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inkandapex · 23 hours ago

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in the paddock

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N’s playful moments around the paddock never go unnoticed, the quick banter and unexpected distractions, they bring chaos, laughter, and a little extra love to every race weekend.

Words: 4.0k

Warnings: swearing

Ice Cream

It was media day, and Oscar had been assigned to create a short vlog documenting his weekend leading up to the race. He sat in his driver room, holding the camera to his face, giving a tour of his space and casually showing off the contents of his bag. He was making an attempt at being interesting, but the excitement just wasn't there. That is, until he heard muffled voices and laughter coming from the thin walls of the adjacent room.

A mischievous grin spread across his face, and you could practically see a light bulb light up above his head.

“You know what, guys, I might have something more interesting to share with you,” he said, standing up, camera still in hand but now pointing forward, walking towards the door.

He stopped just before it, straining his ears to listen to the voices outside. As soon as he knocked, the noise stopped abruptly, like a record scratch.

With a grin, he slowly opened the door and peeked his head in, the camera capturing a glimpse of Lando's room.

"Mind if I hang here for a bit?" he asked, winking at the camera.

Lando chuckled, looking up from where he was sitting on the couch. "Of course, mate. Woah, you're full-on vlogging now, huh?"

Oscar sighed, dropping the camera on the table across from the couch before plopping down next to Lando. "Media duties. They told me it's your turn next weekend, so don’t be teasing me," he said, shooting Lando a playful look.

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing to his side. Just out of frame, someone else was sitting next to him. "Wanna join my vlog?" Oscar asked, turning the camera towards them.

A soft voice answered, "Can I?"

Oscar smiled as the camera panned to reveal Y/N, ice cream in hand, waving shyly at the camera. "Of course you can," he said, scooting over to make room on the couch for her.

Lando grinned at her fondly. "Gotta introduce yourself, love."

Y/N laughed nervously, taking a small bite of her ice cream before speaking. "Oh! Hello, I'm Y/N."

Lando smirked playfully, looking at Oscar. "She's my girlfriend."

Y/N’s face flushed a soft pink, and she gave a shy nod, still holding her ice cream cup. "Yeah, that's me," she added with a small smile.

Oscar tilted his head slightly. “Could hear you two all the way from my room.” He raised an eyebrow, setting up the shot like he was getting ready to expose them.

Y/N, her eyes widening at the comment, quickly set her ice cream cup down as if ready to explain herself. “This man right here—”

Lando leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms, and sighed dramatically. “Oh, here we go…”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning back on the couch, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she looked at Lando, who was now sitting upright with an exaggerated, almost dramatic expression.

"I got here probably an hour or two after you guys did," she started, holding the ice cream cup in her hand for emphasis. "He texts me saying, 'Oh babe, we have ice cream down at hospitality, it's the flavour you like.' It was all a plot so he could eat off of mine, ‘cause John has him on a diet."

Lando immediately shot up in defence. "No! Liar—baby, is it or is it not the flavour that you like?" His eyes were wide, as if he was about to win the argument with this one fact.

"It is, but—" Y/N raised her eyebrows.

Lando quickly interrupted, triumphant. "Exactly! I texted you with the intention of letting you know we had ice cream, you know, because I’m thoughtful like that—"

"—Yes, but did you or did you not immediately grab the cup from me and start eating it?" Y/N leaned forward, smirking at him.

Lando's expression faltered for a moment, then he leaned back with a sheepish grin. "You exaggerate."

Y/N raised a finger, not letting him off the hook. "Lan, you opened the door, said hi, and took the cup from me without even saying 'hello' properly!"

Oscar, who had been sitting quietly next to them, alternating between watching the argument unfold and glancing at the camera with a growing grin, finally spoke up. He shifted the camera slightly to get a better angle of the chaotic scene.

"I deal with this every time she attends a race," Oscar said, his voice full of mock exasperation, his grin widening. "It's like a whole drama series, but with ice cream."

Y/N glanced at Oscar, raising her eyebrows. "Oscar, don't act like you're not entertained by it."

Lando nodded, a smug look on his face. "Exactly. You love the drama."

Oscar just shook his head, chuckling. “Who needs Netflix when I have this to watch?”

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Doting

It was the end of a rainy weekend, and the paddock was winding down. Teams were busy packing up, their trucks being loaded with gear, while the last few fans remained outside in the wet weather, holding out caps and posters, hoping for a last-minute signature from their favourite drivers.

Lando was walking hand-in-hand with Y/N, umbrella in his other hand, holding it above them both. He was visibly exhausted from the race, his shoulders slumped slightly as they walked toward the exit. Y/N, sensing his desire to head back to their hotel, gently tapped his arm and motioned toward the fans still waiting.

“You should go say hello for a bit,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rain. “They’ve probably been waiting all day.”

Lando glanced over at her, a little reluctant but knowing she was right. He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright.”

They made their way toward the barricade, where the fans eagerly held out their items. Lando let go of Y/N’s hand for a moment, reaching out to grab a sharpie from a fan to sign a couple of caps. He was focused, signing with a practiced speed when he noticed something, Y/N was no longer under the umbrella.

She was standing off to the side, smiling and chatting with a few fans on her own, completely unbothered by the heavy rain, her hair starting to curl from the moisture.

Lando’s face immediately shifted from casual focus to concern. “Hold on a sec—” He handed the signed cap back to the fan, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Y/N. “Baby, please, it’s raining. Come here.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she waved him off. “I’m fine!” she called over the noise of the crowd and the rain, her voice warm with affection, though it was clear she didn’t mind the water.

“No, you’re not. It’s pouring, my love,” Lando sighed dramatically, looking at her like she was stubborn beyond belief. With a quick glance at the fans, who seemed content, he jogged back over to her, the sharpie still clutched in his hand.

As he got closer, Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully, “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting you under the umbrella, where you belong,” Lando said with a soft smile, holding the umbrella above her head and taking her hand again. He gently pulled her closer, the water dripping from his jacket, though he didn’t seem to mind.

Y/N laughed, leaning into him as the rain continued to fall. “I told you I’m fine. But thanks, though.”

“You’re stubborn,” Lando teased, a hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned down to kiss her temple. “But I’m not letting you catch a cold after all this.”

One of the fans who’d been watching the interaction smiled brightly and shouted out, “You two are adorable!”

Lando, still holding the umbrella for Y/N, looked up with a grin, giving a quick wave to the fans. “Alright, alright, you’ve seen the cute moment—now, let’s get going before she pulls the ‘I’m fine’ card again.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, squeezing his hand as they made their way toward the car, the rain finally easing up just as they reached the hotel.

The fans, still waiting outside in the drizzle, had a bit more to talk about that night, the sweet little moment between their favourite driver and the person who always seemed to make him smile.

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Stole my girl

It was race day in Australia, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement as the drivers began to make their way in for FP1. Fans crowded near the entrance, eager to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and the media was ready to pounce with their questions. As Lando made his way through the throngs of people, he paused to sign a few autographs and answer a couple of questions. But one fan’s inquiry caught his attention.

"Y/N isn’t coming today?" the fan asked, their voice laced with curiosity.

Lando chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, she’s here, alright. And funnily enough, I know exactly who she’s with.”

He wasn’t wrong. As soon as Lando stepped into McLaren hospitality, the sound of a familiar laugh reached his ears, and he couldn’t help but smile. He spotted Y/N sitting with none other than Daniel, chatting animatedly like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Glad to see you two are having fun,” Lando said with a smirk, walking over to the pair. He stopped just beside Y/N, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek before sitting down next to her.

“They were looking for you, love,” Lando continued, grinning at Y/N. “I told them I knew exactly who you were with, and I was right.”

Daniel grinned playfully at Lando. “Mate, I haven’t seen her in ages!”

Y/N rolled her eyes and shot Daniel a deadpan look. “We literally visited two months ago, Daniel.”

Daniel shrugged dramatically. “Two months is way too long.” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk, clearly enjoying teasing her.

Y/N chuckled before her eyes lit up with excitement, reaching down beside her to grab her tote bag. “Oh! Look, Lan!” she gasped, pulling out a hoodie and a shirt. She held them up to show him with a grin. “Daniel got me some Enchante merch!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You barely even wear my merch,” he said, crossing his arms in mock frustration.

Y/N shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? His stuff’s just that good.” She winked at Daniel, who gave a dramatic bow in response.

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “I swear, you two are plotting against me.” He leaned back, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You are my girlfriend, right?”

Y/N leaned in closer, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Of course, I am,” she teased, “but I’ve got a soft spot for good merch.”

“Just wait until I drop my new line,” Lando said, giving Daniel a sly grin. “Then you’ll see who’s really got the best stuff.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Sure, Lando, sure.” He grinned at Y/N, adding, “Just saying, you've got high standards to live up too now”

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We're not getting a dog

Lando’s mind raced as he walked through the paddock, his eyes scanning every corner for any sign of Y/N. He had checked all the usual spots, asked a handful of people if they'd seen her, but she was nowhere to be found. His phone was practically glued to his hand, and after calling her multiple times with no answer, frustration began to settle in.

"She's here."

The voice came from behind him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. He turned around to see a woman, unmistakably a Ferrari employee, flashing him a knowing smile.

"I'm sorry?" Lando asked, his tone more confused than anything.

"I assume you're looking for Y/N?" she asked with a teasing glint in her eye. "I saw her walk in with Charles and Alex. She’s inside."

Lando, without hesitation, started following her, eager to find his girlfriend. The woman led him to the other side of Ferrari's hospitality, and sure enough, there she was. Y/N was sitting on the floor with a giant grin on her face, playing with both Leo and Roscoe. The dogs were having the time of their lives as Y/N gently tossed a toy for them to chase, completely unaware of Lando’s arrival.

Charles, who had been standing nearby chatting with Lewis, glanced over at Lando and raised an eyebrow. “Got an AirTag on her or something, mate?” he joked, clearly amused.

Lando sighed, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to call her for an hour. I’ve literally been walking around like a madman trying to find her.”

Y/N finally looked up at the sound of Lando’s voice, her expression softening as she met his gaze. She flashed him a pout and held up one of the dogs in her arms. “We need one.”

Lando crouched down beside her, reaching out to pet Roscoe, who was sitting loyally by her side. “Need what, my love?” he asked, his voice full of affection.

“A dog,” Y/N sighed, her eyes following Leo as he zoomed around the area, chasing after the other dog. “Look at them. How cute would it be to have one with us?”

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sight of her glowing face. But before he could respond, Lewis, who had been listening from the side, grinned and added, “I can give you a contact”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up at the thought. “Really?” she asked, her excitement palpable. But then, her gaze flickered to Lando’s face, and she noticed the slight tension in his features.

Lando shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “Baby… we can’t. We both travel so much. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”

Y/N’s enthusiasm faltered slightly, and she shot a glance over at Charles and Lewis, who had their dogs lounging nearby without a care in the world. “But Charles and Lewis seem fine with theirs,” she protested, her voice laced with hope.

Lando simply sighs noding reluctantly knowing he'd already lost "Alright baby, we'll look into it"

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At Williams

"I don't think you're going to lose her mate" Oscar said, chuckling as he walked over to Lando and Y/N

Lando had been holding onto her hand ever since they entered McLaren hospitality, not letting go once

"Oh trust me she's a runner" Lando laughs

Y/N rolls her eyes earning a side eye from Lando "I've already had to grab her from William's 3 times since we arrived at the paddock"

"I was catching up with Lily and Rebecca!" she exclaims earning a laugh from the boys

"What were too boring for you now?" Oscar teases

"Yeah, your Lily isn't here this weekend so you're not much help to me either" Y/N snaps back poking her tongue out at him

"I try to convince myself that she's here for me every now and then" Lando shrugs jokingly

After plenty of banter and laughs, Oscar and Lando were finally ushered into one of the private rooms for a quick meeting, leaving Y/N behind in McLaren hospitality.

Naturally, she took it as the perfect chance to sneak off, back to Williams, much to Lando’s growing frustration.

For the fourth time that day, Lando found himself walking into Williams hospitality, this time greeted by a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles from the staff, who were starting to see him around as much as their own drivers.

Spotting Caco sitting at a table in the corner with a coffee, Lando made a beeline over.

"I'm guessing she's with Lily and Rebecca again?" he asked, already half-defeated. "Mind pointing me in their direction?"

Caco laughed, setting his mug down. "Actually, she's with Carlos this time. Straight ahead, mate."

Lando gave him a tired wave of thanks and headed further into the building. He only made it a few steps before stopping dead in his tracks.

There she was — Y/N, wearing a pair of Apple Vision Pros, standing next to Carlos, who was mid–golf swing with another set on. Alex and Lily lounged on the sofa nearby, watching the chaos unfold, while Rebecca recorded it all on her phone, laughing.

Lando just blinked, almost in disbelief. "Really? Team bonding now?"

At the sound of his voice, Y/N pulled off her headset, flashing him an innocent, wide grin. Carlos, oblivious, continued his virtual golf game with full concentration.

