#the context is his ass is being SILLY

[kirexa]

The thing about me reading fanfiction is everything is quiet except for the washing machine and I'll just say "Cater" in a normal tone totally unprompted while I'm. Alone. In the living room.

[dontfindmeimscared]

ouch

[telesodalite]

Never getting over Fulcrum being a project manager...

Idk why, but something about that is so funny to me. Not just because the title of "project manager" is inherently kinda funny for a Decepticon, but also because-

1. It's vague sounding and hard to explain irl because it technically exists in multiple fields, like healthcare or manufacturing, which surely translates into canon in some way.

2. In canon, it's simultaneously a really mundane, innocuous sounding job, yet it's also a super morally awful position to reside over depending on the context. (*cough* forced colonization and cyberforming *cough*)

And 3. It solidifies the fact that behind all the surface level militaristic work we get with both the Decepticons and Autobots, there's also Cons and Bots with "normal" jobs in both factions.

Like, sure yeah we get scientists and doctors, engineers and programmers, but usually in big important or warfront positions. (For plot reasons, understandably.) But it's also really funny and interesting to think of those that worked background positions, or minor jobs.

Like an Autobot working in their equivalent of an HR department, or a Decepticon who runs one of their outpost's or starship's kitchens.

Just all the pre-war jobs that didn't just disappear with the war, but instead evolved to exist within the factions.

It's particularly funny with the Decepticons though, because it could be a super mundane job or situation, but because it's them, it has to have an air of ~e v i l~ to it, either legitimately and/or merely for the vibes, like Tarn's "performance reviews".

[florshedworf]

to everyone who says that cobs is being nice: im glad you had a good childhood 👍

[cherrysnax]

autisming but my biggest pet peeve abt Batman is when someone who only ever consumed fanon is like “why doesn’t Bruce do *insert thing that he’s done since nearly his conception*

[todayisafridaynight]

sorry i still think that Phone Sex But Not But There's A Phone And Mine's Being Unhinged minedai fic's cinema. in text form.

[neoanedotheart]

Lazy thing i wanted to do!!! they're just silly :3

I think dave is a pretty princess and John is awkward

I'll be yapping below

I believe that Dave texts John right after he gets his ass handed to him DAILY. It usually plays out like this where they banter and Dave never really goes through the extent of explaining what thoroughly happens to him so John lives in forever ignorant bliss. And this leads Dave to feel like there's more of disconnect because he first of all doesn't really know how to articulate his feelings and second abuse doesn't seem like abuse to the victim. So he goes about everyday unknowingly yearning to be saved by someone greater than him, which is why I put the snow white reference at the end hehe.

Snow white as a fairy tale is extremely cliche, you got the prince in shining armor showing up conveniently on a horse and saving the girl. There's always this hierarchy placed upon the story where the damsel in distress is saved by a man, that man being portrayed as a greater being.

And with John taking place as the prince in this context paints him as this greater being. And I feel like a part of Dave envies and despises John for being this way, for being "perfect" or in a way. Greater than him.

The thing is in the original snow white story she's unconscious, that's undesirable. But it adds to the desperation of wanting to be saved, shining a better looking light on a person who isn't really there for reasons you want them to be. However John is a sincere person, it's more so the lack of communication or true understanding of one another that leads to this rift, this belief that John isn't there for Dave because he loves him, but because he's his friend and it's John's duty as a friend to save him. Which also brings me to the last line where Dave never corrects himself, and how he insinuates that he'll be unconscious due to being placed in a glass coffin much like snow white was when she was poisoned. He's at this stage where he doesn't want to be saved by an outer source, a greater person than him. He wants to be saved by himself he wants to prove worthy, but then conflicting within his mind is also this idea he isn't good enough to. We all know that Dave believes he isn't a hero and explicitly states John is the hero multiple times throughout homestuck. So he stays waiting.

John however, refers to Dave as Cinderella, Cinderella gets abused and put through plenty of torture from her step sisters and is saved through marriage of some person she just met. There's still this base line of being saved by man however there's this more mutual understanding of what they're getting into, a similar yearn for one another. Though he never caught her name he was still willing to find her, the real her. Which is John in this case, he probably understands he's missing something in the big picture but can never find out what and the best he can do is hope that the other half still held on to what they once were and was willing to share.

This is a pre-sburb interaction btw they're just unknowingly foreshadowing a shit ton.

Sorry if there's like bad shitty writing in here, I'm rambling and it's like almost midnight hehe

[kunaskitten]

Roommate from Hell (roommate!sukuna x reader) [college au]

> Warnings: 18+, smut, College AU, somnophilia mentioned, fingering, sukuna makes reader clean his fingers, choking, creampie, dom-kuna/sub-reader, nothing crazy just typical sukuna behavior, it's short and rushed, there is context but it's lazy, horny ass writing, uuhhh yeah, sukuna is an asshole but what's new? reader is the shy and easily flustered type, but she's also naughty. if I forgot any lmk

> Word Count: 3.8k

> A/N: Uhhh I'm so down bad for this man. This is something I just quickly threw together ...and yes I kicked my feet the whole time you can shut up now. I'M OVULATING OKAY!? Also this is my first time ever writing smut or any fanfic for that matter so if it sucks oop- Not my art; couldn't find credits- I'm sorry!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being Sukuna’s roommate was a nightmare.

Not in the typical “he leaves dishes in the sink” way. No, that would’ve been way too easy. Ryomen Sukuna was an entirely different kind of problem, the kind that came with a towering frame, a voice like sin, and a cocky smirk that made your stomach have those stupid butterflies in a way you’d rather not acknowledge.

He was your own personal tormentor, hell-bent on getting under your skin. And, to his credit, he was damn good at it.

It started off small: stolen food, flicking your forehead when you ignored him, ruffling your hair just to piss you off. Then it escalated. Coming up behind you while you were making coffee, his chest pressing against your back. Making lewd comments just to watch you get flustered. Walking around shirtless, knowing full well you’d glance, against your own will, before tearing your eyes away.

And when that didn’t get the reaction he wanted?

He started touching your stuff.

He’d rifle through your books, pretend to read them, then get bored and leave them open to random pages. He’d steal your pens. Your hair ties. One time he stole your tube top and wore it as a headband. Like, you can't make this shit up.

You swore up and down that you hated him.

But that wasn't really the truth, was it? Because in reality, you liked his silly antics, in a way that wasn't quite healthy.

And that's what you actually hated.

You tried to be strong, to fight it. To roll your eyes and shove him off, to pretend you were immune to his bullshit. But late at night, when you were alone in your room, the thoughts would creep in. His hands. His mouth. His voice.

You’d tell yourself it was just frustration, that it would pass. That he was just a stupid frat boy, not someone you actually wanted.

But then you started writing about him.

It was meant to be a way to vent. Or just to stop yourself from being shameless enough to masturbate to the thought of him. To get the thoughts out of your head and onto paper where they couldn’t haunt you. But what started as frustration quickly turned into confession.

