu hurried to tell you, he was now surrounded by the women as he showed them a copy of Between Your Legs animatedly. “This one is from our exclusive foreign section, so exotic! And the plot is fascinating…” He looked at the ceiling and the ladies followed.

You shook your head and got up from where you were squatting, seeing the tall figure of cat-boy coming through the door. He looked at the commotion on the counter and figured out Mingyu was busy at the moment. He hesitated for a second before turning back ready to head out when you sprinted towards him, shouting “HI!! WELCOME IN!” maybe a little too enthusiastically. 

“H-hi,” he said back, a little startled by your shouting. Mingyu also looked up to you for a moment, but he was quickly back to answering curious questions from his little fan club. “Uhm, I’ll be back later when-”

“No! Please, I know Mingyu usually helps you out but please tell me what can I do for you?,” you smiled with pressed lips and your voice two tones higher than how you usually speak, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing him in front of you confirmed your suspicions, he was stupidly handsome, freakingly hot even behind those thick square glasses. His hoodie smells like coffee and the cap he was wearing backwards made the earring on his left ear seem more dangly. 

“I really would prefer to wait for Mingyu…” 

“Nonsense!” you guided him towards a free counter next to where Mingyu and his harem were discussing Between Your Legs, quickly putting some space between you two before you would get inappropriately close and start sniffing his sweater, your eyes shining brightly as you spotted cat hairs on them. 

God he is so hot for a nerd!!!

“So, what can I do for you today, I’m Y/n by the way,” you smiled again and you could swear you creeped him out by the way he started sweating. It was hot as hell inside but still, his ears turned red and the tapes he was carrying under his arm were starting to slip from his grip. He quickly put them in the pocket of his hoodie, smiling awkwardly and glancing at Mingyu behind his frames. 

You glanced at Mingyu too, who began chuckling, losing for a moment his track on the plot of the movie he was explaining. 

“Are you going to return those?” you extended your hand but he stood still, tapes still packed into his hoodie. “No?,” you asked again. He opened his mouth briefly but smacked his lips loudly looking at the ceiling. 

He looked at Mingyu and his expression changed from mortified to annoyed. He bit his cheek and took a deep breath before taking out the tapes and laying them one on top of another before you. 

Night of the Giving Head, A Beautiful Behind, Yank my Doodle! It's a Dandy!, and Throbin Hood laid on the counter before you.

There was a few seconds of silence, only broken up by Mingyu’s suppressed wheeze. You cleared your throat lightly, taking the tapes and checking if they were rewinded. “Oh a rewinder, that’s unusual!” you chuckled dryly not really knowing how to break the wall of ice that suddenly appeared in front of you.

“I didn’t watch them,” He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “That’s why they are- anyway.” He sighed and stopped, releasing it seemed like he was making up excuses for not one in particular. 

“You don’t have to explain,” You tried to sound friendly and not make a big deal, but you had so many questions and this selection was the last thing you expected to see him with. “We are a judging free video store,” the words coming out mechanically as you remembered the training video Mingyu played for you once on your first day.

“Yeah…It’s not… Can we please get this over with quickly?,” He returned to his mortified expression and you nodded quickly annotating the returns on the logbook. “Thanks,” He smiled awkwardly at you before tapping the counter once, glancing quickly at Mingyu one more time before sprinting out.

“He’s going to murder me, but oh god, it was worth it!”

Mingyu was now smiling ear to ear, waving goodbye to the last girl that visited the shop for the day, her phone number written on his palm. “I got no more sticky notes left,” he said before sticking his hand out to her.

“Yeah that was… I didn’t even know we had these.” you were sweeping the floors as the store was about to close, keeping yourself busy for the rest of the day still thinking about the Night of The Giving Head cover inside your mind. “Wait, he’s your friend, does he only watch porn?.” 

Mingyu laughed loudly, helping you out by taking the trash bags out of the bins and emptied them in one big plastic bag. “Maybe, why do you ask?” he arched his eyebrows at you. 

“No reason, it was just- he doesn’t look like the porn addict type.” 

Mingyu laughed louder. “Wait till I tell him you think he’s a porn addict!” He collected the dust you were sweeping onto the plastic bag, making a knot and throwing it on his shoulders. 

“Wait! Why would you tell him that?!” 

“No reason…” he smirked, walking outside to take out the trash. 

.

.

.

The next week the store got busier than usual, so Mingyu and you barely got to chat with each other about cat-boy or anything really. He had also switched shifts to train a new employee, a younger guy, probably a highschooler, who he spent most of the time in the mornings, leaving you alone to take care of the closing shift. 