Lando shook his head as he walked over, dropping down onto the sofa beside Alex with a groan. "You're playing VR golf?! You always say no when I ask you to play with me."

Y/N just shrugged, still grinning. "Maybe you need a better sales pitch, babe."

Alex clapped Lando on the back, trying (and failing) to hide his laugh. "Welcome to Williams, mate. We know how to recruit properly."

Lando could only sink deeper into the cushions, watching his girlfriend cheer Carlos on like she was the biggest Williams fan in the world, and knowing full well he was absolutely losing this battle.

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New contract

On the few race weekends Y/N could attend, she usually spent her downtime in the paddock with the WAGs, Lando’s family, or some of the McLaren team members.

This weekend, however, things had taken an unexpected turn, all thanks to a little controversy that had set social media on fire: rumours of Lando’s future at Mercedes. And the root of it all? Photos and videos of Y/N, casually sharing a cup of coffee with Mercedes team principal, Toto Wolff, before Free Practice 1.

It was now Saturday. Qualifying had just wrapped up, and Lando made his way into the media pen, fully expecting the storm that was about to hit. He and the team had already laughed about the rumors earlier, finding it almost impressive how far people would stretch the truth just for a headline.

And, like clockwork, the questions came flying in.

"Can we expect to see you in a different car next season?" The same question, for what felt like the fourth time that day.

Lando let out a small laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Like I’ve said, I think for the world record eighth time today — I’m not going anywhere."

"But the meeting? With Toto Wolff, and your girlfriend?" The interviewer pressed on, eyebrows raised like they were uncovering some major scandal.

Lando just shrugged, tilting his head a little in disbelief. "So what?" he said, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded. "My girlfriend knows Toto personally. She's good friends with Susie, knows their kids too. It's not all business around here, you know? A lot of us actually form meaningful friendships outside of racing."

He gave the camera a half-smile, hoping that would finally put the fire out.

Not long after, Lando made it back to his driver's room, still a little amused by the chaos he'd just walked out of.

Inside, Y/N was already there, sitting patiently on the small couch, her hands nervously picking at the hem of her sweater.

When she heard him come in, she looked up, giving him a sheepish smile. "I’m sorry..." she said softly, guilt written all over her face.

Lando frowned slightly, pulling off his fireproofs and grabbing a clean shirt from his bag. "For what, my love?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"I saw them... asking you about Mercedes," she said, rubbing her palm across her forehead in frustration.

Lando chuckled, ruffling his hair as he pulled the shirt over his head. "PR and Zak actually found it hilarious," he said with a grin.

"Not funny, Lan..." Y/N groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. "I think I might’ve caused you a bit of trouble."

He walked over, dropping onto the couch beside her and placing a reassuring hand on her thigh. "Baby... it's really not that big of a deal," he said, his voice soft. "It’s their fault for reading too much into it."

Y/N pouted up at him, her big eyes making his heart squeeze in his chest. "I was just talking to them about their kids," she mumbled.

Lando laughed again, pulling her gently into his chest. "I know, baby," he said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "And even if you were plotting to ship me off to Mercedes... I’d still love you."

Y/N let out a small laugh against his chest, feeling the weight in her stomach finally ease. "I’d never send you anywhere," she whispered, smiling.

"Good," Lando said, squeezing her closer. "Because McLaren’s stuck with me... and you’re stuck with me too."

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Biggest Fan

It was finally Lando’s home race at Silverstone, and the energy in the air was electric. The entire weekend had been building up to this moment. The thought of racing at home, in front of his fans and family, gave him a boost of motivation. This wasn’t just another race , this was the race.

Lando was on the truck for the driver’s parade, clutching his umbrella to shield himself from the relentless British rain. The crowd's excitement was palpable, but the weather? Not so much.

The interviewer approached, microphone in hand. "Lando! Home race for you today, and pole position too. How confident are you about taking home the win?"

Lando flashed a wide grin, nodding gratefully. "I’m pretty excited. My whole family’s here, so that’s a big bonus. Oscar’s starting right behind me, so hopefully, we can secure an easy 1-2 today. Big points on the line."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. "But are you worried at all? Max is starting in P3, and we’ve got George in the Mercedes not too far behind either."

Lando leaned forward, a serious glint in his eye. "Honestly, I’m more focused on getting a good start. Hopefully, the weather clears up a bit before the race…" He trailed off as his eyes flicked to the crowd ahead. He squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of something. "Uh... sorry, I think I just saw my girlfriend in the stands."

The interviewer followed his gaze. "She’s in the grandstand?"

Lando nodded, fully turning his attention to the crowd now. There she was, standing right in the middle of the stairs of his dedicated "Landostand," among his fans, waving and pointing frantically in his direction. As soon as she realized he had spotted her, she raised a banner high. It was a custom banner, with Lando’s helmet design and his initials and number bold and clear for him to see.

Lando let out a soft laugh, grinning. "You're insane, I love you." He blew her a kiss through the camera. "Why are you even out there in the rain, baby? It’s pouring!" He laughed into the mic. "I don’t even know if she can hear me."

The other drivers, who had been watching the interaction, couldn’t help but chuckle at the cute moment. Carlos, ever the jokester, waved to Y/N from where he stood on the truck. She immediately waved back with enthusiasm.

Lando laughed, shaking his head. "And... there she goes. Lost her attention already," he said, still scanning the grandstand with a soft smile. "Love you, baby. Get back to the garage before you catch a cold."

Hearing him through her phone stream, Y/N quickly gave him a thumbs up and blew him an exaggerated kiss. Lando grinned, reaching out to theatrically catch it mid-air, then pretended to tuck it safely into his pocket.

"Saving that one for later," he said with a wink, turning back to the camera, still smiling like an idiot.

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tsunodaradio · 1 day ago

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the perfect match¹ ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

lando norris is convinced he’s unlovable. it’s your literal job to prove otherwise.

ꔮ starring: lando norris x professional matchmaker!reader. ꔮ social media au. ꔮ includes: romance, friendship. mentions of alcohol & food; cussing/profanity; suggestive jokes. lando nicknames reader ‘cupid’, intentional typos. sparked by a24's materialists. ꔮ commentary box: my love for @norrisradio knows no bounds :3 this will have a part two! 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Liked by user1, user2, and others yourusername wedding number nine. nothing brings me more joy than seeing people get the happy ending they deserve. 💐 congratulations, anyataylorjoy & malcolmmcrae.

user1 always at the crime scene omfg user2 That camera!! Can we know what model it is anyataylorjoy gracias 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 ♥️ Liked by creator ⤷ user3 wait so is it true yourusername matchmake’d them? ⤷ user4 anya PLSSS notice me user5 I could really use yourusername’s skills but her consultation fee… Let’s run it back a bit, baby

Liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon, and others yourusername thank you for the warm welcome, williamsracing. an enjoyable first grand prix in blue. 💙 content soon.

user1 OKAY I SEE YOU user2 aren’t carlos and alex both in relationships 😭 what they need a matchmaker for user3 Can we get a spoiler what the content was for pleek ⤷ williamsracing Team Torque E04 🤫 But you didn’t hear it from us ⤷ user4 ADMIN!?!?! ⤷ user5 the crossover i didn’t know i needed. user6 oomf plz tell us about the other drivers u’ve met

“How Do I Matchmake For My Friends?” | Team Torque Ep. 4 | Australian GP

Liked by lando, oscarpiastri, and others mclaren Some scenes from Shanghai 🇨🇳 #McLaren #F1

user1 carlando i’ve missed U user2 This after the Team Torque episode is comedic. 😂 user3 i want alex in a way that is detrimental to feminism. williamsracing Found a match? 😜 ⤷ mclaren 🤷 ⤷ user4 ??? does this mean something ⤷ user5 Williams x McLaren collab LFG user6 i heard lando gave alex and carlos SO much shit for the torque ep screamsss user7 Lando if you need a girlfriend I’m right here,,

yourusername posted a story.

lando replied: pleased to make your acquaintance 🤝

Liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and others lando lookin for love

user1 that caption is diabolical ⤷ user2 Why look for love!! I’m right here!! user3 The first pic. I’m dizzyy 😵‍💫 user4 okay but props to your photographer. hotness. user5 does this have something to do with yourusername ? ⤷ user6 RIGHTTT because of her recent IG story ⤷ user7 is Lando one of her new clients? ⤷ user8 or maybe it’s a new mclaren content thing ⤷ user9 They’re both being very quiet about this. Lmao. user10 lando’s loverboy era [[INCOMING]]?!

Liked by yourusername, user1, and others f1gossipgirl lando enjoyed his winter break with british snowboard champ charlotte moioli! moioli is the reining record-holder of the women's snowboard cross. was our mclaren driver getting lessons or finding love on the slopes? 🏂

Liked by yourusername, user1, and others prixtea Monaco's sweetheart finds her prince? 🎨 NOR spent his weekend with renown artiste, Sylvie Auguste, at Festival des Arts de Monaco. Sources say the two spent much of the evening giggling over champagne. Should we be expecting a new WAG on the paddock come Suzuka?

Liked by quadrant, lando.jpeg, and others yourusername what’s up, bullet?

user1 have the loveliest vacation, darling 🥢 user2 that first pic? gorjjj user3 Last slide 👀 user4 bring back sushi pls ! user5 am i too f1-pilled or is that last slide literally lando ⤷ user6 Now that you mention it…

Liked by georgerussell63, yukitsunoda0511, and others lando whassup su…zuka! mega day at liberty walk hq with quadrant to launch our helmet/car combo. seeing all this up close and working with the legend that is libertywalkkato to build the lb-kaido works r32 skyline has been an honour. always love coming out to japan, but this definitely made it even more special.

user1 ok so they’re dating yourusername ⤷ user2 “what’s up, bullet?” x “whassup suki” not slick AT ALL… monsterenergy Sheeeesh 🔥 user3 The vibe is immaculate >>> maxfewtrell 🔥🇯🇵 ⤷ user4 max, was yourusername in attendance?? Blink twice if yes ♥️ Liked by maxfewtrell ⤷ user5 DID MAX JUST CONFIRM WHAT

yourusername posted a story.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smau #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 smau #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine #formula one smau #⛐ kae prix #⛐ ln4 #i'm always like 'i'm going to go on a mclaren ban!' and then bam

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sketchjay · 2 days ago

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Please ask me! Here are some of my OCs you can ask about (broken up into the individual stories they're from):

Moss: transmasc plant-like humanoid with a fear of confrontation so bad he runs away from everything, including the place he grew up.

Heron: avian humanoid with a genetic disability that caused to not be able to fly. Boyfriends with Moss.

Dr Jayson Shrike: steampunk inventor held as a hero by his community for saving a lot of people from an explosion that cost him his arm. He now mostly creates prosthetic limbs, but he also enjoys spending time on personal projects. Like his time machine.

Jay Shrike: a version of Jayson Shrike if he hadn't stepped in front of the explosion (not out of the intent to harm people, just that he froze in the moment). He has been framed for murder and is angry and resentful, but he does not want to prove everyone right by actually killing anyone. He is attempting to build a machine that will allow him to go to an alternate dimension where he is not hated and he can live in peace.

Ted: ghost hunter who accidentally got himself, his wife, and his partner possessed by ghosts. He now has to fight for control of his body while also trying his best to pretend everything is fine as he drives through the night to get his 5 year old daughter to her grandparents house where she'll be safe.

Violet: shapeshifting trans woman who helped found an underground movement to protect teens with superpowers who don't want to join the dystopian government's mandatory hero program

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

#ask game #ocs #my ocs #writing

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baepsays · 2 days ago

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Hi there!!! I absolutely love your Cat-Satoru series (and literally all of your other works too) and I was wondering if we could get a oneshot where Suguru and reader get into a fight so reader doesn’t come around for a while and cat Satoru gets really sad and misses them until they make up?

hi bb thank you sm <3 oh I am loving writing silly stuff about them hehehe I'll try to reflect your vision through my words best to my abilities ^^

Suguru hates fighting with you. Because he knows how petty you are, and how much pettier you can get. Unfortunately for the both of you, he is no less petty.

He holds grudges like he holds a mean grip on your waist in crowded places. So what happens is that poor Satoru gets caught in the crossfire. And the poor thing never understands, despite amazing comprehension of human language, why are you two even fighting in the first place?

If you asked Satoru whether fighting over bedsheets was a valid reason or not, he'd say a big—"MEOW!"

‘NO WAY!’

I mean that day when he woke up under his favourite coffee table, after an amazing nap, to you and Suguru shouting at each other, he just sat between you two with his head tilted and nose twitching.

"YOU CANNOT JUST KEEP USING THESE BLACK SHEETS! I WANT SOME COLOR! AND SILK IN SUMMER IS THE WORST!" You pointed at the bunched up black and shiny sheets on the bed.

"YOU CANNOT JUST CHANGE THEM WITHOUT ASKING ME?" There was a pile of pink cotton sheets right beside the black silken ones.

"Oh. So now I have to ask you before doing you a favour and changing your sheets to better ones?" Sure your voice lowered, but that did not mean you were feeling any more clam than before.