Page after page, you spilled out every filthy thought, every desire you refused to admit out loud. The way you wanted him to ruin you. The way you wanted to stop resisting. The way you wanted to wake up with him already inside you, stretching you open before you even had the chance to tell him no.

That had been your life for the past few months, but now? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's like any other night, and now Sukuna was standing in your bedroom, surmising what his next ploy would be.

You were dead asleep on your bed, having been exhausted from your studies that day. He’d crept in like he had a dozen times before, purely to fuck with you. He never stole anything important. He would just rearranged your books, unplugged your phone charger, flipped your alarm clock upside down. Just enough to annoy you, to make you storm into the living room the next morning with fire in your eyes, ready to cuss him out. He lived for that look, for the way you spat his name like a curse, for the challenge that simmered beneath your irritation.

Tonight was no different.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the room for his next crime. Maybe he’d hide your laptop charger. Or dump your neatly folded laundry onto the floor.

Then his eyes locked onto something near your nightstand. A book? No, a journal.

Sukuna knew he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But you had made it too easy, leaving it right there, tempting him. If you truly didn’t want him snooping, you would’ve locked it up somewhere, right? He walked over to the nightstand slowly, careful not to wake you.

The first page was harmless; just scribbled thoughts, a few mundane entries. Boring. He nearly tossed it aside, more than eager to get back to his antics.

Then he saw his own name.

Right there, inked onto the page in your familiar handwriting, mere inches from where you lay sleeping.

Sukuna’s smirk twitched, curiosity sparking. His fingers tightened around the worn edges of the journal as he flipped the page. Then another. And another.

The more he read, the more his grin faded.

He expected to find complaints. Stuff like, 'Fucking Sukuna won’t leave me alone. I hate him. He’s such an asshole.'

But instead—

'I think about him too much.'

His breath slowed. His eyes flicked toward you.

You were still, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep. Completely unaware of the way he stood looming over you, flipping through your darkest, filthiest thoughts.

He turned another page.

'I don’t want to want him, but I do.'

Another.

'I want him to pin me down. Hold me there. Make me take it.'

Sukuna went still for a moment.

A slow heat coiled in his gut, sharp and electric. He let out a quiet exhale, gripping the edges of the journal just a little too tight. Fuck.

He had spent months toying with you, always testing, always pushing, waiting for the moment you’d finally snap. But this? Resisting something you desperately wanted.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and unhurried.

Your delicate, exposed throat. The way your body curled slightly into yourself, vulnerable, unaware. The rise and fall of your chest beneath your thin sleep shirt.

His lips curled into something darker. You had been fighting a losing battle this entire time.

Sukuna closed the journal, exhaling a quiet chuckle with a manical grin. "Let's see how you look when confronted with this..." He mutters to himself.

Sukuna walks over to the door of your bedroom, journal in hand, and he closes it shut, pretty damn hard. Hard enough to wake you.

You wake up immediately to the sound of your door slamming, the soft lock clicking after, and you sit up instantly. As your eyes flutter open, you catch the silhouette of a man standing at the foot of your bed.

Your insufferable, cocky, completely unpredictable roommate Sukuna.

Your stomach tightens as you register the way he’s holding something... your journal. His lips are curled into a lazy smirk, fingers thumbing through the pages with blatant amusement.

“Didn’t take you for the kinky type, sweetheart,” he drawls, flipping a page. “And yet… look at all these filthy little confessions.” His eyes gleam in the dim light as they flick up to yours, predatory and unreadable.

Your heart stammers in your chest. “What the fuck, Sukuna?” you snap, scrambling to grab the journal from him but he pulls back.

He merely tilts his head, unimpressed by your flustered reaction. “Tsk. Don’t act all shy now. You wrote this for someone to read, didn’t you?” He steps closer, the air between you thick with his presence. “Or were you hoping I’d find it?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat as he reads aloud, voice dipping into a mocking purr:

“‘It would be a dream come true to wake up with him sinking inside of me…’”

Your breath catches, shame burning through you like wildfire. “You’re an asshole,” you hiss, lunging to snatch the journal from his hands.

But he’s faster.

Sukuna grabs your wrist, yanking you forward with effortless strength until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He leans down, lips grazing your ear as he hums, “I’d say you have two options, princess.” His grip tightens, just enough to remind you of how easily he could overpower you.

“One… you can keep pretending you don’t want this.” His free hand skims up your thigh, pushing the blanket away as his breath fans against your neck. “Or two…” He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, dark and glinting with something sinister.

“…You can let me make that these little dreams of yours come true.”

His lips hover over yours, waiting, taunting. Daring you to make the choice.

And fuck—your body is already betraying you. You're so turned on it must be unfair.

You shudder as his grip tightens around your wrist, his body heat pressing into you, suffocating in the best way. Your heart pounds as you meet his gaze. He’s waiting, daring you to push him away, but you don’t. You can’t.

"S-Sukuna I-" You're unable to finish as he harshly grabs your cheeks, squeezing your face a bit, enjoying the sight of a bright red, blushing idiot.

He laughs amused. "You gonna choose or what?" He says smugly, knowing full well you're already unraveling for him. Your face is on fire and the heat pooling within you is too much to handle. You'd never give into his antics so much, but under these circumstances, within his grasp, the last thing in your mind is denying him.

"I-I want the fantasies t-to come true..." You shut your eyes tight after admitting this, unable to look at him after saying such an embarrassing thing.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The journal slips from his fingers, landing forgotten on the floor as he shoves you back onto the bed, the motion jolting your breath but leaving no time to protest. Sukuna is on you before you can even think, moving with the deliberate, unhurried confidence of a predator that already knows its prey won’t run.

The weight of him pins you down, broad and unyielding, caging you beneath him. It’s suffocating in the best way, stealing the breath from your lungs, making your head spin. You’ve imagined this—god, you’ve imagined this, but reality is something else entirely. The way his body presses against yours, the solid warmth of him, the intoxicating scent of his skin—cologne, smoke, something darker, something undeniably him and full of sin.

“You wanted to wake up with me inside you?” His voice is a lazy murmur, the barest hint of amusement lacing his words as his fingers ghost down your body, tracing over the fabric of your shirt, barely touching, just enough to make you need. “Should’ve told me sooner, sweetheart.” His breath is hot against your ear. “Would’ve made it happen every night.”

A shiver rolls through you. You can’t tell if it’s from his touch or the weight of his words... every night... As if he has no intention of this being a one-time thing.

His mouth finds your throat, his teeth scraping against sensitive skin before he bites. Not gentle, not careful. You gasp, pleasure sharp and electric, the sting of it sending heat pooling low in your stomach. He chuckles against your neck, pleased, his tongue flicking over the fresh mark, soothing what he just ruined.

“You’re already so easy,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin as his hand slides under your shirt, his palm rough, calloused, searing against the softness of your stomach and moving up slowly and teasingly to your breasts. “Didn’t even have to try, did I?”

A flame within you still wants to fight him, to not surrender so easily, but what’s the point when your body is already betraying you? When you’re already arching into his touch, already gasping at the feeling of his fingers dragging lower, teasing, tormenting?