Saturday came quickly, and you were alone in the shop. Lights were almost all out, and you were finishing stocking some new tapes that came that afternoon, the last task before officially closing. 

Somehow the humid air was insufferable even by night time, so you were sweating bullets over the thick fabric of your uniform shirt. You couldn’t believe they made you wear this in this hot weather, but alas, you were transpiring and melting under it. 

As you finished putting the tapes on their respective shelfs, you walked towards the bathroom where you had a spare shirt, not before turning the volume of the radio a little, you played music a lot in the shop and the customers seemed to like your taste more like Mingyu’s.

Once there, humming to Bills Bills Bills, you were looking for your spare shirt when you noticed you it wasn’t there. “What the-?” you cursed under your breath, sure you had one hanging on the stall reserved for staff. One glance at the sweaty uniform shirt you just took off and you knew you won’t be wearing that again. “Come on, I already put roll-on….” you whined. Then you remembered there were a couple of uniform shirts in the lockers, maybe too big for you but that would do for today and you will return them tomorrow. 

And so you were signing,

Can you pay my telephone bills?, 

Can you pay my automo’ bills? 

If you did, maybe we could chill…. 

When suddenly the tall figure of cat-boy appeared in front of you right by the counter. He stared. And you stared back. And his eyes stayed on your face for a a few seconds, but they quickly drifted a little down, on your lace see through bra, nonetheless.

“What the fuck?!” you shouted, sprinting towards the locker room. 

“Im sorry! I knocked, and the lights were on…. I thought…” you could hear him speak but there was a high ringing pitch in your ears that made his voice fade away as you took one of the spare uniform shirts and slipped in over your head. “The fuck you needed to wear a see through one today, huh?!” you covered your face with both palms.

“I’m sorry… I better go…”

You heard footsteps and shouted “No!” back but when you were out you could only see his back walk out the door.

You blew raspberries, feeling insufferably hot under the hot fabric of the oversized uniform shirt, that covered you like a circus carp. “Too much for our second encounter, cat-boy.” 

.

.

.

The next day you got to the store a little early, trying to catch Mingyu before he left for the day, and to your surprise, he was waiting for you.

“A nipple piercing!” 

“Good afternoon to you too!” you sighed, walking towards the locker room with Mingyu’s tail wagging at your ankles. “And how could he notice that?! It was dark!” you threw your backpack at your locker, huffing and puffing, ignoring Mingyu’s curious eyes.

“I guess he was really paying attention,” he teased. You shot him a glare and he raised his arms signaling peace. “Hey, don’t be mad that he told me, I’m his best friend and well, he actually came looking for you, how could he know you liked walking around the store naked when you were on shift alone?” 

“I-wasn’t-naked.” you slapped the locker room shut. “Wait… he came looking out for me?”

Mingyu wiggled his eyebrows in response. 

“Tell me everything, or else.”

“He likes you, duh.” Mingyu moved toward his locker, pretending to roam for something but you knew there wasn’t anything there. “He has had his eyes on you, since the first day he saw you working here.”

“But why hasn't he talked to me? He always comes in and it’s gone in a second.” 

Mingyu clicked his tongue. “He had a bad break up two years ago, and honestly he’s pretty shy, maybe that’s why we are such good friends, we balance each other…” you crossed your arms signaling he was deviating from the topic. “... So he wasn’t sure how to approach you, he has been coming here asking me to be a wingman but I refused, I was trying to encourage him so I told him you were going to be alone yesterday.”

You sighed, walking out the locker room with Mingyu behind you, ready to get off.

“Want me to tell W-”

“NOO!” you shouted, making the couple of customers in the store turn their heads at you. “Don’t tell me his name, I want him to tell me when he finally comes and talks to me.”

Mingyu chuckled and nodded, messing your head a little in sign of encouragement. “Get him, tiger. I’ll pass the note out.” He winked and you shrugged as he walked out the store.

Needless to say, all the way to the evening your stomach was swirling inside you. You jumped a little every time the doorbell chimed, and it sank back to your stomach everytime cat-boy wasn’t the one entering.

It was almost seven and you were waving goodbye to the last customer of the day before you changed the sign from open to closed, when you heard the bell one more time. 

The couple of teens walked past cat-boy as he entered the store and they walked out. You could hear loud stomps inside your chest, and you were pretty sure they were so loud he could hear them too. You looked at the mirror wall to your left, and despite being a few feet away you could spot the newest shades of red adorning your face. 

As he walked closer, you smiled shyly, spotting the same color on him too.