"This is my bed. So yes. You should've asked." Suguru stated as a matter-of-factly.

"Hmm. Alright then, sleep well on your sheets all by yourself." And that was all you said before you headed towards the door with your bag in your hands, with no intention of coming back for at least a few weeks.

What pissed you off more and made that week turn into two weeks, was when Suguru yelled from behind you, "YES I WILL!"

And all that was left in Suguru's apartment was his black silk sheets, your scattered belongings, the beeping noise of the rice cooker, and a very disappointed Satoru who could not run fast enough behind you.

The first few days, Satoru was hopeful you'll drop by at least to see him, but he spent three days by the large windows in the living room, and the bedroom balcony, to realize you're not dropping by anytime soon. And like that almost two weeks were about to pass.

And rolling around in your clothes, or pillows was not working for neither Satoru nor Suguru.

"Meowwwww." Satoru butted his head to Suguru's, who spent his weekend lying on the couch, eating barely anything, and smoking more than what he usually does. Work on Monday was equally shitty, teaching kids suddenly became headache inducing.

"What do you want, Satoru?" Suguru grumbled and changed the show playing on his tv.

"Meowwwww meowmeow." If someone looked close enough, it almost looked like this white fluffy ball of meows was pouting.

Suguru sighed in response, as he has been for the past week, to Satoru's howling meows, and tantrums. "She won't just show up if you meow enough to make my ears bleed."

"MEOW! Meow meowmeow!" Satoru was truly a cat of many abilities, because why is giving relationship advice to his hopeless owner? 'CALL HER! Just call you dumbass!'

"Yeah well she is not responding to me." Suguru changed to another show.

"MEOW! Meow, meow meowmeow." Which translated to something like, 'YEAH DUH! Go over to where she is hiding.'

"Please Satoru. Just go to bed to wait by the window like you always do or something, I'm on the verge of losing it." He just turned the tv off, and laid flat on his stomach, face smooshed in the couch cushions, and ignored Satoru.

"Meow." Satoru jumped off the couch and walked away from Suguru's pity party. 'Hopeless.'

He walked with intention, to find Suguru's phone. Which was charging on his nightstand. Satoru maneuvered carefully from the floor to bed, then bed to the nightstand, tapping his paw all over the phone.

He had no clue what he was doing, all he knew was that sometimes when you were away for work or anything, Suguru would hold the strange box near Satoru and you'd talk through it. And he desperately needed to hear your voice right now, and also convince you to come back.

Somehow Satoru managed to call Suguru's emergency contact, which fortunately happened to be you.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri-

"Hello?" Your voice sounded groggy from the other side, Satoru was not sure whether it was because you cried like you do while watching sad movies, or like when you played the strays with him and then cried while hugging him. Or that you were just sleepy.

"MEOW!"

"Satoru?"

"MEOW! MEOWMEOWMWOW MEOW!"

"Is everything alright? Where is Suguru? Did you call me by yourself?" You were starting to feel worry creeping into your chest.

"MEOWWWW MEOW." Satoru at this point, what sounded like, was basically crying.

"Are you two ok?" You immediately got off your bed, and reached for your pants and jacket.

"MEOWWWWW! MEOWWWW." Satoru did not mean to worry you, but if his meows were about to get you back here, then sure.

"I'LL BE THERE IN 15 MINS!" And with that you hung up the phone, to grab your keys, then drove down to Satoru and Suguru's place.

When you haphazardly got to Suguru's door, to open it with the key he gave to you—Satoru was sitting there, in front of the door, waiting patiently for you to arrive. As if he understood your panicky scramble, when you told him you'd be there in 15 mins.

“Meow! Meow!” He quickly tangled himself in your legs, as you stepped out of your shoes.

“Hi Toru, how have you been?” You crouched down to pick up the cat in your arms, which he gladly obliged. No place better than your arms.

He felt just a bit more thinner, his fur felt rougher than usual, and the way he was nuzzling and purring in the crook of your neck, it was clear how much your presence was missed. You did not mean to ignore Satoru in the midst of your fight with Suguru, but your pride held you back from opening the front door with the key you were given. Even when you made it that far, you just could not step in.

Upon walking into the living room, you saw Suguru lying on the couch. His clothes, and hair looked disheveled. There were visible bags under his eyes. And now you could match the pleading tone in his texts, that he's been sending for the last few days, ro his pitiful state.

You cleaned up the living room, turned the tv off, gave Satoru somlove and treats. And went to the bedroom to grab a blanket for Suguru, where you found his bed which was not made, and was decorated with the cotton sheets that started this entire thing.

So you cleaned up the bed, grabbed a blanket for yourself and Suguru, and fluffy enough for Satoru to sleep on as well—and headed to the couch.

In the morning when Suguru woke up, to Satoru’s butt and tail in his face, he was ready to kick the poor kitty out of his house, when he felt arms tightening around him. He found your face shoved into his chest, holding him tightly, legs tangled up with his, and Satoru’s head resting on yours.

“You're gonna keep staring?” Your voice rumbled through his chest, as you asked him the question without looking at him. It took him some time to gather the courage to speak to you.

“I am so sorry baby.” His arms tightened around you, and he rolled over to have you lie on top of him, as he nuzzled his face in the crown of your head.

“I know. I am sorry too.”

“You don't need to be. I was way out of line.” You just needed to understand where he was coming from, Geto Suguru does not function as a unit, but he is learning. He learned how to have Satoru in his life, and he's now learning how to have you in his life.

“Meowwww.” The moment was broken by a hungry cat’s whining, who required food and your attention. So Suguru once again faced Satoru’s fluffy butt, and tail that made his nose itchy.

“SATORU, I AM SO CLOSE TO LOCKING YOU OUT IN THE BALCONY!” Suguru screamed at him, and went to grab him. But alas, couldn't match Satoru's agile, feline movements.

“Meowmeow meowwww.” And it made you realize just how much more you kissed these two than what you thought. As you sat on the couch, watching Suguru run after Satoru.

‘Catch me if you can, loser.’

ADVENTURES OF CATORU & SUGURU.

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a. not proof read.

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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

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I’ve had a thought. You believe Viktor to be Experienced, right? What would his first time have looked like? This could be a request if you wanna write a one shot. Or just like share your thoughts. I’d be intrigued to see what you come up with if you wrote it out tho 🤔

You do like to throw me curveballs (I love that, thank you). Here is some virgin!Viktor take, he's not exactly super freaky but take it as the origin of Freaktor :')

Humble as I Go

viktorxfem!reader explicit! first time, a bit awkward, a bit sweet. Both Viktor and Reader are virgins! There is no specified age for the sake of legalities, but you can imagine them both young.

word count: 3,8K

author’s note: ok, so I've seen some angry post about condemnation of virgins through HC-ing Viktor as a non-virgin, and what I'm saying here is that I disagree with his infantilization in most virgin!Viktor fics. I was a late bloomer so I am literally nobody to tell people when it's cool to start having sex, it's absolutely irrelevant to your maturity. But having him unable to add 2+2 or being completely oblivious to sex in his 30s IS ableist. For the most part, disabled people know their bodies pretty well because they have to, and I can imagine Viktor being pretty well-read as well, him being curious about life. So no, it's not a punch toward people who didn't have sex yet, it's a punch toward those who see a disabled guy and think 'let's make him pathetic.' @rennethen beta read, thank you as usual! Happy (sort of) Freakday :')

—

Viktor stares at his thighs intently, grateful for a moment to regroup. The fabric around the knees is bulging and thinned out, threads threatening to pull—if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after. It’s also slightly damp, soft beneath his fingers where he’s wiped his sweaty palms while waiting for you to come back from the bathroom.

He’s afraid to get up from where you sat him on the bed—he’d slipped in the puddle that gathered on the pavement in The Fissures on your way home, after you’d muttered that your parents were away. And your house is nice. It’s warm and cozy. It’s full of love, with plenty of things that don’t match finding a place beside one another. A wet stain from his ass on your bedsheets wouldn’t bode well for what you’re both so excited for—and frightened of—all the same.

The door creaks, and then your head peeks out. A ghost of a smile lingers on your mouth, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear—and Viktor, oh, he can’t help but smile too. He actually laughs, breathy, nervous and quiet, but welcomes the weight of you settling beside him on the edge of the bed, as if your presence alone repels every doubt.

You don’t say anything at first. Just lean into his side, shoulder brushing his, your palm resting between you. His fingers twitch beneath it. “You okay?” you ask eventually, soft.

Viktor nods once. Then again, slower. “I think so.” A beat. “My hands are sweaty.”

You smile into your knees, arms looping around them. “Mine too.”

That gets a laugh out of both of you, hushed and crackling with nerves. You untangle your limbs first and stretch one leg over the edge of the bed, your knee knocking gently into his. His trousers shift as he moves to look at you more fully, and the suspenders tug awkwardly with the motion.

“I like these,” you say, your finger sliding under one of the straps and letting it snap back lightly against his chest.

“They’re necessary,” he replies. “My trousers are too big. They used to be my father’s.”

You hum like that makes perfect sense, which it does. His whole frame still has the look of someone who hasn’t quite finished growing into himself—elbows and knees a bit too sharp, shoulders a little unsure of their breadth. You reach out and brush his hair back from his forehead, and this time he doesn’t flinch, just watches you with wide, liquid eyes.

“I keep thinking I’ll mess this up somehow,” you admit, quiet.

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “Even if we do it all wrong, it’s still with you.”

That makes your throat ache. You kiss him—small and soft, mouths barely moving, just the warmth of it. When you pull back, Viktor’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. Your hands drift to the buttons of his shirt, but hesitate, hovering. “May I?”

He nods. “Yes. Please.”

You undo them slowly. One, then another. His skin is pale where it’s usually hidden, collarbones delicate, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. When you glance up, his eyes are open again, fixed on your face like you’re the most intricate, important thing he’s ever seen.

His hands fumble next, trying to return the favour, but they shake a little and get caught in the hem of your sweater. You both laugh again, leaning forehead to forehead, nerves zinging in the air between you like lightning trapped in glass.

“Wait,” he says, reaching down awkwardly, and peels off his socks like they’ve betrayed him. “I don’t want to wear these for this.”

“They’re not that bad,” you say, but you’re already tugging off your own to match. “There. Even.”

The grin he gives you is crooked and overwhelmed, but he’s glowing with it. There’s no hurry, not really. Just a shared understanding that you’re moving toward something neither of you has ever done, and yet it feels inevitable in the best way.

Your hands find his suspenders and slide them down the slope of his shoulders. The tension in the elastic gives a soft snap, and he flinches, then laughs under his breath. He looks smaller without them, somehow—softer. Less held together.

His trousers sit loose on his hips now, waistband gaping far away from skin and it looks like a second Viktor could fit in them easily. When your fingers find the button, he nods, barely a breath. You undo it, and the fabric slides down, pooling around his ankles with a sigh. You both blink at the sound, then laugh again, quietly—he shrugs, self-conscious.

“See?” he mutters.

“Thank gods for those, huh?” you say, pulling at one of the suspender straps, and Viktor chuckles, air leaving his nose loudly as if he was holding it until now.

You guide him out of the trousers, then pause, eyeing the brace along his leg. “Would you like to—?”

He follows your gaze, then nods, sitting back to unbuckle the straps. “It’s easier like this,” he murmurs, focused on the clasps. “I don’t usually take it off unless I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently.

“I want to.” His voice is soft, but certain.

You watch as he undoes the last strap and lifts the brace carefully aside. Without it, his leg looks thinner, a little tense—but you only touch his knee, light and reassuring, and his shoulders drop. You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he smiles, just barely.

Then you reach for the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to let you pull it off. It takes a moment to work it over his head—his hair sticks up after, and you smooth it back without thinking. He’s left in his undershirt, but the skin you can see is pale in the light, slender and unevenly freckled. When you run your palms down his arms, he inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, and he ducks his head like he doesn’t believe it, but his smile flickers small and bright.

“You’re not supposed to say that first,” he says. “I was going to say it.”

“You still can.”

He does. Quietly, but steady. “You’re beautiful.”

Then he touches your wrist, tentative, and waits. You nod.

He starts with your sweater, careful with the buttons even though his hands are shaking. You help him with the last one, and then the shirt beneath. His knuckles brush your ribs as he works the fabric off your shoulders. His gaze lingers—not just on your chest, but on all of you, awed.

His fingers trace the waistband of your trousers next, and he looks up again. “Alright?” he asks.

You hum an answer, too full to speak. The zip comes down smoothly. He tugs, slow and a little awkward, and you lift your hips so the fabric can slide off easier. When he gets them halfway down your legs, he stills for a second. Watching your thighs, your knees, your bare skin, as if it’s something rare and precious.

When he finally gets them off, you’re both just… there. Sitting in your underwear, knees bumping, hearts thudding so hard it’s almost funny. You reach for the duvet, tugging it over both of you. Not to hide—just to be close. Wrapped together in the warmth of this.

And then, when you’re ready, you reach again. Gentle. Curious.