Sukuna shifts down, dragging the blanket off you completely, exposing you to the cool air, and to him. His gaze is molten, hungry, as his fingers skim down your stomach, inching lower, pressing between your thighs.

A pleased growl rumbles in his chest. “Fuck.” His fingers stroke once, testing, and he exhales a quiet chuckle. “Soaked just from me reading your little fantasies out loud?” His tone is mocking, but beneath it is something else, something darker, satisfaction, possession. “You’re filthier than I thought.”

You whimper, hips shifting, desperate for more than just his teasing touch. The tension is unbearable, the fire in your veins turning molten, burning for something only he can give. You grab at his shoulders, nails digging in, frustration boiling over. “Sukuna—”

“Say it.” His voice is firm, a command rather than a request. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and expectant. “Tell me you want it.”

The words catch in your throat, not from embarrassment, but from sheer need. Because he knows. He knows you’re already too far gone, already wound too tight, already at the mercy of whatever he decides to give you.

Your pride wants to fight it. But your body is already surrendering.

Your breath shudders as you exhale, the last of your resistance slipping away. “I want it.”

Sukuna’s grin turns sharp, feral. “That’s my girl.”

He rewards your honesty by pushing two fingers deep within your throbbing cunt. Your moans are already lewd and embarrassing and this is just the start.

His pace with his hand is maddening as he works on you like he's done this for over a thousand years. The pressure building up within you is already immense.

He pulls his fingers out suddenly, forcing them into your mouth, making you taste. As soon as he orders it you're obediently sucking all your lewd juices off of him. He finds it cute the way you're submitting to him so soon.

Suddenly, his hands are on you again, gripping, claiming. The fabric of your shirt bunches in his fists before he tears it upward, dragging it over your head in one swift motion. His gaze drops, raking over your newly exposed skin, and something dark and hungry flares in his eyes.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Look at you.” His fingers trace the lines of your body, slow, possessive, making you shiver beneath his touch. “Been hiding this from me all this time?”

Heat sears your cheeks, but before you can retort, his mouth is on you. Hot, demanding, teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your collarbone before his tongue soothes the sting. His lips trail lower, claiming more of you, sucking new bruises into your skin, marking you as his.

His hands move with ruthless efficiency, unclasping, unzipping, removing layers of clothing vanishing between gasps and stolen breaths. Every inch of exposed skin is met with his touch, his mouth, his teeth, until you’re left bare beneath him, your body trembling with anticipation.

You should feel vulnerable like this laid out under his gaze, utterly exposed, but the way he looks at you? Like he owns you already? It only sets you on fire.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, as his hands roam, fingers digging into your hips, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin. His voice is lower now, rougher. “You’re perfect.”

Your breath catches, but Sukuna doesn’t give you a moment to recover. His lips crash against yours. Hard, devouring, leaving no space for air, no space for thought. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth the same way he’s claimed the rest of you, making you feel just how much he wants this.

One of his hands slides lower again, teasing over your thigh before gripping it, yanking your legs open so he can settle between them. His fingers toying with your soaked clit, it's not enough for you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your hips arching up in silent demand.

He chuckles against your mouth, breaking the kiss to murmur, “Impatient, aren’t we?”

You glare, but the effect is ruined by the way you whimper when he presses his knee between your thighs, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane.

“Fuck you,” you manage, breathless.

“Oh, I intend to.” His smirk is pure sin, and then his fingers are back on you, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him. His voice drops to a low, taunting whisper. “But I like watching you squirm first.”

And god, he does exactly that. He doesn't let up on your clit, flicking and pinching your sensitive bud in a way that makes you shamefully moan into his mouth. His mouth finds your throat again, trailing lower, his tongue flicking over your pulse before he bites, harder than before. You’re a mess beneath him, every nerve alight, every teasing brush of his skin against yours making it harder to think, harder to breathe.

“Shit,” he mutters, as if the feeling of you slick and desperate around his fingers is enough to test even his patience. His other hand tightens on your thigh. “You’re so fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, rocking against his hand, your body begging, pleading.

And then he’s shifting, positioning himself against you, his weight pressing down, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

A smirk curls at his lips as he watches your expression—the anticipation in your eyes, the way your breath hitches, but then he pauses. Not to tease, not to be cruel, but to strip away the last barrier between you.

He takes his shirt off in an effortless motion and then his fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down with an unbearable slowness, the fabric slipping past his hips, down thick, muscular thighs, until he’s finally bare before you.

And god you think he’s perfect. Cause, I mean, he is.

The room feels impossibly hot as your gaze rakes over him, over the sharp ridges of his abs, the inked patterns that stretch across his skin, bold and carnal. The tattoos that you’ve seen glimpses of before, from his moments of teasing you while shirtless, are now on full display, and they only make him look more dangerous. More like something you were never meant to touch, but desperately want to.

Your eyes dip lower, and- fuck.

A shiver runs through you at the sheer size of his cock, thick and intimidating. The breath catches in your throat, thighs instinctively pressing together, but Sukuna notices. Of course he does.

His smirk turns downright sinful. “What’s the matter, princess?” He leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, reveling in the way your body reacts, the way you squirm beneath him. “Having second thoughts?”

You shake your head, barely able to form words, because no, this is exactly what you want, what you’ve wanted for so long it hurts.

That’s all he needs.

Without warning, he aligns himself with you. You can feel the tip pushing teasingly against your needy pussy. You're impatient, but feeling how massive he is against your tight hole makes you second guess again. "W-Wait 'Kuna-AAH!" You choke on your words as he starts pressing inside, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

A strangled moan rips from your throat, your fingers digging into his back, your body aching from how deep he is. Your face bright red and eyes starting to water, you beg for mercy.

"'Kuna f-fuck ss'too much!" You whine against him.

Sukuna groans, his head dropping for a fleeting second. “Fuck-” His voice is rough, strained, as if even he wasn’t expecting you to feel this good.

He pulls back slightly, just to thrust in deeper, forcing a whimper from your lips.

“Been thinking about this, haven’t you?” His voice is a low murmur against your ear, his pace slow, torturous, drawing out every sensation. “Fantasizing about me fucking you like this while you lay here, pretending to hate me?”

You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but Sukuna isn’t having that. "Aww don't wanna talk? That's okay." You think for a moment you'll catch a break from him, that he'll slow the pace a little, but you're so wrong. Oh so wrong.

"Guess I'll just—have to—make you—talk—" He says between thrusts, bottoming out into you each time, and oh does it work. You're practically screaming his name now. "Ah, mmph! Ah-! Su-ukuna f-fuck umph- ah!" Your desperate moans are music to his ears. He grins devilishly as he enjoys every moment of you like this.

As you try to suppress your moans out of embarrassment, Sukuna's eyes flicker with a cruel look.

His fingers wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a silent reminder of his control. His thumb drags over the delicate line of your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burn into you, daring, demanding.

“Don’t think you can hide your sounds from me.” His grip tightens, just enough to make your pulse race, just enough to make your breath hitch in anticipation. “Do you really want this?”