“Hey,” he waved so tiny that you felt like your body was becoming butter, cause despite standing up, you felt melted, all over the floor. 

“Hi,” you replied back, not knowing what to say really. Dissociating a little from the awkwardness you focused on him. All of him. His fluffy hair, not hiding under a cap this time. The black thick frames. He was wearing a black sweater, a turtle neck one. Few noticeable white hairs on it. You remembered marshmallow, your cat, and smiled without noticing. 

“Y/n,?” you heard his voice crack, noticing you smiling.

“Sorry! Seeing the cat hair on your sweater reminded me of mine.”

“You have cats?” his eyes became a little bigger. “Me too!”

“Yeah.. I can tell by the cat hair,” you chuckled.

“Right…” he scratched the back of his head. “Well I have a couple.. A few.” 

“I love cats! I only have marshmallow because my landlord doesn’t let me have more, but one day I will!” you were glad you mentioned the cat hair cause this gave you a shot to talk more comfortably. “By the way, did Mingyu tell you my name?”

“I asked him, the first day I saw you here working.”

“Not fair, I didn't let him tell me yours.”

“Huh?” He arched his eyebrows, puzzled. 

“He told me you came looking for me yesterday… Sorry you find me like that, I swear I don’t usually walk around naked when I’m alone here…”

He laughed. “Mingyu told me you probably did.”

You scoffed. “He’s the whore not I.” 

“Can’t defend him from that,” He lowered his head a little, “Sorry I told him about your… well I was frantic after seeing you like that and ran straight to his dorm, I was too shocked I guess, I wasn’t trying to be a creep.”

“And what about the pornos? Night of the Giving Head, seriously?” 

“That was Mingyu! He dropped them at my dorm the night before telling me I should distract myself from being a coward and not talk to you…” He speaked fast and you were trying to follow up. “I swear I didn’t watched them, I tried, but they were too tacky”

“There’s tasteful porn?” you laughed.

“There should be… somewhere” he laughed back. 

“Bet the bastard wanted you to return them so I could catch you myself!” 

“He a hundred percent did.” 

There was a moment of silence after the laugh, and you felt like staring at the floor because looking at him was becoming addicting too quickly. 

“Want me to help you close? I want you to walk out with me for a while, maybe get some coffee?” He suddenly speaks, and you snap out of the mental image of you two sitting on your couch, a few cats around. 

“Uh- well I just need to take out the trash and I’m ready, I- would love that,” He smiles from ear to ear and stands straight, making you notice he’s like, really really tall. 

“I’ll help you with that, be ready when I come back!” He sprinted towards the entrance where the two plastic bags laid one beside the other and took them out. You run towards the bathroom as soon as he’s out, changing your ugly uniform shirt into your spare one, feeling relieved when you notice is there this time. After putting roll on, combing your hair a little and putting some perfume you walk out, finding him waiting for you near the entrance.

He asks if he can wash his hands and once that’s done you close up, and you start walking beside him to nowhere in particular. 

You suggest walking to your recent favorite spot, a part cafe, part flower shop near your apartment. Walking there you talk about your studies, the tedious but fun times at the video store, his job at the library (he was such a nerd!), his and your cat, about everything and nothing in particular, and time just flew by so quickly.

“This is so nice, I didn’t even notice the hour!” you say checking the casio watch on your wrist. And he does the same. 

“Let me walk you home, I would feel bad by letting you take a cab at this hour.”

“It’s not far away…” you object but he insists. “Fine, but just by the door, what if you are indeed a creep or something!” He pouts and gives you the stink eye. You laughed, delighted how quickly you became comfortable with each other.

Once at your door you ask him to give you his palm. “I learned this trick from our dear Gyu,” you say, taking out a sharpie pen from your backpack and writing your number on his palm. “There, call me as soon as you get home, I’m not done talking to you.”

You thanked him for the coffee and sprinted towards your complex door without letting him say anything else. 

A quarter to eleven, your phone starts ringing. 

Grabbing the cordless phone from its base and throwing yourself over your bed you answer. “Hello?,” 

“I was about to tell you my name and ask you on a proper date,” you heard his shaky voice from the other line. He must have literally run or sprinted towards his own apartment. “But you ran away.” 

You smiled, twirling your hair, eyes closed remembering every moment since you closed the video store a few hours ago.

“Y/n?,” 

“Not yet cat-boy, I want you to tell me only after you first kiss me.” A few moments of silence before he speaks again, you can’t see him but you know he’s smiling too.

“Deal, then I won’t be cat-boy much longer.”

@mingsolo please don't repost/translate to any sites.