“Hi,” you say, and smile.

“Hi,” he echoes, and his gaze never leaves yours.

The covers rest around your hips, pooling softly between you. Viktor’s knees knock against yours again, faint and accidental. Or maybe not. Your fingers graze his, and he turns his palm up, opening it for you.

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit, voice hushed. “Obviously.”

“Me neither.” He huffs a laugh, awkward and fond. “You can probably tell.”

You nudge your shoulder into his. “It’s okay. I think… I’d be scared with anyone else.”

His eyes flicker down, then back up, bright and unblinking. “You’re not scared now?”

You shake your head. “Not with you.”

He exhales like that means the world. Slowly, carefully, he brings a hand to your cheek, thumb barely brushing the skin. “Can I kiss you again?”

You nod, may times, and this kiss is different—shy at first, but it lingers, warmer, his mouth parting when yours does. His hand slides behind your neck. Yours settle over his ribs, thin beneath your palms. The duvet shifts with your closeness, and you both feel it: your bodies pressed together, clothed in breath and nerves.

It changes then—from careful lips to Viktor’s mouth opening a little more, and yours following. The world narrows to the slick, tentative press of tongues. It’s warm, unfamiliar, and clumsy in a way that makes you both stifle little laughs between kisses. His breath tastes like mint and you’re curious when he’s managed to refresh. Yours is all heat. A soft sound slips out of him when you suck gently on his lower lip, and he mirrors it, hesitant but eager.

The sounds are quiet, wet, a shared secret. A rhythm begins to build—just earnest, as if you're both learning at the same pace. His hand slides from the back of your neck to your waist, pulling you in, every touch like a plea for permission. You tip, gently, and both of you laugh as you fall sideways, mouths still pressed together.

Viktor braces himself on one elbow, looking down at you. His curls are a mess. His chest rises and falls in quick little stutters, and your fingers find the hem of his undershirt, then slip beneath. His skin is warm, smooth, and he twitches when you drag your hand along his ribs.

Your legs shift, one sliding against his. The covers slip lower. His free hand trails up your side. Hesitant, at first, but when he finds the curve of your breast and cups it, you gasp—soft and startled and entirely involuntary.

He freezes, then breathes, and you watch his throat move as he murmurs, “I like that sound.”

“Well,” you blush and swallow loudly. “I liked… that.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and the breath that leaves you this time is closer to a moan. His eyes flick to your mouth and linger. Then, shyly, he bends to kiss you again.

You let your fingers drift lower, and wrap them around the hem of his undershirt. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, and lifts his arms in wordless permission. The fabric peels away easily, and when it's off, you pause to look—Viktor’s chest is narrow, ribs visible under pale skin. One of your hands grazes his sternum, and he makes a small, helpless sound in response.

“You’re…” you begin, but it gets lost in a breath. “Beautiful.” His ears go red, and he lowers his head, but he’s smiling.

He mirrors your movement, fingertips brushing the strap of your bra, a question in his eyes. You nod, and reach back to unhook it yourself. When it slips off, Viktor stares like he’s been handed something sacred. His hands hover before he rests one gently against your side, the other cupping you carefully. The sensation makes you shiver, and when his thumb brushes your nipple again—skin to skin this time—you bite your lip.

You tug him back in for a kiss, and while your mouths meet, you shift your hips just enough for your knickers to slide down. You shimmy them off beneath the covers, kicking them away with your toes. He notices. His eyes widen.

“You too,” you whisper, smiling, and he lets out a quiet, nervous laugh.

He pushes his briefs down with both hands, wriggling a little to get them past his hips. They’re snug, but they come off, down to his toes where they tangle, and he has to kick them off. Again, you both let out breathy laughs, pressed forehead to forehead. Now there’s nothing between you. Only skin and heat and everything unknown.

Your palm traces the curve of his shoulder, gliding down his chest, where his heart beats like a second one between you. He mirrors the path, fingers grazing your hip, then your waist, learning you in slow lines and soft breaths. And then, lower.

You hold each other’s gaze when his fingers slip down, brushing through the heat between your legs. The first touch is feather-light, but it makes you tense around the sound it nearly draws from you. His jaw clenches; he swallows, focusing, adjusting, trying again—gentler, more measured.

Your hand finds him in the same moment, wrapping around him with instinct more than knowledge. The sharp breath he lets out doesn’t sound like anything you’ve heard from him before. His hand pauses. He blinks fast, lips parted, stunned by the way your touch makes him falter.

“I—I didn’t know it would feel like that,” he says quietly, wonder bleeding into each word. Your thumb brushes over him and his hips jump. His forehead touches yours, and he whispers, "I might not last that long."

“I don’t mind,” you confess, breath caught.

You’re both still breathing each other in when Viktor shifts, propped on one elbow, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and hesitant eyes. “I… I’ve been reading,” he says, and his voice is so small you almost miss it.

You blink at him, trying not to smile. “Reading?”

He nods. “About this. About how—it might hurt. For you.”

The smile breaks through anyway, teasing, gentle. “Were there diagrams or something?”

The tips of his ears go crimson. “Maybe.”

You laugh under your breath, and it seems to give him courage. His gaze flickers across your face. “Will you let me try something?”

You nod, already breathless at the tenderness in his voice. “Yes.”

His hand glides down your belly, careful and warm, until he’s cupping you again. You’re already soft and slick, the trust between you easing the way, and when the tip of his finger begins to press inside, your body welcomes him with a gasp.

“You’re…” he murmurs, eyes wide in awe. “You’re so soft.”

His voice makes your toes curl. He moves slowly, watching your face the entire time, his brows drawing together in concentration as he slips in deeper, then adds another finger, and you arch at the stretch.

Your hand tightens instinctively around his cock—still warm and heavy in your palm—and the reaction is immediate. Viktor gasps, hips twitching toward you, and then he whimpers, “I beg you, don’t distract me.”

You giggle, trying to find your composure. “Forgive my manners,” you manage, mock-polite, but your voice cracks as his fingers curl just so. “Oh—”

His expression softens into something closer to wonder. “Is that alright?”

You nod, panting. “Yeah. Better than alright.”

“Good,” he says, with so much focus it almost makes you laugh again—if you weren’t so full of feeling. “You’re doing so well.”

“You too,” you whisper, and you mean it. Every moment is something you didn’t know you’d treasure. Every breath from him, every careful touch, feels like something precious.

Viktor’s fingers move again, slowly, curling as if he’s trying to memorise you by feel alone. Your hips twitch, and your head falls back against the pillow, lips parted. It isn’t overwhelming, not yet—but it’s building. Warming. Like a fire catching at the edges.

“I like how you feel,” he says suddenly, shyly, as though he’s admitting something shameful. “Inside. Around me.” Your throat tightens. There’s something about his voice—equal parts reverent and surprised, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this.

“You can—keep going,” you breathe. “It feels really good.”

His lips brush the ball of your shoulder. “Tell me if it stops feeling good. Please.”

“I will.” You smile, lifting your hand to brush his fringe aside, fingers sweeping through soft hair. “You’re already being perfect.”

That makes him fluster, his fingers faltering for just a moment before resuming. He adds a tiny twist to the motion, and the sound that leaves you is unguarded. “Viktor—”

“I like that sound too,” he says, grinning, and then ducks his head to hide it against your shoulder.

You both giggle quietly, your bodies trembling with nerves and affection and something deeper that you’re only beginning to name. Then, he kisses your neck. “Can I try something else?”

You hum and nod, nearly absent and his thumb shifts to stroke you in slow, tentative circles while his fingers stay deep, coaxing the pleasure higher. You cling to his shoulders, skin hot under your palms. It feels good—careful, considered. It’s not polished or practised, but it’s full of kindness, full of him.

And when your hips roll up without thinking, chasing the rhythm, Viktor breathes a shaky “Yes,” into the hollow beneath your ear, like your response gives him permission to keep going. You feel yourself starting to tighten around him, fluttering.

“Gods,” you whisper. “You’re so good.”

“You too,” he says, kissing your cheek, breath ragged now. “You feel… you feel amazing.” His hand has you, fingers deep, careful, as his thumb circles around you slowly. You can feel yourself tipping—your legs tense, your thighs pressing closer around his palm. It's all so much: the warmth of his body against yours, the way he keeps watching your face like he’s afraid to miss even a flicker of feeling.

Your breath catches. “Viktor—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let go if you want to.”

One permission is enough for you, and with a soft gasp, you do let go. It rolls through you slowly at first—warmth blooming outward, your muscles clenching around his fingers as your hips jerk. Your breath forms a sound that might be a moan, might be his name. He holds still inside you, except for the slow strokes of his thumb, drawing it out, waiting until your body begins to tremble and soften again. Only then does he carefully slip his hand free.

You’re blinking up at him through the haze, breathless, glowing from within. “You—”

“Did I hurt you?” His brow is furrowed. “Was that alright?”

“It was—” You laugh, dazed. “It was incredible. I think I forgot my name.”

He blushes, his chest rising and falling with shallow breath. You pull him closer, pressing your mouth to his, lazy and grateful. When your hand finds him again, he shudders violently. “You’re so hard,” you murmur against his lips.

He nods, almost sheepish. “Since the beginning.”

Your fingers close around him, and he gasps, hips twitching forward despite himself. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, panting.

“Do you want—?” you begin, but he interrupts with a desperate little sound.

“Gods, yes.” He lifts his head, eyes wide and earnest, “I really, really want to.”

You kiss him again. “Then come here.”

You watch as Viktor reaches behind him, fumbling for where his trousers lay crumpled near the edge of the bed. His hand disappears into the pocket and comes back holding a small, square packet. He blushes when he sees you looking, sheepish. “I, um… thought maybe.”

You smile. “I’m glad you did.” You help him tear it open, hands brushing. There’s a stutter in his breath as he rolls it on, careful and methodical, brows drawn in focus like he’s solving a delicate matter. His fingers tremble.

When he’s done, he looks at you—truly looks. His hair is messy from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses, his whole expression open and tender. “Are you ready?”

You nod, guiding him forward with your hands on his hips, your legs parting to welcome him in. He steadies himself on his forearms, nose brushing yours. “Tell me if I do anything wrong,” he whispers. “I’ve never—”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper back. “I want you.”

He lines himself up, the tip brushing where you're soft and slick. The sensation draws a sharp breath from both of you. And then, slowly, he begins to press inside.

It’s careful, hesitant, and overwhelming—tight and unfamiliar and so incredibly intimate. He gasps, pausing halfway with his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh—God.”

Your hands are on his back, one tracing the line of his spine. “You’re okay,” you whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He presses the rest of the way in, shallow and shaking, his body curled over yours like he’s trying to disappear into the moment, or maybe into you. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just breathes, and you are grateful for this time to adjust. You feel the warmth of his chest against yours, his heart racing in time with your own.

“It’s—” he starts, then breaks off with a soft, overwhelmed laugh. “You are so good.” You cup his face, unable to say anything. When he finally starts to move, it’s slow and stuttering. He’s trying so hard to hold on, eyes glazed, mouth parted. You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his temple—anchoring him.

“I certainly won’t last,” he confesses, voice breaking. “You feel so—”

“It’s okay.” Your hand slides to the nape of his neck, thumb brushing his hair. “I don’t mind.”

His hips rock a little faster, the rhythm unsteady but full of feeling. Each thrust draws a soft whimper from him, a breathy moan from you. He buries his face against your shoulder, breath heavy. When he comes, it’s with a quiet gasp, his whole body tensing and then melting against you. He clings, arms tight around you like he’s afraid to let go.

You lie there, tangled together in the hush that follows. Eventually, he lifts his head, eyes searching yours. “Did I…?”

You smile and kiss him. “You were wonderful.”

He exhales, dazed and a little teary. “You make me feel like I could do anything.”

“You can,” you say suddenly all serious and Viktor blushes differently this time. His face blushes and his ears, but you are certain his heart does too. He rolls of you, limbs lose and boneless, and pulls you close, arms wrapping snugly around your shoulders until there is space big enough only for you to breathe each other in. Legs tangled and fingers twisted in another’s hair you lay sunken in the sheets. The room quiets around you, and neither of you knows if this was so big only because you don’t know any bigger—but you choose to take it as it is: humbling.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #requests

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cruel-as-sin · 2 days ago

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what happens when you say “i hate you” to different versions of logan (gender neutral) (smut version)

inspired by a conversation with @lostinlovingrevery, hope you all enjoy!