Your head tilts back, surrendering. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

His smirk is pure satisfaction. “Good girl.”

And with that he ruins you.

His pace turns brutal, merciless, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, forcing broken moans from your lips. His name spills from you in gasps, in desperate, helpless cries, and he devours every sound, every reaction, like they were made just for him.

“You take me so fucking well,” he groans, his teeth grazing your jaw before biting down again, claiming you in every way possible. “Just like you wanted, huh? Just like you wrote in that filthy little diary.”

Your mind is unraveling, your body helpless against the overwhelming pleasure. His cock slamming into you relentlessly makes your head feel dizzy. You swear you can feel the tip bullying your cervix. It’s too much, too good, too consuming, winding you tighter and tighter until you’re on the verge of shattering.

"'K-Kuna please-"

Sukuna feels it. Senses it. His smirk deepens, sharp and knowing.

“Come on, princess,” he rasps, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing just the right way on your clit as he continues to rut into you. “Cum for me.”

And you do. Would you really disobey him now?

The pleasure crashes over you in violent, blinding waves, your entire body tensing, trembling beneath him. A cry tears from your throat, your vision going white, your nails digging into his skin as you fall apart.

Sukuna doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, making sure you feel every second of your unraveling. And when he finally follows, burying his cock deep within your poor aching cunt as he groans into your neck. The warmth of him flooding you only makes the pleasure linger, dizzying and all-consuming.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy rhythm of your breaths. You cling to him lazily, your mind and body still in a whirlwind from moments before. Then Sukuna chuckles, low and satisfied, his lips tracing lazy, possessive kisses over your shoulder.

“Guess I should sneak into your room more often,” he muses.

You groan, too spent to shove him off. “You're still an asshole 'Kuna”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw, smug as ever.

“And you love it.”

[oh-no-its-bird]

It is simply an undeniable, inevitable fact of life that if you are placed on the same team as Hatake Kakashi; you will eventually get some form of crush on him.

For the lucky ones, it only lasts a few minutes before they remember themselves (and their standards.) For the unluckier ones, it can go on for much, much longer than that.

Anyways the point of this is: Team Ro individually crushing on Kakashi as they grow up. I think it's fun to think about

Itachi got it the worst, 12 years old and given this untouchable authority figure somewhat within his age range. A safe space among the ANBU, another baby genius who gets it— gets the pressure, gets being different, even gets being looked at with suspicion (for Itachi, as an Uchiha. For Kakashi, as the White Fang's son and Friend Killer Kakashi)

Luckily enough for him, this crush only lasted like a month. Or at least it only got that far before he learned how to hide it better (and, of course, he then had bigger things to think about than a silly childhood crush)

Shisui was certainly the loudest about his, with the passive sort of on and off crush you'd expect a 15 year old kid to get on his cool senior. He's not exactly good at hiding it, and honestly possibly doesn't espexially care to. It's embaressing but also, have you seen Kakashi in action? Shisui won't apologize for his tastes!

Shisui is the kind of guy to have a few different crushes in a few different people at a time— maybe if one of them actually looked back at him, he'd form a genuine crush but till then he's just kinda looking respectfully and sighing wistfully about how cool and strong they are

Tenzo certainly got it the worst, rocking a years long crush on his personal hero that's only managed to fade a little in recent years as an adult (usually when he's faced with Kakashi being a deliberate bastard in his general direction)

But like. Kakashi being his personal hero, an untouchable figure when he's a kid that slowly grows into a real home and safe space/person— feeling more and more real to Tenzo with each passing year

Tbh, specifically Itachi having a crush on Kakashi as a kid is the funniest thing to me. It's not reciprocated to be clear, Itachi was like 11 when Kakashi was like 17 and it was a silly, kiddie, puppy crush of "my captain is so cool..." where Itachi himself probably didn't even have the full context for what he was feeling.

But like, specifically from the angle of them both in their 20's and Sasuke learning that, as a kid, his awful evil genocidal brother had a crush on... HIS teacher????!?!?? What the FUCK.

Funniest thing in the world. Kakashi is 2 for 3 of the living Uchiha's having a childhood crush on him and that's beautiful to me. You go king!

Anyways actually, idea for the WORST conversation ever (aka the funniest thing:)

Tenzo for some reason being a temporary prisoner of the Akatsuki, and Itachi standing guard. And Itachi very awkwardly asks about Kakashi. And what proceeds is the most painful

"...do you still have a crush on him?"

"No. (yes) Do you?"

"No. (Yes.)"

-type conversation EVER. Tenzo can not believe this bastards balls actually. Get the FUCK away from his senpai.

Actually: horrible alternative, that exact situation but with Sasuke. Itachi has him captured and, very much not wanting to talk about the elephant in the room, blurts out the first thing he can think about: How is Kakashi doing?

Sasuke, who hasn't interacted w Kakashi since declaring he wanted to kill him: ?????

Sasuke is coming out of this conversation going "god fucking dammit Itachi is EVERYONE more important to you than me !?!??"

Later Sasuke runs into Kakashi and screams something about hating him and that hoping Itachi's nasty ass crush on him means Itachi will kill him next so Sasuke doesn't have to dirty his own hands

Kakashi, who was completley unaware that Itachi had ever had a crush on him and is not enjoying this new knowledge: ????

Tenzo who already knew and is somehow enjoying this knowledge even less than Kakashi is: ...

In general tbh I wish we'd gotten more team Ro interactions as adults, I think there's so much potential there. Tenzo, Kakashi and Itachi were around eachother for what was arguably some of the most vulnerable times of their lives, for multiple years. That must have left some sort of mark ??

And I mean, we so get to see the lasting impact via Tenzo and Kakashi's friendship but come on!!! How does Itachi play into that equasion!! I know he has to somehow!

Anyways yeah: Kakashi following in his dads sexyman footsteps without even realizing it,,, it delights me to think about.

[heartsforsav]

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 NECTAR OF THE GODS . . . ! ۶ৎ ⠀ᰋ

𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧 & 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 grayson x cowgirl!reader

cw. . . fluff! (and brief mention of mark getting hard. sorry not sorry.)

synopsis. . . how mark and nolan act when they have a pretty!country thing by their side !

notes . . . my first post!! i couldve added more butttt oh well.