70s!logan

you’ve been having a really bad day. a really, really bad day. the last thing you need is logan brushing you off because he’s “got shit to do, doll.” so you say it, with a stomp of your foot for dramatic effect. you don’t mean it, he knows that. but you aren’t expecting him to also know exactly what you’re asking for, rough hands grabbing you by the hips and shoving you down onto the couch. he grumbles curses under his breath, fumbling with his belt buckle, and you can’t even process what’s happening before he’s pushing into you. the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness, cause your eyes to roll back into your head. upon seeing this, a pleased expression comes to his face. your mind goes blank within moments, no thoughts except the man pounding into you, cigar still perched in his mouth, smoke blurring your vision as he grunts. “there we go. finally fuckin’ quiet.”

origins!logan

you don’t hate him, you hate the grocery store and those assholes at work and the guy who cut you off when you were driving home. but it just kind of slips out- you’re stressed, anxious, and your sweetheart of a boyfriend unintentionally becomes your punching bag. you’ve barely gotten out an apology before he’s wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he studies you with a serious expression, hands rubbing circles against your hips. “you hate me, huh?” you try to reassure him that no, of course you don’t, but he won’t listen, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his true intentions. “seems like we oughta fix that.” despite your protests that you’re fine, he carries you to bed with ease, laying you down and using his tongue to work as many orgasms out of you as you need to be happy and satisfied. “feelin’ better, sunshine?”

animated!logan

it comes after he’s slammed you into the danger room floor for the twentieth time that day. you’re utterly exhausted, just wanting one fucking win, but he’s not letting up. he doesn’t take it easy on you- never does. you have a lot of respect for him for it, but goddamn does it piss you off. that was probably the wrong thing to say, though, given the way he’s staring down at you right now. “hate me? that’s harsh, bub.” something predatory flashes in his eyes. “must not wanna touch me then either.” you get to your feet, glaring daggers back at him. he draws it out with a smug smile, waiting for you to admit the truth- it’s not about if you give in, but when. you’re too proud to admit it- so instead you drag him to the nearest closet, sinking to your knees and unbuckling his belt. his hand fists itself in your hair, guiding your pace as he fucks your throat. he makes you take all of him, forcing you down to the base, grinning when you choke on his cock. “don’t worry. i’ll take this as an apology.”

trilogy!logan

you’re play fighting in the kitchen- a common occurrence as he tries to interrupt whatever you’re doing. today it borders on arguing, which is why the exasperated words direct themselves his way, punctuated by a “so much” for emphasis. he just looks at you, with his gorgeous face that has your stomach doing flips, taking a few steps closer until he’s invading your space. “that’s not what you were saying last night, baby.” the memory of last night, his touch and his filthy words in your ear, brings heat to your cheeks. his breath hits your skin, his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, the proximity making you squirm. before you know it, you’re upstairs, a smug smile on his face as he makes you fall apart with his fingers, begging and pleading for more. the way you writhe underneath him confirms what you won’t confess, and he hums in fake contemplation. “guess you don’t hate me that much after all.”

2013!logan

you want to go out into the city, he tells you it’s not safe. it’s a debate that’s been going around in circles for days until you finally let the words slip. his silence, paired with the flash of anger in his eyes, tells you that was a mistake, but it’s too late to take it back now. not that you would dream of it as he drags you to the bedroom, one rough hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look in the mirror as he sinks you down onto his length. the other lifts your hips up then drops you back down again, a slow but brutal pace. it’s too much, and you feel lightheaded as he growls in your ear. “what do you say, sweet thing?“ still, you’re coherent enough to remember your manners, babbling incoherent thanks and apologies, reduced to a basic vocabulary as he impales you on his cock over and over. tears begin to stream down your face, and his firm hold keeps you there, made to see the way he wrecks you completely, the way you fucking love it.

dofp!logan

you’re tied down to the bed, silk rope binding your wrists and ankles. he’s been teasing you for hours. logan always likes to play with his food- slow, methodical, taking his time with you. and god, you enjoy it, but you’ve been good today and you just want your reward. the words are muttered, frustrated, and you’re grateful when he keeps going. you think must not have heard you by the way he’s bringing you closer and closer to that delicious peak, until his gravely voice is right next to your ear. “careful.” he takes your chin, making you look at him as he pulls his hand away from where you need it most. his eyes are serious, his tone a warning, one that only further turns you on. a whine escapes you, your hips bucking at just how close you are, how much you need this. “don’t want me to leave you here, do you, honey?” he smiles in satisfaction when you immediately shake your head, begging him not to do that to you. “that’s what i thought.”

old man!logan

you know you shouldn’t have said it. of course you know you shouldn’t have said it, but that didn’t stop you from doing it anyway. logan doesn’t move from the armchair he’s sitting in, whiskey bottle lowering from his lips. he raises an eyebrow, looking up at you with an unamused expression. “you done?” meekly, you swallow and nod, mumbling a sorry and thinking that’ll be the end of it. but you think wrong. he sets the bottle on the table, turning to face you again, something serious in his eyes. “c’mere.” he pays his lap. you move to sit, but he stops you with a firm hand against your thigh. “bend over, sweetheart.” your heart races as you realize what your punishment will be. you do as he says, and soon enough, your eyes are filled with tears from the spanking he delivers you. “you know better than to pull that shit on me.” he grumbles, clearly disappointed in your attitude. “don’t do it again, y’hear me? got enough to worry about without you bein’ a brat.”

worst!logan

you’re standing outside the door of your apartment when it happens. you’ve been lamenting to wade and vanessa about how much logan drives you crazy, with his stupid face and huge muscles and unfairly sexy voice. unbeknownst to you, logan is just down the hall, coming back from the grocery store. looking back, you’re fairly certain both wade and vanessa knew he was coming before you did, deciding to leave you to your cruel fate. it isn’t until you feel strong hands on your hips and warm breath on the back of your neck and a suspiciously familiar sexy voice in your ear that you realize the trap you’ve stepped into. “you’re hurting my feelings.” you turn around and are met with a fake pout. who knows where wade and vanessa went, all you know is that he’s backing you up against your door, continuing to get closer even as you stumble through apologies. “that’s it? you’re sorry?” he flashes a toothy grin, something predatory gleaming in his eyes. “come on, angel. i know you can do better than that.” he’s cornering you: nothing to do, nowhere to run- except, of course, his lips. so you give in, tongue crashing against yours, his body enveloping your senses. and trust me, he’s gonna make sure you never think a single damn bad thing about him again.

patch!logan

you’re in the casino, begging him to let you get in on a game. he says your job is to just “sit here and look pretty, darlin’,” but you’re getting really fucking bored. the moment the words cross your lips, you regret it. not just because you don’t mean it, but because you can see immediately that logan is pissed. he gives you a look the likes of which he’s never given you before, and nearly shoves you off of his lap. you wait by the edge of the table until the place empties out for the night, thinking maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. but even when the two of you are alone once more, he still doesn’t say a word, just leans back and spreads his legs- a command, and you must obey it. so you do. crawling towards him on your hands and knees, reaching up to undo his belt buckle. as you pull his cock out, beginning to stroke him, the tip of his boot presses against your thigh, and you realize what he wants you to do. you’ll do anything to make it up to him, including sacrificing your pride. so you do: grinding on his boot, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips, muffled by the way your mouth is wrapped around his cock. all the while he says nothing, staring down at you with a menacing expression, and the only thing you can do is pray that you’ll be good enough that he’ll show you mercy.

cowboy!logan

you don’t even remember what you were fighting with him about. no, that left your head the second the unimpressed expression took over his face and the words “that so?” left his lips. you nod- stupidly, you nod. then you step back, but it’s too late, his lasso wrapping around you and tugging you closer to him. “ooh.” he sucks air in through his teeth, shaking his head with a heavily disappointed expression. “that’s gonna be a problem, isn’t it?” he doesn’t let you answer, pulling on the lasso a little harder and sending you stumbling to the ground. he leans down to be face to face with you, jerking his head toward the empty farmhouse a few hundred meters away. “you’d better find a way to make it up to me, sugar. and fast.” when you still don’t move, don’t say anything, he frowns, clicking his tongue at you. “get to it.” and now his voice has that commanding tone, and suddenly you are letting him pull you towards the dirty mattress in the farmhouse, tying your wrists to the bedpost as he cages you in.

#cas drabbles #im too lazy to tag anyone in this #if you see it you see it #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #old man logan #old man logan x reader #cowboy logan #dofp logan #patch logan #worst wolverine #70s logan #worst wolverine x reader

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aroboxfolio · 3 days ago

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the first thing i feel is my legs crumpling beneath me, the blade, vile thing, falls from my bloody grip. this is new.

I can't remember the last time my hand was free of the blade, the pain of uncurling my fingers shoots through my arm, and I breathe- sharp shallow gulps of musty air, dust spinning around you as the library ___ your intrusion. Archmage Glavia of the Frosts, the youngest archmage coronated in the last thousand years, stands braced against one of many bookshelves in her newly inherited, ancient library-spire.

Her eyes are wide, and breath shallow, but she is unharmed save the red line i put in her cheek. she might even survive, If I can tell her about the poison. (one of many moments I wish I was still with tongue)

I tap my face, mirrored to her wound, and watch her flinch.

"Hells teeth and Horns, you were under that spell?" she groans, disgust framing her face. puppeteering, one of the three most forbidden dark magics. some may argue it the worst. (I would) but she's running out off time. I owe her this much.

I jab my face in the same spot and grit my teeth at her, her brows knit together as she chews her lip, confused.

I jab again and then mime breaking my own neck, it pops loudly as I twist it to the side, and for a splitting second I fear I've actually broke it.

She glowers, brows pinched together to tight to see where one stars and the other ends.

"...Flint shards." she growls, summoning a perfect sheet of ice to check her face with. she prods at the wound, and I realize she hadn't noticed the cut at all. a numbing agent, hum.

"I'm guessing I can't feel this, because there's a way to treat whatever other poison is part of... it." she deducts. I nod slowly, trying not to further aggravate my aching neck.

"well, I appreciate the effort." she smiles, it's crooked, tired smile. The kind one gives to troublesome children, when they do something well- intentioned for once. when was the last time someone smiled at you, tired or not? I don't remember. the chill of her magic moves again and I shudder, magic usually means trouble. my fingers grasp nothing, painfully, thankfully.

she's freezing it, the blood and poison both, using the numbness to her advantage, pulling blackened ice out in chunks, glaring accusingly at her own reflection as she takes her left cheek apart, piece by piece. I shudder again, there's a reason she made it to coronation at 36, and that clearly changes things. mages are so often frivolous or timid, unaware of how to face real challenges, but she might have a shot, In another ten years, of taking them down.

she stops pulling the piece she currently has pinched tween' her fingers with a wince, and breaks it off instead. she looks mauled. she looks at me, and dismisses her ice mirror, turning her focus to my eyes.

her eyes are slightly different shades of grey, the left, above her wound, is darker and bluer. the right is silverish. you can't quite place the color. she looks years more tired. her hand is cold, but I take it anyway and she helps me to my feet. I shake like a new lamb, and my hand refuses to let go, finally holding something, a strange new shape that doesn't fit my crooked fingers. it doesn't have to.

I try to smile, but trying brings tears, and I'm relived when she turns her eyes from me to lead us somewhere. I don't know where. her hair is half in her other had, the one untrapped by mine, and half on her head, covering any glimpse of her face from behind. no cut on her neck, but of course there isn't! she would be dead if that was the case. you know when you've missed or not... but still the relief bubbles up, there's even a curl at her back uncut by that blade. It was thicker than others hair, fleecy, almost, made of tight ringlets of curls. mages take great care with their dress, and archmages are no exception to such truth, but I can only feel glad it was her hair, and not her life, lost to the blade. maybe she can put it back somehow?

she leads me to a room. small, with a hammock and a considerable lack of things besides. "rest here, I need to get this mess fixed" she gestures at her face, but I can't let go. she looks at me, at the tears, until I do let go. the shame burns and my hand weeps, but I am good at doing what I'm told, If nothing else.

"I'll be back..." she sighs, holding her marred cheek, her halved hair, and I wonder why she would bother, for answers, likely. "later." she decides.

I sit in the hammock, and wait. my hand grips nothing.

Trained from birth as an assassin, your mind was bound by a powerful control spell. Sent to kill an archmage, they cast Dispel to weaken you—accidentally freeing your mind instead. For the first time, your dagger points wherever you choose.

#writing #might add more later #or some chara designs #writing prompts

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ozzgin · 2 days ago

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How would the yokai harem react to you talking about a manipulative ex? content: gender neutral reader x various demons

Murasaki will silently listen to your rant with the same flat expression he always wears. Or was that a grimace you just spotted? Upon further inspection, he does seem more annoyed than usual. “At least you had the brain to walk away, I suppose,” he says with a huff. It doesn’t surprise him much, in all honesty; humans aren’t exactly known for their awareness, and you’re a particularly naïve one. He places a hand on your head and gives you a swift ruffle. Christ, you’re hopeless. Thankfully you won’t have to deal with that anymore, not under his watch. Had this happened in his presence, the offender would’ve been sliced in half.

Kiritsubo is very vocal throughout your retelling. They did what?! He’s so upset on your behalf, cheeks flushed and puffed up with indignance. After clarifying some details to him, you discover that the yokai is rather...oblivious himself. Good Lord, he would’ve fallen for it even harder. He pats his sword and declares he won’t ever allow it to happen again. You can’t help but chuckle at his confidence. Indeed, you might have to help him a little in recognizing the danger. You appreciate his good intentions, nonetheless.