NOLAN GRAYSON

nolan has had plenty of partners in his lifetime. he likes to mix it up, having partners that are similar can be so boring… and when he sees you, clad in your little scuffed cowgirl boots with dainty ribbons hangin’ off the side, he grins.

you are sure as heck pretty, and sure as heck somethin’ he hasn’t experienced before!

he’s got to get to know you.

he doesn’t understand how accents work. especially one so … country. that honey dripped, sweet western accent of yours has him confused.

the silly little metaphors fallin’ from your mouth? has him in a whirlwind. the fuck does “save a horse, ride a cowgirl” mean? is that a thing?

a lot of the time, he doesn’t quite get what you’re trying to say to him, but the look on your cute face just has him going along with it. he’ll figure out what you meant eventually.

you’ve never met a man so intimidating before. big and burly build, salt ‘n pepper hair. what a dilf! he’s definitely like.. double your age (little did you know, he’s 2,000 years old) but you find it endearing, in a way.

once the two of you start dating, it’s sweet. he hasn’t had a relationship like this one before. it’s new, it’s fun.

you teach him new things, new phrases that he never says in the right context, and it doesn’t quite flow of the tongue like yours does. but he’s trying!

one time you even dressed him like a true cowboy. clad in straight jeans, some boots and a cute lil hat!

you pull him in by the jean loop and he’s cheesing. dimpled smile. he definitely does that to you every time you wear jeans around him now. he loves it.

but he doesn’t quite like the hats. they’re big, and weird, and uncomfortable and just a pain! whenever he tries to kiss you, he gets hit in the face with the brim of it. he’ll lift it from your head and throw it across the room like a frisbee.

if you have a farm… omg. cutest thing ever seeing him learn how to take care of your sweet little animals. horses, cattle, maybe even some lamb…cutest thing ever.

he gets used to this life. learns the way of a true country man.

he likes the outfits that come with it. besides those fuck ass hats, he’d never like those. but the small little shorts, the tees, and the pretty lil sundresses.

he’d never dress like that though. never in the thousand more years he’s got left.

honestly… i don’t know how the dynamic would work with his super heroism. i don’t think you’d necessarily like the fact, but it’s got its pros. like the things from all over the world he gets you, oh you love that little deet.

but you miss him too much. you’d spend time with your animals so you don’t seem as lonely, but having him there with you, helping feed the chicken and rowdy up all the animals. it was nice! you’d gotten used to it.

when he gets home, he definitely makes it up to you. makes you forget all about why you were upset in the first place.

MARK GRAYSON

mark probably met you through school or some BS. he doesn’t ever go to the western states… so it’s kinda hard to think of a time where you’d meet besides school.

maybe when he was stopping some big bad villain in your area, and had the pleasure of saving little ole’ you!

then when he saw how pretty the girl he was saving was, he tripped on his own feet.

but then it’d have to be long distance… and boy that would suck. finding time between his home life, school life (before he dropped out of college), being a hero, and traveling to see you. it’d be hard.

sooo maybe it’d be easier if you just went to school together. and he got to see you every day, all dressed up and sticking out like a sore thumb (in the best way possible, he thinks.)

just like nolan, the phrases … uhhh they’d boggle his mind. he thinks they’re silly. hearing it from your mouth just makes sense, as if you took the words right from his mind that he hadn’t yet thought of!

if you were to still have some farm animals he would be the BEST helper!!! seriously, he’s so kind to animals. babying them and smiling all kiddish at them. he helps name them, too. his favorites are probably the lambs since they remind him sooo much of you! can u tell i love lambs or if u had a tiny lil bunny. your twin

when he told his friends about you (more like full on ranted) it was a shock. a western sweetheart in their state? crazy. but they see how mark would like someone like you. as sweet as sugar and as pretty as a flower! william was like “wtf?” when mark started his first outburst about you, confused as to how he even met you, but he gets it when he sees you. definitely someone mark would like, he takes note of.

trying to dress mark like a cowboy would take a lotta convincing. “i dunno, i don’t think i’d look good like that..” “oh, trust me, you would! c’mon, darlin’!” he’s blushing profusely as you top him off with your signature hat. he puts his hands on his face and shakes his head. “this is not my best look.” “nonsense!”

he definitely prefers it on you.

he’s like living his best white picket fence dream with you! with the addition of a whole lotta animals that he didn’t quite expect for him, but he loves it even more

the nicknames have him in a chokehold. they fall off your tongue so easily, so quick, takes him a sec to process it. and when he does he does a little lovestruck cheesy smile.

he loooves the bows! you practically put them on everything (especially his biceps, which makes him sport a chub in his pants) they look so pretty in your styled hair!!

the sundresses are his favorite. taking you on a sweet picnic in some flower filled field, hair curled and makeup done. he packs some strawberries, your favorite, and you bring some iced tea that has way too much sweetener in it than need be. he brings you a bouquet even though you’re surrounded by a plethora of flower buds. the frilly dress you have on with your chestnut brown boots. swooning. drooling. obsessed. loves it.

he just loves to constantly bring you flowers. it’s like, one of his favorite things to do in the whole wide world! seeing your dimpled smile and blushed cheeks! as pretty as a doll.

seeing you do one of those funny mechanical bull rides with a cackling laugh has him achingly hard but that’s a discussion for another day.

he’s def the most likely to have a cowgirl girlfriend. i just envision it for him !

[love-quinn]

— DEGREES OF SEPARATION

summary — they say each person is only six degrees of separation away from any other person. you’ve just dumped patrick and unbeknownst to you, he’s a lot closer to your new boyfriend than six degrees.

warnings — told mostly from patrick's pov, sex is explicitly mentioned (no smut is written), swearing, patrick being a cocky bastard, mentions of male masturbation (in both the contexts of pat and art), implied that patrick does not give head 16+

pairing — art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader (formerly), canon compliant artrick

pronouns — she/her, reader is referred to as a “girlfriend”

word count — 2.7k

note — i have truly the most amount of art donaldson fics in my drafts, i'm slowly getting through and trying to write them all. this was meant to be a silly little thing but i accidentally made it serious my bad. also lowkey reader isn't in this much, also i switch tenses like nobody's business.

Patrick has no idea what it is about you, but he’s starting to hate you a little bit. 

You were nowhere near the first girl he's dated, you weren’t even his longest relationship. Sure, he prefers not to bother himself with actual relationships, he likes the casualty of just hooking up with someone just fine. Having to be a boyfriend requires a lot of mental energy that Patrick typically reserves for tennis and chain smoking.

He didn’t mind putting in the effort when the two of you were together. You were pretty low-maintenance, he’d go up to Stanford every few months anyway, at least when he was dating you he didn’t have to sleep on the floor. He got to see his best friend, play tennis with someone competent, get some ass and all he had to do was call you once every few days. He didn’t even mind it, he liked talking to you.

Then, of course, you’d dumped him and now he was right back where he started.

He had been at your dorm, he’d spent the last few hours with you between his legs and then he’d gotten a text from Art asking if he’d wanted to hang out. Patrick wasn’t exactly going to say no, Art didn’t even really know he was seeing something. That had apparently pissed you off enough that you’d let him go without even making a comment about how you hadn’t had a turn yet. You’d messaged him an hour later telling him that you didn’t want to see him anymore and that you were keeping the half ounce he’d left in your room in his haste to leave.

It was fine. He got to regale Art with stories of the two of you, not bothering to mention that you were the same girl as six months earlier and that you had been the only girl in that time. 

He almost felt like he had to share every detail of the more intimate parts of your relationship with Art. Art wasn’t fucking anyone, at least not with the regularity that Patrick was (even when the two of you were long distance), he was probably getting some sort of a kick out of hearing about it anyway.

Now, four months later, and things have been flipped on their head.