Suma approaches your story with a very positive outlook, which is very much like him. With a laugh, he pats your back and praises you. “It’s a hard lesson, but a lesson still. Humans and demons are difficult creatures, eh? You can’t always read them, nor can you tell their intentions. To be aware of this and continue living with an open heart means you’re brave, not gullible.” That’s just the way things are. We get hurt and we learn from it. He’s proud of you for being here despite everything. “That’s not to say you have to deal with it alone,” he adds with a cheeky smile. “Let me know about it next time it happens, alright?”

Yuugiri is very unbothered, nodding along with a smile. Oh, you recognize that grin. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. The serpent yokai is exceptionally vengeful, especially when it comes to you. Your ex-partner has now become a target for unknown terrors. Somewhere, sometime in the future, they will suffer. Yuugiri will make sure of it. No one messes with his precious little human and comes out unscathed. Oh, to think they took advantage of your innocence! Of course you’re easily manipulated, but it’s a gift that must be appreciated, not abused. He should be the only one with the privilege of...influencing you every now and then.

Sakaki scribbles in his sketchbook while listening to your rant. Truth be told, you’re not expecting much from him. He’ll probably tell you that it is indeed in the nature of most humans to be this devious, and misery is inescapable. Suffering is but an eternal part of life, from which only Death can free us. Gosh, you’ve been hanging out way too much with this gloom-ridden artist. You finally glance over his shoulder and notice the intricate pentagram. “It’s a curse,” he says with a flat smile. “I just need to find the guy, and then...heh. It’s not the poetic kind of agony, that’s for sure.” You’re his only source of happiness and hope, after all. There’s no way in Hell he’d ever allow anyone to interfere with it.

Sekiya is very similar to Kiritsubo in his reaction. His face begins to twist through a range of emotions. You know him so well, at this point, that you can already guess the stages of grief crossing his mind: he’d never treat you that way, and if someone else was to dare, he’d...he’d deal with them, right? Could a weakling like him even manage? Come, now, he’s still a yokai several ranks above the regular demons. Can he prove it to you, however? You stop his thoughts before they go any further, taking his hand in yours. “You’ll take care of me, right,” you ask. His eyes widen and his chest involuntarily swells up with pride. “Of course,” he barks loudly. Oh, to think you’d put your faith in him like that! He’s drunk with delight.

#yandere #yokai harem #yandere x reader #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #monster x human #murasaki #kiritsubo #suma #yuugiri #sekiya #sakaki

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lovepotionsz · 3 days ago

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Haiii ^-^ Full mask x reader smut?? Can be a sort of dub con thing where he takes you back to his universe (or tries to) if you like!!! Honestly I just need more full mask/dark invincible content he’s so silly

-🫀

Full Mask Mark x GN! Reader (Dark NSFW)

CW: Non/Dub-con, blaming the reader for his actions, rough sex, sexual thoughts about blood. I think this could be labeled as Dead-dove do not eat. You have been warned.

WC: 580

A/N: I got wayy too into this, I hope it's to your liking.

Full Mask is a very manipulative man, even if he doesn’t realize it. When he first tries to convince you to go back, he tests out the emotional route. Clinging to your legs like a dog, crying his heart and begging, “please! I promise I’ll take such good care of you, you won’t need anyone else in your life!”, just full on sobbing and latching onto you like a desperate animal. When that doesn’t work, he finally uses his much more superior physical strength to ‘convince’ you.

The whole thing starts with you finally pushing him off of your leg, then he gets… eerily quiet, which scares you because you can just feel his intention when he looks at you through the lens of his mask. You can’t see his eyes nor mouth, but you can just tell you somehow fucked up.

He tries to be gentle, really he does! He does his best to not snap your bones as he’s thrusting into you, your cries and hisses of pain truly do sting his heart, but– he can only hold back so much. No matter how hard he tries, he’s far too violent for the gentleness he craves. Holding you like this feels like with a little more push he could snap every bone in your body, and goddammit he’s trying, okay!? You just wouldn’t stand still, you kept kicking and yelling at him, and he got scared and bruised your hips so hard you could feel the way your muscles bruised under your skin and it made it so hard to breathe– oh he knows, he knows and he’s so sorry! If you had just stayed still, this wouldn’t have happened, would it? That’s right, you need to stop being such a fidgety, shaking thing and let him love you!

He’s crying under his mask too, but his tears are the result of the sheer ecstasy your body has him feeling. The way you cry out and claw at his back, violently thrashing around as he hits that sweet spot, the way you tighten around his cock so well has his brain spinning and throbbing inside you.

Oh, but his favorite thing is when you finally stop moving, clawing, crying and get so, so docile under him. You just let out these quiet whimpers and sniffles as he’s filling you up so full that he feels his cum drip out of you with every pump and every thrust inside you, he loves coating your insides full of him. Marking you in ways no one other than him can, he deserves this, he loves this, he wants more of it.

He keeps going, he’s missed you so much after all, has been saving himself for you before you up and went to hell knows where, he is so, so pent-up. Five rounds would never be enough, it won’t ever be enough. He’ll keep fucking into you, he’ll keep making you scream, he’ll keep swearing that he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he won't stop raking his nails on your ass with the sole purpose to make you bleed and watch your blood mix with his cum on your entrance. He says he hates seeing you cry, but you can feel his cock twitch and throb inside you every time you do cry out.

He’ll tell you that he’s loving you as gentle as he can, but to you, his ‘love’ is nothing but terror on your body and psyche.

#invincible variants #invincible x gn reader #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #invincible smut #mark grayson x male reader #mark grayson x reader #full mask mark #full mask invincible

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thatforkedroad · 4 hours ago

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could this mean that I'm coming home

summary: Luke Skywalker’s relationships with other Jedi as he builds his new order and academy.

------

It takes some time for the festivities on Endor and in the wider galaxy to fizzle down, and even longer still for anything to even slightly settle long enough for both of them to rest. There’s always some new problem arising, some new political drama or skirmish with remnants who don’t take the Emperor’s death well or don’t believe in it at all. But Luke and Leia have always been good at adapting and they always manage to squeeze time to talk to each other, whether it’s in the corner of a peace gala or in a dropship headed to the frontlines.

For those first few weeks, their conversations always seem to circle back around to the fact that they’re twins, and what this means for them both. In some ways, there’s not a lot to discuss; their bond goes deeper than blood or friendship, it runs through the songs of the Force, stronger than anything Luke has ever felt. One night, they spend hours comparing and trying to work out what was coincidence and what were actually latent Force abilities. They talk about childhood dreams of each other’s planets and how — despite both losing all they had once called home only hours before and the imminent threat — everything just felt right when they reunited on the Death Star. Like a small part of them had been missing until then, tied by invisible string to something very far away.

Outside of it connecting her to new twin, Leia does not seem interested in the Force. She listens intently when he tells her what he knows of the Force, but Leia has never wanted to be a Jedi. She is a politician, like the mother and father who raised her were. She spends her busy days on Coruscant and Chandrila and wherever else she’s required to go to build the fractured Republic her parents tried to save. She finds as much time as she can for him , but she finds time inside of that only to learn the basics of Jedi training, nothing more.

Luke understands. It’s alright. He’s sure more Jedi will resurface soon, now the Empire has been defeated. It’s just a matter of time...

>> READ THE REST ON AO3

#the last (4) jedi #luke skywalker #leia organa #ahsoka tano #din djarin #grogu #ezra bridger #cal kestis #nightsister merrin #merrin #greez dritus #star wars #star wars rebels #jfo #total write forever #fic

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benevolentbirdgal · 2 days ago

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I think part of the issue is that many online activists only "count" activism done in their exact, particular, constantly evolving language. Is Betty using POC instead of BIPOC a seeeeeecret conservative or has she been radical since the damn '60s? Is Karen stumbling over however we refer to undocumented immigrants this week secretly trying to ship out everyone darker than foundation shade 2 or maybe, just maybe, her showing up at the protest is legit? Is Chava showing up to the pro-choice march actually there as a double agent, or maybe, are her radical-boomer-values still shining into her 7th decade as she marches for the same shit she did pre-Roe? Is Joanne a closet homophobe because she uses gay rights instead of queer rights or is she literally just in her fifties?

Like so much of the throat-jumping I see young, chronically online activists engage in could be solved by asking the question "is their intent bad or do they just not spend 11 hours scrolling through Activist Internet To Learn All The Current Language?"

Highkey reminds me of how online activists treat religious progressives/liberals. It's almost like people can have politics that align with yours but express it in slightly different ways or come from a different place.

tumblr leftists being surprised to see middle aged white women with signs or hats saying "deny defend depose" really reinforces for me that tumblr leftists don't actually talk to people lmao. like I did a lot of canvassing as a teenager and you know who the best most reliable political organizers are? middle aged women. you know who's bloodthirsty after watching rachel maddow every night and sharing HuffPo articles on facebook? middle aged women. maybe sheryl from iowa who's been voting religiously for democrats for the past thirty years IS more hardcore than you, tumblr user who did a write-in "protest vote." what are you going to do about that.

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likelysobbing · 11 hours ago

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nah let reader get her lick back now cause I can’t have us going down like this. Reader needs to get with one of the team immediately but it’s not like no rebound things it’s fr serious and Paige cannot stand it but who cares anymore?

𖥻 STUNNED. azzi fudd x reader x ex!paige bueckers (for the streets 2)

synopsis: paige’s eyes are on other girls, so azzi’s eyes sure as hell won’t let off of you now—and they’re the loveliest you’ve ever had the honor to look back at.

notes: RAHHH here it is! FOR THE STREETS part 2 ! hi nonnie! this is lightly, lightly, lightly LIGHTLY based off a song called makasarili malambing by hev abi and kristina dawn. sorry this took so long i was receiving my education! also, 3k+ words. if u read this u better read it all the way…tell me what u think too. i love interaction hehehe. also, i tried not to make paige suffer VIVIDLY, because i feel like it hurts more for player!paige to just silently regret #EL EM AY OH. thank u. also i put emphasis on eyes (adoration), the color green (envy), and make a lot of references to the previous fic. it’s linked on this post so go on and read it if you haven’t already <3 also, tagging @elalfywhore as per request hehe. hope you guys like it.

cw: READER’S A BIT OF A BITCH AT FIRST, But ends up folding because no one resists azzi bro, readers sassy, azzi is insistent, paige has avoidant attachment issues, no distinct establishment of a relationship but there is an implication of azzi and reader being more and both parties being okay with that (except paige. paige didn’t consent), PLAYER!paige

azzi always watched you.

you ignored it, especially while you were with paige—but she always watched you. azzi’s eyes seemed to favor trailing down your body more than anything else. whenever you ran into her and paige, back when you were still a couple, you had always kissed paige on the cheek—and azzi nearly leaned in everytime you approached her for a hug; maybe she expected a kiss on the cheek too— that’s funny, actually. but that’s unlikely, right? you ignore it. there was no way. no way she could have had any sort of interest in you.

especially now that you’ve practically estranged yourself from paige and her friends; that includes the basketball team. you haven’t said anything to them beyond ‘hi’ , ‘bye’ and ‘have a good day’—and they know why. they understand why. who wouldn’t want to do the equivalent of bury themselves in a hole if their ex girlfriend who they were so intent on marrying ended it all through a phone call while getting head from another woman? come on. you were sure they understood.

included in this very obvious mass-in-real-life-ghosting phase was none other than paige’s closest friend, miss goo goo eyes, miss azzi fuckin’ fudd.

you really tried to get her eyes off you, but it didn’t matter in the end.

azzi always watched you.

or like, maybe it was watch over instead of simply watch. watching over was more akin to what she did—she always checked in on you, maybe when she thought you weren’t looking her eyes would end up somewhere on your body that wasn’t necessarily scandalous—more so the space between your neck and shoulder or a collarbone. regardless, she had her eyes on you.

but watching you or not, you’re sure azzi didn’t mind you distancing yourself. you’re 100% sure she understood you being a bit too far to look at now? there was no need to dwell on it. you’re sure. you’re 100% sure.

… okay, well, maybe you’re 99.99% sure.

azzi sat across from paige, eyes slightly narrowing and widening as she felt the burn of yet another shot. the bass boomed in both of their ears, and each beat rung through their brain, but all azzi could focus on was that paige had let you go.

you. sweet, lovely, you.

she knew she wasn’t being slick when she watched you—her eyes always seemed to rake down every one of your features, and she wasn’t embarrassed about it. you were beautiful, and in paige’s arms you found your place. azzi couldn’t trespass on that—not because of paige, but because of you. you genuinely believed paige was inlove with you—pathetic, unheard of, even—but with how paige treated you, azzi began to believe it too… or she would’ve, if she knew paige less.

azzi didn’t rain on your parade of delusions hemmed by paige’s beautifully sown in lies.

but she wouldn’t deny that you would look better with her.

“you’re thinking again.”

there it is; paige was never one to think a lot, so she always questioned why azzi did. her decisions spoke for themselves. azzi pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, tilting her head just enough to turn her nose up at paige, who grins like she knows what this look is. azzi always seem to come up with the craziest shit, and right now—paige’s excited to see what she comes up with next.

“what you thinking of?” uconn’s number five asks, that drunken lilt unmistakable as she balanced speaking to uconn’s #35 and getting a lap dance from the girl she beckoned over (she knew nothing about her besides the fact she had a nice ass). azzi shakes her head, one side of her lips quirking up. that mystery only serves to make paige even more curious—as always, she doesn’t think twice about digging deeper.

“nah, come on, there’s something—“

“no, paige,”

“there’s someone.”

well, azzi can’t deny that, can she?

so, she burrows deeper into her seat and looks away. paige points at her like she just connected all the dots, going “oh!” like a frat boy surprised that his hunch was even correct. “who’s she?”

“she’s a she.”

“she’s a she and her name is what?”

“she.”

“that’s not a name, bro—“

“how do you know she isn’t a name?”

“bro. don’t do this. i’m drunk.”

by this point, azzi’s (a little bit!) drunk too. there’s adrenaline in her veins; sprinkle in that crazy audacity that paige seems to have all the time, and she could simply say what’s on her mind right now. or, maybe she should just say it to get it off her chest.

“your ex.” azzi murmurs. paige’s eyes darken, flickering from the common deviousness azzi’s so familiar with to something genuine she can’t seem to place. her jaw tightens, smile faltering just enough to make azzi’s own quirk up.

the lights flicker from red, yellow, green and purple randomly. by this point, she’s used to the strain—shes even memorized the pattern. the lights are going from red, to yellow, green, purple— purple again. so why … is paige all green?

“sorry, i don’t mean to impose,” was what she said to you first. you couldn’t even register she was near you at all. why was she even here, sitting next to you in a nearly empty library she’d probably benefit more studying alone in? you weren’t even in the same major. if she had a test to study for, you’d be of no help.

it was stupid of you to even assume studying was on her mind.

she just… did her own thing. in silence. she didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t— she didn’t do anything. she was just on her phone. why was she in the library if she didn’t have any work to do? she had a whole friendgroup—maybe she did it to get away from them? wait, but why would she need to get away from them? did she need to hide? was she annoyed? why would she be annoyed? well, you don’t suppose it was paige, paige would definitely be quite an annoyance—

“yes?”

her voice is soft. softer than a feather landing on your skin. yet, like a feather, amidst how light her voice is—you feel it. it’s one word, but it takes just that to make you feel the one feeling you know will lead to more than multiple disasters.

interest.

you are interested in her.

azzi fudd’s big brown eyes were something you (and anyone in your place) could only resist for so long, and with one bat of her eyelashes and the flash of her sweet smile that—oddly—didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth. atleast, not like it usually did. you never saw her as anything more than paige’s bestfriend who was kind of into you (but also simultaneously there was no way she was into you because she was so pretty).

“you’ve been silent for the past two minutes.”

you blink. “… sorry.”

azzi smiles, again, and this time— you can’t help but smile back.

but it’s not that serious, isn’t it? there’s no harm in introducing new people into your life. there’s no harm even if it’s your ex’s bestfriend who’s watched you with for so long, and with such pretty eyes. there’s like, literally no harm.

you wouldn’t let there be any harm. you could open your heart to her a little. deal with her presence if it’s constant. bite back when needed, push away when called for, right?

“that’s okay.” she replies to you smoothly, looking back at her phone. “—just haven’t seen you in a while, you know.” she offers, and you freeze up. she doesn’t stop speaking. “i kind of.. missed you being close. like i get why—i understand, too, i just— you know..”

“yeah, i know you know. paige wasn’t really subtle with the breakup.” you murmured, “did she send you here to check on me, azzi?”

azzi blinks, scandalized by the accusation. “what… no? i don’t—i would never. i’m not like her— i mean, not like that— i just.. wanna be here?”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptically. “at this specific library?” and azzi inhales, “please don’t make me say what i know you know already.”

“i know a lot of things. but i don’t know what you think i know.”

“don’t you?”

“do i?”

“i just wanna be with you.”

that was easier to get out than you expected. hm, okay. okay— you tilt your head. “you’ve been with me enough, with how much you seem to hang around paige.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’ve only ever known you as one of her minions.”

azzi’s eyes widen, and she nearly gasps—once again— SCANDALIZED, by your statement—but she doesn’t. infact, you don’t expect what she does—because she takes your jab in stride.

“wooow, minions, huh? okay, well—why don’t you try to get to know me beyond it?”

“i’d actually rather not. i know who you hang out with.”

“just because i hang out with her doesn’t mean—“

you interrupt her with the zip of your backpack and the slam! of your books closing. “you’re all talk. you never act.”

azzi tries to cut you off with a little “hey, wait—“, her hand on your wrist, her eyes wide and pleading but you do not budge.

you shake her hand off your wrist when she tries to stop you from standing up. it’s the perfect picture of cold ruthlessness you know paige doesn’t believe you have—and you know what? if azzi is going to act like a messenger pigeon, which you assume she is, then you’re going to make sure she has a lot to say to paige when she comes back.

unbeknownst to you, azzi looks at what was once your chair and frowns. she feels your absence more than paige does. more than paige ever will.

and it stings. both for you, and her.

she comes to you again. this time, you’re in another library, and somehow she has enough devotion to presumably ruining your life that she finds you. she smiles when she sees you, waving with a tiny ‘hello’.

you place your bag onto the chair next to you and go back to work. you’re in the zone, there’s nothing stopping you— apparently besides the girl plopping your bag down onto the (dirty!) floor. how rude. how does she have the nerve to sit next to you? why does she still think you’re good? she may want to ‘be in your presence’ but who said anything about you wanting to be in hers? what the hell does she think shes doing?

“i think maybe you should let me tell you what i’m doing here.”

“i actually think you should leave.”

“i’ve only sat next to you twice.”

“twice too many.”

theres a silence on the other end and you think you won. you can’t help the smile on your face—the rejection felt good, in a sort of cruel way. azzi didn’t have any part in you and paige’s downfall, but she did stand by and watch it—you—burn.

so you’d set fire to whatever she was dreaming of in return.

“i always thought you looked better with me.”

record scratch.

“you’re crazy.”

“i am not.” she replies, “just a tad bit tipsy.”

“it’s nine pm?” you scoff, and she shrugs, “pre-game. anyway, i mean it. i always thought you looked better with me. you would, wouldn’t you?”

this time, you leave in a hurry. there’s literally nothing but ‘evacuate’ in your head as you rush to pack your bags, spouting whatthefuckwhatthefuck in your brain as azzi, realizing the utter stupidity of her actions, begins to flail her arms around directionless as she tries to stop you from leaving again.

“okay maybe that was a little bit uncalled for, i’m sorry let me rephrase—“

“no, i am not letting you— and no, i do not wanna find out. you got me fucked all the way up—“

“listen, okay, i just think you’ve always been out of her league—“ she tries to reason, and you look at her incredulously.

“you’re talking about paige bueckers.” you say, back now turned to azzi as you begin to walk out.

azzi shakes her head, already toeing behind you— “i’m talking about my close friend. one who couldn’t see your worth— please, will you let me try again? god, i’m sorry— you’re just so pretty, okay? and you’re so fucking sweet, you have such a pretty face and i just can’t help but look at you—“

“that is so creepy, azzi.”

“it is! i’m sorry!” she whines, obviously more than tipsy, “i’m sorry! just—“ she takes you by the hand, and you freeze up because it’s been quite a while since you’ve had physical contact that had even a smidge of romantic intent, and when you look back— god, there it is.

big, brown eyes.

looking right at you, a tad bit glossy—wide, and paired with by far the prettiest pout you’ve ever seen. “please.” she whispers, keeping in mind how you’re technically still in the library and she’s been looked at thrice for her theatrics—“please? just… let me hang around. i’m not going to force anything i just—want to know you.”

you’re stunned.

you’re in no state to properly answer; your mind is going a mile a minute, and so in desparation to just speak— you speak with your heart.

“nnn… okay.”

that was your heart. it forgot all reason, dignity, and self respect, apparently.

maybe azzi giving you a wide, toothy smile was worth it though.

“you’re seeing her?” paige repeated, some drink she forgot the name of swirling in her cup. azzi nodded, “figured she’d need something soft to land on.” she murmured, and though her words seemed casual—there was more meaning to them than paige could understand. azzi’s tone was expectant, hopeful—she wanted something to bloom between the two of you—something nice. pretty. good.

“and what is that? your chest?” paige’s reply interrupts her, and though she tries to sound teasing—she sounds more... irritated.

“maybe.” azzi grins.

“get outta here.” paige scoffs, taking another swig of her drink as she slumps back into her chair. “you can have her, it’s whatever bro. liter-ally whatever.”

“mhm.”

azzi’s nonchalance only bothers paige even more.

“i hope you understand i’m not ready yet.” was the first thing you said right after that awkward moment back at the library, “for a relationship, i mean. like, this fast.” you clarified.

azzi nodded, bouncing off you well, “oh, me too—you don’t need to see me as a threat. i just want to know you. i know it’s going to be hard, considering well.. your ex is my best friend. paige doesn’t mind—“ she pauses, before trying to reword. “i mean that—“

“oh, that’s fine. i can tell she doesn’t.” you wave it off, and azzi just smiles apologetically as she continues. “even if it’s hard on the both of us, i want to see where this goes. i’ve watched you too long to not want to be close.” azzi shyly murmurs, before trying to rekindle a lighter atmosphere— “just don’t get sassy with me, okay? i don’t like fighting with you.”

it’s been five months now. since she’s said that.

specifically, since azzi began to try to woo you. every flower she gave was always your favorite one, every ramble you graced her with was met with actual listening ears and comprehension, and nearly every thing you wanted? you had it in your hands the next day. azzi wasted no time in trying to show you she in fact, wasn’t like bueckers (who seemed to be meaner these past weeks, impossibly)—you never had to doubt her.

like actually. you never had to doubt azzi.

she didn’t knock on your door three times, but she was… special. enough. to have a key by the third month. she didn’t look you in the eye all that much, too shy to properly maintain it, but you knew she watched over you anyway. and when she held your hand, she was the one that squeezed first.

even if she hasn’t popped the question yet, there is no doubt in your mind that she’s yours already. she may have had grandeur, but unlike paige, she did not let it define her love for you. no, she won you over by the littlest things. the things that mattered.

its been five months now. since she’s said that.

and it’s felt like… six / seven … years?

however long it’s been, you know there’s a connection. and azzi knows too, because why wouldn’t she? she somehow knows everything. there’s always solutions to problems with her, always an answer to a math equation or an existential crisis— its all so different.

different from paige, you mean.

with azzi, you’re always… stunned— from how much effort she puts in, how bright her smile is, how she never seems to not have time for you—hell, you’re stunned whenever you see her. you know there’s something there, but you don’t know who’s going to make a move first—or atleast, when she is.

you don’t know if you should care at all. you don’t know if you should put yourself first, or if you even have real questions. you can’t even ask azzi like you’ve formed a habit of doing because she somehow always says the right things—you can’t even muster up a question for her: what would you say? ‘bro please kiss me already?’ no way.

“you ready to go?” azzi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to see her holding her hand out. ah, that’s right— you’re hanging out tonight. she’s taking you to her favorite spot across the town—that’s nice. you can’t wait to be with her.

you have so many questions you can’t muster, but maybe you don’t need to ask. maybe you just need to feel—her touch lingers far more than it stays, always tingling on your arm or your back; her absence causes you more heartache than you’d like; … it’s just her. maybe there are no more questions. maybe you don’t have questions, but either way, azzi has answers. she might as well be the answer to everything, actually. maybe there’s no need to dwell, no need to label it yet—lord knows what azzi wants.

you take azzi’s hand and she squeezes it first like she always does. it makes you smile wider this time.

this time, love is kind to you. it is soft and slow and yet passionate all the same. you don’t know where it might lead but the look in her eyes is worth it. this tenderness is worth it.

and you’re not afraid, wherever this might lead you.

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even. yet she’s not as big and bad as shes made herself out to be right now. not at all.

in the same booth she was a few months ago, paige now sits alone. there are girls aching to get home with her, and she’s half-picking who should get that honor—but she’s trying to distract herself more.

the lights go red, to yellow, green, purple—purple again. so why does she feel so green?

envy is a rattle snake, and it wraps around her entire body. it squeezes tight, cutting circulation off to the point she’s so stiff she might explode— but it’s not because of you and azzi.

it’s not.

not even when her jaw clenches at the thought of you. and azzi. azzi is her bestfriend, and when she outright admitted to thinking about making moves on you—paige brushed it off with a laugh and a playful “she can’t even talk to half of us, bro—i got her heart broken … or like heartbroken or something.” but now, here she is.

and she’s not heart broken. shes not even bothered at all. she’s not.

she just doesn’t like to see you so close. why would she want you close? she’s done her time. pulled you in closer. you always burrowed in deep, she felt you in her heart. maybe that’s what sickened her— the feeling of endearment. you tried to reach your way in, but to paige it felt like you were tearing her apart—ripping her to shreds to crush the organ in your hands and make the victory against her sweeter.

she’s not heart broken. why would she be? there’s no one here breaking her heart.

there’s no one she lets close enough to even have a shot at it.

there is only her. and while she may not accept it, especially now? now that you are gone? now that she’s driven you away like she once did with every other girl who’s ever tried to come close—although you came closest—who came her way?