Patrick isn’t adverse to change; if anything, he thrives in the chaos of change. If things are always changing then Patrick always has a way to have the upper hand. He doesn’t quite feel like he has the upper hand anymore.

He’s on Art’s bed, trying to roll himself a cigarette without getting too much tobacco on Art’s sheets. Art’s at practice, he doesn’t even know that Patrick is here, that he’s used the spare key attached to his keyring to get in, but he’s not going to give a shit. The window’s shaky, but Patrick’s able to shove it open. 

When Art comes in, Patrick’s shoved half the shit off his desk to make enough room to perch on it so he can stick his hand out in the air. Art doesn’t even give it a second glance. “I wouldn’t sit there.”

“I’m sure your textbooks will live,” Patrick waves him off. He picked that side because it had the least amount of dust on it.

Art dumps his stuff on the floor, shaking out his duvet from Patrick’s mess. “I didn’t get the chance to…” he struggles to hold back a smirk as he deliberately avoids looking at his friend’s face; he wants to seem as nonchalant as Patrick always does. “Disinfect it.” He settles.

Patrick hops off the desk, scrubbing the backs of his thighs. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Art looks sufficiently pleased with himself. “Okay, you can’t talk. I was in a hurry.”

Patrick was thoroughly enjoying grilling his best friend. “You have a bed right there. You couldn’t do it there?”

Art didn’t say anything. Patrick dropped his cigarette out the open window from laughing so hard. 

It takes less than a week for Patrick to realise that Art has a girlfriend and that the event back in his dorm wasn’t a one time thing. It was to be expected, Art did always have a harder time letting go than Patrick did. Patrick doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Art is shutting down the unasked question they’re both thinking; no, you cannot meet her.

It doesn’t matter that Art’s hiding you from him though, because he posts about you constantly. Patrick doesn’t use FaceBook a whole lot, and neither did Art really. But Art decides that there’s something about you that decides he needs to take photos of you.  He even considers buying a fancy digital camera but he doesn’t quite have a hundred bucks to drop on one. He settles for his phone camera, which takes blurry but glowing pictures of you in any scenario you let him; photos of you hunched over a spiral notebook with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, of you mid-sip with a smoothie in your hand. Then, as part of Art’s cover photo, a photo of you in a sundress that would’ve undoubtedly had Patrick excusing himself multiple times to the closest bathroom if he’d had the pleasure of seeing it in person. 

Patrick’s scrolling absent-mindedly as he stands outside of Art’s lecture hall when he first sees it. There’s an entire folder on his Facebook dedicated just to you, and he spends the remaining forty minutes of Art’s lecture going through each and every one.

Art finally comes down the stairs and sees Patrick, head between his knees on a metal bench trying to avoid the glare from the sun. “We going?”

Patrick looks up so fast he hears something in his neck align itself. “Yeah.” They had plans to hit the court after Art’s last class. “Just let me go piss first.” Patrick shoves his phone in his pocket and ducks off to the nearest bathroom.

While he’s in there, Art decides to give you a call. He apologised profusely when he brought up Patrick’s arrival earlier in the week. His nose had found your jawline and he’d kissed along the sharp line. “My friend’s coming to visit, I never see him, so I’m probably gonna spend the week with him if that’s okay?”

You’d nodded, palm of your hand on the top of his head, twirling a select few of his curls around your fingers. “Of course, honey.”

He’d pressed a kiss right under your jawline. “Jus’ don’t want you to think I’m trying to leave you for him.”

You hummed and he felt it deep in his chest. “I appreciate that,” you said honestly. Your mind flashed back to texts from Patrick; sorry, not coming. going out. tomorrow? It had honestly been easier to get ahold of Patrick when he wasn’t on your college campus. “You have your own life, though. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Art looked up at you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not worried,” he corrected gently. “Just thinking of you. Want to make sure we���re on the same page. He’s really important to me but also…” he trailed off.  “He’s my best friend. He’s also a massive asshole. So, I guess I wanted to kind of just… lay it out there,” he laughed. That was the thing about Art. Things that were weighing heavily on his chest would sometimes bubble up with so much force they would bring something else with them. Most of the time, it was laughter. “That I don’t want him to ruin the way you think of me, so I am going to be spending most of this week keeping him away from you.”

You’d laughed at the time and then leaned down and let him kiss you. You’d let him do more than that, too, but then you’d had to run to make it to your afternoon lecture on time. 

You don’t answer but he does get a text a few minutes later, got an essay, want to get a head start. love u, which he sends a heart back to. 

When Patrick gets back from the bathroom, he finds Art smiling down at his phone. “That your girlfriend?” he asks, leaning over to try and see Art’s text history. Art pulls his phone away.

“Stop,” he pushes him. 

Patrick blows out a puff of air, bumping into Art as the two of them walk side by side. “I just don’t get why you won’t let me see her,” he says casually, as if he doesn’t have every inch of your body completely memorised. “I want to see what she looks like.”

“I don’t want you picturing her,” Art says. “You’re not allowed to see her. You’re not allowed to imagine her, and no, you’re not allowed to meet her.”

Art wasn’t the boss of him. Fuck Art. If Patrick wants to imagine you then who is Art to stop him?

Over the next week, Art does his due diligence in not revealing a single important thing about you to Patrick, and it’s driving him crazy. It’s not like Patrick doesn’t know this information, it’s not like Patrick needs to see a photo of you to remember the way your mouth tilts up when he says something stupid. He wants Art to be the one to show you. He wants to see you through Art’s eyes.

He sees traces of you through Art’s spaces. There’s a sticker on his water bottle that he knows was a gift from you. A pink spiral notebook is nestled amongst Art’s books for his classes. There’s clean bedsheets. That’s enough to know that Art has an external influence. 

He doesn’t like this. He’s never been in this situation before. He’s always felt ahead of Art, better at tennis, better with girls. He’s not stupid, he knows how Art would always listen to Patrick’s stories, rapt with attention, half-hard down the phone line. He liked that. He was the one in control.

He liked being that way with you too. You’re soft, you’re sweet, you’re sunshine incarnate and he wanted to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone else, to be the only guy who’s ever been in your bed. Doesn’t even matter that he wasn’t your first. He liked that you don’t play tennis, or that you don’t care when he calls you. He liked you, and he couldn’t have you.

Why the fuck was Art allowed to? 

It’s gnawing at him. For the first time in the six or so years they’ve known each other, slept beside each other, been alive together, Art has something that Patrick wants. And he doesn’t even give a shit. 

It’s the way that Art doesn’t even have to try. You’ve blocked him on FaceBook, but Art posts you often. You like it – being admired. It wasn’t something you got from your last boyfriend. There were a lot of things you didn’t get from Patrick. Good morning texts, soft compliments, his hands exactly where you liked them. 

With Art it’s like everything fell so completely into place. 

The game goes by quickly; Patrick’s not feeling it. He lets Art win. They go back to Art’s dorm as it’s getting dark and Patrick is sitting again on Art’s desk, pointedly not thinking about the image of Art on his knees with you sitting prettily amongst Art’s things. 