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even.

but her heart breaks, and she’s the one breaking it.

@likelysobbing.

#paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #uconn paige bueckers #uconn x reader #azzi fudd x reader #azzi fudd #azzi x reader #azzi fudd uconn #does this count as pazzi #pazzi #pazzi x reader #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wcbb x reader #uconn wcbb #uconn women’s basketball

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bloomzone · 1 day ago

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📍. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟏 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

[Hi everyone, so today's blog may look a little interesting because we are in the last days of April so it's reset time . So i've been a little disconnected lately, it's exam season, and honestly it’s been a lot . Also, sorry for anyone who's been sending me questions in my inbox I might not answer everyone right away, but I promise I’ll be more active after finals and my regional exam , and actually for anyone out there who’s thinking about building a habit or tracking something next month... this is your sign ⏲️.]

ॱ🪽 ₊ . why a 7-day challenge works

"Change doesn’t happen because we suddenly decide to become someone else overnight" It happens when we choose to become slightly better versions of ourselves so for one week you will be asked to show up for yourself because all lasting change begins with a decision to start, no matter how small or imperfect that beginning may seem.

For me personally, the 7-day method has been the most effective way to rebuild habits, especially during the moments when life feels heavy when I’m stuck in a slump, caught in a rut, or feeling disconnected from myself. I have built and rebuilt many habits through this method, and I’m not here to pretend that I follow all my habits perfectly every day. That’s simply impossible. Life is unpredictable bro 💀 and being human means accepting that sometimes we will fall off track. But I’ve found that committing to a 1-week challenge creates just enough structure without feeling overwhelming. Whether it’s studying after a long period of burnout, taking care of my skin , exercising, or simply keeping my space clean, the same principle applies. I give myself one week of small, consistent effort. By the end of those seven days, something inside me shifts naturally. The habit begins to carry itself it becomes part of my daily rhythm again. This approach it’s about reconnecting with the parts of yourself that want to grow. !

so let's get into it !

ᵕ⁠⑅ 💌 .building a habit is like planting a tree

When you approach building a habit, imagine that you are planting a tree. In the beginning, the seed is fragile and invisible to the world. No one applauds you for watering it. No one even knows it’s there but you do ofc . Each action you take is a way of pressing that seed deeper into the soil, helping it find its first roots. A tree It grows because every day it reaches for the light, it anchors itself to the earth, and it trusts the slow work of time. Your habit is like a tree so it will not reveal its strength immediately. It will be built through consistency, patience, and hard work . The stronger the roots you lay in the beginning, the higher you will grow later.

🪄 ♡⁠˖ Preparing before u start

Before you start the challenge, it is important to create the right conditions for success. First choose your habit carefully. Do not pick something because it sounds impressive or because it feels like what you "should" do. Choose something you genuinely want to nurture something that will add peace, energy, or meaning to your life. Next, make the habit as specific and realistic as possible. If your habit is "read more," define it: "Read 10 pages before bed." If it’s "move more," define it too like : "Stretch for 20 minutes after waking up." Specificity turns intentions into actions. Finally, prepare your environment. Remove distractions if you can, and set yourself reminders that pull you gently back to your commitment. Success is easier when you remove as many barriers as possible before you begin.

👛 ꪆ୧ How to stay connected to your habit

As you practice the habit each day, it’s crucial to understand what you are really building. You are not just completing a task. You are shaping ur identity. Every time you follow through, even if it’s only for a few minutes, you are reinforcing the belief that you are someone who keeps their promises to themselves. At first, the actions will feel mechanical. You will not see immediate results, and it may feel pointless. This is natural NATURAL PLEASE READ IT AGAIN . Habits develop strength under the surface long before they show themselves outwardly as I said is like planting a tree . Trust the process. Know that the first few days are about teaching your mind to accept a new way of being, even if the change is invisible at first. When you focus not on achieving perfection but on maintaining connection to your action, you create a system that can survive setbacks, challenges, and the inevitable moments of doubt.

✧🕧 ~ A helpful hack to never forget ur habit

One tip that personally changed everything for me especially when my mind felt busy or overwhelmed is setting up reminders in a very intentional way. It’s simple .. If you are someone who naturally checks your phone first thing in the morning (which most of us do without even thinking about it), use it to your advantage. The night before, right before you go to sleep, open your Notes app, Notion, or even just the simplest app you have for writing and write down the habits you want to keep track of the next day. You could write something like, “Skincare routine,” “Study for one hour,” or “Stretch/workout for 30 minutes ) and add some affirmation if u want and write some words that will motivate u to get up and do it because 100% ur own words can fix u also then, leave that note open and lock your phone screen on it. The next morning, when you reach for your phone instinctively, the first thing you’ll see is your gentle reminder. It’s like that screen will be guiding you back to yourself before u will forgetting

And if you’re someone who doesn’t look at your phone first thing in the morning, you can use a simple journal instead. Keep a small notebook or journal right on your nightstand, your desk, or wherever your eyes naturally land when you wake up. Before sleeping, write your habits or intentions for the next day on the first page you will see when you open it. This way, whether you are a phone-checker or a journal-lover, you are creating a natural path for your brain to reconnect with your goals that would be like a reminder waiting for you every morning.

੭ 🗒️ ۪ ⊹ it’s okay to fall

Please don’t let people on the internet make you feel bad if you slip during this challenge or while building any habit. If you don’t feel okay one day, that’s normal please don’t be sad. NOBODY like nobody is watching you, nobody cares, just come back the next day and start counting your seven days again. This is so normal. I swear to God, it’s NORMAL . I don’t know why people make it seem like if you fall off for a day or two or even weeks , you’ve ruined everything. Like if you missed two days of exercise, or didn’t study, or didn’t do your skincare, suddenly you’re not worthy anymore, or you’re not going to be like the person you see online. That’s not true. Please don’t compare yourself to anyone you see on the internet. Even the people who post their perfect routines they mess up too. Some show it, but most of them don’t. You’re only seeing a small part of their story.

So please, never feel bad for slipping. If you fall off track, just come back the next day. It’s completely human. Bro, you’re human. Nobody’s judging you. If you feel ready the next day, go back to your habits. If you don’t feel ready, that’s okay too. Just don’t stay stuck in burnout forever. Don’t think, “I’ll rest until the burnout ends,” because usually, if you wait too long, the burnout only gets heavier (by experience) . If you feel like you’ve been stuck for days, it’s okay but please, get up gently. Go take a shower. Clean your space a little. Go outside for a walk. Then slowly come back to your habits, your intentions, your small actions the ones that make you feel like yourself again. Your body, your mind, your energy they will start to come back, even if it’s little by little ! trust yourself alwaays 🍀

@bloomzone

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himasgod · 2 days ago

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Hello! Can I ask the voracious Sebek? Something like, "I can't feed my boyfriend. I think he's about to eat our whole house and me too" (he is a crocodile after all 😂) If I may, the reader is Lilia's daughter and complained to him.

SEBEK X READER

Where Sebek is voracious

Where you complain to your father about your boyfriend's insatiable appetite

You slam the dorm pantry shut with the force of a woman on the brink of a breakdown.

“Lilia!” you call across the Diasomnia, tone shrill and desperate.

“I think Sebek’s about to eat the entire dorm. And possibly me. Help.”

Your tiny bat-like father pokes his head out from the hallway, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh dear. Is my future son-in-law going feral again?”

You stare blankly at him.

“He ate three packs of curry puffs, five steamed buns, a whole roast chicken and then looked at me like I was dessert.”

From behind you, the unmistakable sound of stomping boots shakes the floor, followed by a deep growl that is far too reptilian.

“Dear…!” Sebek’s voice rumbles as he enters the room, eyes wild and glowing faintly with hunger. “Did you… make more food? I can smell something—!”

“I didn’t even cook yet!” you scream, holding up a frying pan like a shield.

“You already ate all the rice, the leftovers, and Silver’s emergency snacks!”

“They were not clearly labeled!”

“They had his face drawn on them!”

Sebek puffs up his chest, indignant.

“A mighty warrior cannot be bound by mortal snacks when his metabolism requires fuel! My strength must be maintained to guard Lord Malleus! And you!”

“I appreciate the chivalry,” you deadpan, backing away slowly, “but if you eat one more cabinet I’m locking you in the forest with some jerky and a prayer.”

“Child, you do realize crocodiles eat like once a week in the wild, right?” Lilia says with a snicker, floating beside you with a cup of tea he clearly has no intention of sharing.

“Not this crocodile!” you hiss.

Sebek suddenly scoops you up like a prize, holding you close. His eyes narrow as he dramatically sniffs your hair.

“...You smell like sweet potatoes.”

“I’m made of 60% blood and 40% trauma, Sebek, I assure you I am not food.”

He pauses. “You also smell like garlic butter.”

“STOP THAT.”

Lilia giggles behind his cup. “

Ah, young love. So precious. So edible.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted x reader #twst x reader #sebek x reader #sebek x yuu #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland scenario #twisted one shot

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theoretically-questionable · 10 hours ago

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I've often found myself confused by people who use LLMs for tasks that involve communication, even in an office or other setting where a non-trivial portion of emails/messages are 'box-checking' rather than strictly interpersonally communicative.

Having thought it over, I think the difference in attitudes is probably akin to the split between people who value small talk and people who regard it, with extreme distaste, as "pointless and annoying": i.e., there is something the former is getting out of small talk that the latter group is not.

This is mostly just a rambling tangent, but oh well.

I like communicating and I do so with intent. I've heard the sentiment from some other autistic people that they'd love to have an 'autoresponder'-style module for their brain to automate away layers of necessary-but-draining/pointless conversation. Never been able to relate, in significant part because doing so would give people communicating with said autoresponder the entirely wrong impression about how I was feeling.

The purpose to communication is to transmit information from one person to another. There are so many layers to this information — something I have definitely struggled with, as an autistic person. Some of those layers were totally opaque to me for a long time. Hell, sometimes I didn't even know some layers existed.

In a collaborative environment, even rote/'pointless' communication rituals have a huge density of information. That is the point. It is important. If Joe Bloggs over in HR replies to my routine email confirming details for this week's parking garage allotments in a more abrupt way than usual, or slower than usual, that's contextual information.

Maybe I'll pick up that he's probably got a lot on his plate or feeling stressed. Maybe that's not relevant. Maybe I need someone from HR to do something later that day, and then I can either loop in someone else from the department or just know to approach Joe tactfully, rather than just passing the task along as I usually would.

When people start using LLMs to write emails, summarize meetings, and 'touch up' all of their work, all of that context turns to unparseable sludge. It's entirely random. You can't "get used to" how someone writes and learn to pick up context clues when everything longer than a single-sentence reply is being filtered through an LLM.

It genuinely ends up being a bit of a nightmare for me, having absolutely no access to any kind of context, just taking a ride down a river of vaguely polite- and professional-sounding drivel, all without even the barest grace of useful context. It just... makes things worse. It becomes a self-perpetuating loop with no eject button.

If it's really easy for everyone to maintain the 'professionalspeak' facade, nobody ever has times when they break the facade. And *breaking the facade* is important. Being able to shape the communication norms of your department/company over time is... I mean, I think it's essential? Willingly choosing "we all communicate via LLM" seems horrifying, like not just acquiescing to but actively reinforcing the worst parts of corporate expectations of overly sanitized communication standards handed down from your manager's manager.

And yeah, some of my feelings on the matter are definitely my own baggage, but it feels just as frustrating as having to work with someone who actively scorns 'small talk' and deliberately makes every single communication as stripped-down as possible — and ends up being less efficient overall, not more, because what they're actually doing is refusing to engage with their colleagues or make sure they're getting all the right information across.

The other thing is that LLMs don't actually, by default, have access to all the information you do. If you want to get specific information across in the output, you have to give it to the LLM first. I've never hit a scenario where I would have preferred an LLM-generated email instead of. like. just the bullet-point list of information that was used when prompting it.

If you're time-poor and easily frustrated by communication tedium, I would rather *know that*, and know for sure that none of the information you're giving me has been twiddled accidentally to be slightly wrong by a context-free LLM, than get 'professionally formatted' emails from you all the time.

the scariest thing about the generative AI thing is how quickly people have accepted it as an indefinite, irrevocable part of their reality. people have genuinely convinced themselves that ChatGPT is the only solution to most tasks - tasks they did with their own brain without any large effort two years ago. like you know damn well all of us used to write emails ourselves why are we pretending like this is an impossible task to do with your own two hands. what's with the fucking. AI revisionism. i feel like i am going insane.

#not that i do office work at the moment #but i'm always baffled at people who are so happy to hand away chunks of their communication with others #like that's The Thing we do. is that not horribly isolating. why are you choosing this option out of all the ones within reach

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