Patrick’s smoking, barely trying to get the smoke out the window, blowing it out in lazy sighs. The tension in the air is so thick Art has to wade through it to reach his friend. Patrick tries to think of something to say that isn’t accusatory, but it’s hard when he’s sitting where you once sat. 

Patrick’s never been a yeller, especially not with Art. He’s never had to be. Art’s easy. But now, swirled in bitterness and smoke, he wants to start. To ask him how it feels to have everything he wants and to have it so well. The girl, the ease, the warmth. The love Patrick never realised he wanted. 

“What’s wrong?” Art dumps his stuff on the floor but he has the good graces to do it in a corner where it won’t be in the way. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” Patrick snaps, sniffing. He feels like he’s going to explode. 

Art rolls his eyes. He doesn’t take it to heart but he doesn’t let Patrick get away with either. “Either stop sulking or tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why the hell won’t you let me meet her?”

Patrick realises, with humiliating force, that he wants Art to introduce you because he knows you’ll never let him in the same room as you otherwise. This is his only shot. 

Art’s tone flips from casual to cautious. “What?”

“What, for the first time in our lives, you have a girlfriend I haven’t met?” Patrick drops his still-lit cigarette out the window, not bothering to look as it falls down six floors. “You don’t expect me to think that’s weird? You won’t even show me a picture.”

Art watches him the whole time. When he finally speaks, Patrick doesn’t expect him to sound so annoyed. His voice is low, monotone, and unfamiliar. “Because I’m not using her to make you feel better. She’s not a fucking trophy for you to look at whenever you want. I know you Patrick. You want to look at her so you can count all the ways that you could have done better. Because you can’t handle me having something just for myself.” Art got really close. “I’m not sharing.”

Something shifts between them in a way Patrick dreads. Art’s right, of course. Patrick, even now, has never viewed you as anything more than something to have. And right when Patrick needed it the most, he just let Art win 

It’s not about ego, not anymore. He doesn’t want to control you. Make you miserable as long as you’re his. You’re the first person in his life that Patrick wants to give everything to, To wake up beside, to share smiles with, to have the liberty of thinking about every second that he damn well wants to. 

“It’s not that serious,” he says placatingly. He knows how to appease Art, how to flip his anger into amusement. “Come on, there’s a couple hundred girls at this school, she’s just one of ‘em.” His chest hurts. 

“That’s the thing, Patrick.” Art rubs his temples. “She’s not. And I’m not going to let you in my head, fucking me up, fucking us up, for whatever reason you want to. I love you, man.” He steps forward, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He rubs a comforting line along the curve of Patrick’s neckline. “But this one’s different. She’s mine.”

Patrick wonders what it’s like for you; to date Art so soon after being with him. They’re pretty similar - do you hate that? Two sides of the same coin, two sides of the same dorm room. Fire and ice. Which is which?

When you see Art’s MRTA shirt do you think of Patrick’s hat with the same emblem? When Art took you to see The Devil Wears Prada did it end with you on his lap in the back of the theatre the same way it did when you’d gone to see the new X-Men? When he kissed you did he taste like the cigarettes you hated so much? Did you mind it, coming from Art?

“I’m happy for you, Art,” Patrick says instead. Art has everything Patrick’s ever wanted, and of course he’s happy for him. But for the first time, Patrick feels like he’s lost something. Something that he maybe didn’t realise he wanted until it was gone. He can’t tell what he’s missing more. You or Art.

At least Art can bear to be in the same room as him. And if Art’s as serious as he seems to be, eventually you’ll have to as well. It’s not much, but he’ll take what he can get. 

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 8 - ( c.s )

part seven

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- ANGST! it’s just fluff and angst get ready baby

a/n: hellllooooooooo sorry everything takes me fucking forever to write but i am once again back hehe i truly hope you enjoy

despite what many people might think, chris has never been on a proper date in his life. and it’s silly to admit, considering he’s hung out with women in so so many different contexts, but it’s never been formal like that.

he swears he’s never even said the word out loud, as if he was scared of getting infected with real feelings, scared of things getting too serious. so he vowed there would be no flowers, no fancy dinners, no romance. just pure physical connections.

and it stayed that way for so long that he figured it would never change. he’d be a bachelor forever, hopping from girl to girl, showing them no more vulnerability than a simple smile.

then he met you, got to know you, and that mindset disappeared. the fear of being blindsided is still there, nestled somewhere deep in the trenches of his heart.

but to him, you’re worth the potential heartbreak.

so when he shows up at your doorstep with a bouquet of tulips saturday afternoon, it’s a bit of a surprise for the both of you, though not an unwelcome one.

“there’s my pretty girl.” chris smiles, trying desperately to play off his nerves.

my pretty girl. the words ring through your head like a church bell, and even though it’s embarrassing, you’re unable to stop beaming at him.

“what are you doing here?” you ask curiously as he hands the flowers over.

he swallows thickly, shoving his now-freed hands in his pockets. “i wanted to ask you out. on, like, a real date.”

for a moment you think you’ve heard him wrong, or that this must be some kind of prank. in what world would chris sturniolo, infamous playboy, be throwing in the towel and dating? let alone dating you?

but his face remains eerily serious. you can tell he’s a little anxious by the way he’s shuffling his feet, which is endearing. you’re not sure he’s ever done this before, and yet it's the sweetest gesture.

you’re pleasantly shocked by the happiness that’s washing over your body, and as much as you don’t want to give into it, it’s almost impossible not to.

“i think i can definitely squeeze that into my calendar.” you grin.

he visibly relaxes, chuckling slightly at your response as he shakes his head. “next time i’ll schedule it with your secretary.”

the fact that he said next time almost makes you freeze, but you play it off without skipping a beat. your heart is doing backflips, so you clutch the flowers and try to contain it.

“you know the drill, i’m a busy woman.” you shrug playfully.

“be ready by seven?” it’s a question more than a request, because he’s not fully confident that you actually are free.

“yeah,” you nod, stepping closer to give him a kiss of reassurance, “i’ll see you then.”

even feeling your lips on his for a second drives chris absolutely crazy. but there’s plenty of time for that later. right now he’s the perfect gentleman, the guy you deserve.

“oh my god, is it seven already?” ramona checks her watch from the couch, completely in a daze.

she's been religiously rewatching her favorite show, swearing that it inspires her to work on the project she’s been procrastinating. you know she’s too invested for that to be true, but you can’t blame her.

“it’s time indeed.” you nod, slipping your feet into your knee highs.

“oh my gosh, you look so good!” she gushes, popping up from her spot to come wrap you in a hug.

mona barely gives you time to fully zip up your shoes, and you both almost go toppling. you can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, straightening up so you can hold her back.

“jesus, you could’ve given me one more second.” you tease as you pull away.

“sorry, cuteness aggression. i think i’m just too excited for you.” she apologizes, even though she knows you’re not actually angry.

“i’m happy you approve.”

it’s the truth; having both of your roommates’ support means the world to you. especially since you’re falling for him, which is terrifying on its own.

you can’t remember the last time you’ve been this serious about a guy, but it feels so good.

ramona smiles right as the doorbell rings, and you hear cassidy come bounding down the stairs. she looks bewildered, definitely startled awake from her nap, and you can’t help but laugh.

“he’s here! and damn, you look sexy bitch.” she says, joining the two of you by the living room.

you smile as she pushes you forward slightly, shaking your head. “you guys are embarrassing me.”

“payback for the millions of times you’ve done it to us.” cass snaps back playfully.

ramona rolls her eyes, waving you to continue to the door as she tugs her counterpart into the kitchen. “no fighting, go have fun! we love you!”

you let out a breath, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin as you step toward the door. you’re more nervous than you expected to be, but when you pull open the door it’s like you immediately relax.

seeing chris dressed up in a quarter zip and those ripped jeans you adore on him makes your heart swell. the easy-going expression on his face calms your anxiety almost instantly.

you see his own eyes travel down to your exposed legs, covered only by your favorite little black skirt. your off-the-shoulder long sleeve is hidden slightly by your leather jacket, bold makeup accentuating your features.

he feels like he’s suffocating, seeing you look this good knowing it’s all for him. that you’re almost his. he wants to taste you, to ruin your lipgloss just to feel you on his mouth.

“you look…unreal.” he breathes, offering you his hand as you step out to join him on the front step.

“you look pretty great too.” you admit sheepishly, and he gives you a gentle kiss because he can’t help it.

you chuckle under your breath as he pulls away, wiping the gloss from his mouth with your thumb gently. chris just smiles, kissing the pad of your finger briefly before tangling his hand in yours.

“come on, we can’t be late to our first official dinner reservation.” chris urges as he leads you to his car.

he’s embarrassingly giddy as he holds the passenger door open, and you hop inside happily. it’s become one of your favorite spots, riding around next to him with his hand on your thigh.

tonight is no different. his thumb brushes against your skin reassuringly as you hum under your breath, watching chris drive out of the corner of your eye.

he’s just so handsome, especially right now. you’ve always known that, but it’s different. you care about him so much that just looking at his face kind of makes your day, as horrifyingly honest as that is.

you can’t help but smile to yourself, and he pulls into the parking lot of a fancy little restaurant a few moments later.

“i’ve always wanted to try this place, you know. i just never had the right occasion.” you admit as chris helps you back out of the car.

he laughs slightly, hand snaking its way to your waist after he closes the door behind you. “i haven’t either, but you’re the only worthy occasion i can imagine.”

you feel your cheeks heat up slightly. “stop flattering me, i know you just want to get lucky after we’re done.”

“i want a lot more than that, sweetheart.” chris replies truthfully, kind of enjoying letting his mouth run. he’s held his feelings in so much lately that it’s nice to just be honest.

meanwhile you’re desperately trying not to read into his words too much, but at this point it’s hard not to. it seems like he truly does like you, and for the first time in your life you might actually see a future with someone.

once you’re inside, the hostess guides you to a nice booth in the corner, smiling sweetly at chris as she leaves. it doesn’t matter; he’s got his hand in yours, and he’s not looking at anyone besides you as you sit down.

“quit staring at me like that.” you tease, even though you’re only half-joking.

chris tilts his head to the side, smirking at you like he can read your mind. “why, does it make you nervous?”

“no.” you lie, and he just shakes his head like he doesn’t believe you.

your waiter saves you a moment later and you order your drinks; a beer for him and a margarita for you. by the time they’re on the table, you and chris are already deep in your usual random conversation.

it’s impossible to stop looking into his eyes as you chat, your foot bumping against his as you both lean forward towards each other. his fingers dance across the top of your hand, simply because he’s unable to go more than a minute without physical contact, especially when you look so gorgeous.

you’re halfway through the actual meal when you’re finally forced to excuse yourself and use the bathroom, even though you don’t want to leave for even a minute.

“don’t miss me too much.” you joke, sliding out of your side of the booth to give him a quick kiss.

“you know i will.” he smiles as you pull away, watching you head toward the restroom with hearts in his eyes.

looking at yourself in the mirror once you’re done only confirms what you already knew; you’re having the best first date ever. your reflection smiles at you as you wash your hands, so wrapped up in your own head that you barely notice the girl who comes up beside you until she clears her throat.

startled, you glance her direction, only to find that she’s already staring right at you. your stomach bottoms out as your body fills with dread for a reason you’re not yet sure of.

“uh…can i help you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light and friendly.

she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder, cat-like eyes narrowing just a bit. “so, you’re chris’s little plaything, huh?”

you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it simply won’t go away. “that depends on who’s asking.”

the girl scoffs, turning away from you just a bit so that she can reapply her lipstick in the mirror. “the girl who fucked him three weeks ago when you walked out, that’s who’s asking.”

the acidic taste of bile fills your mouth, and you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up. your ears ring and the world shrinks, like there’s no air left to breathe.

how the fuck does she even know that? did he talk to her about you? your mind is spiraling out of control, thinking about every single aspect of that fateful morning.

you see her smile sharply at your reaction, satisfied that she’s caught you off guard. it’s impossible to compose yourself, though, because everything is coming crashing down.

“c’mon babe, you thought he really liked you? he didn’t even wait twenty-four hours to get on top of me.”

“he wouldn’t.” you whisper, even though you know that’s not the truth.

this time she actually barks out a laugh, tossing her tube of lipstick back in her bag before turning to face you once more. it doesn’t help that she’s undeniably gorgeous, exactly his type.

“he would, and he did. but if you don’t believe me, just ask him. mention the name daniela and you’ll see for yourself.” she says, fixing her hair one more time before stepping around you to get to the door.

you hear it slam behind her, still rooted in the same place, unable to move. you don’t want to believe it, but she was speaking with such certainty that you’re already convinced.

tears sting your eyes like salt in the wound. your face is no longer filled with the cheerfulness it possessed a few moments ago; now you just look crestfallen. but you won’t give in to your emotions yet, not without confirmation.

you don’t want to confront chris, but you know you have to. so you send your roommates an SOS text to ensure you have a ride home, and then you steel yourself to go back.

you have no idea where daniela went, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t look anywhere but straight ahead as you walk. your whole body is tingling, entirely on the verge of breaking down as you find your way to the table.

not yet, not yet, not yet.

the second his face lights up at your return, you want to crumble. he looks so sweet, the boy you thought had finally changed for you. but then he notes your tight expression, and a frown replaces the grin.

you don’t sit down. you just blink at him for a second, trying to force the words out. you’re silent until he opens his mouth to speak, which finally empowers you enough to cut him off.

“tell me about daniela.”

he straightens uncomfortably at the mention of her name, which already gives you your answer. your heart twists, so much so that it physically hurts inside your chest.

“what?” chris responds, staring at you dumbly.

“did you or did you not sleep with a girl named daniela a day after me?” you ask as calmly as possible, ignoring the fact that your fingernails are digging into the skin of your palm.

his face somehow contorts to look even more grim, and you shake your head slowly. a smile of disbelief makes its way across your lips, which you suppose is better than sobbing.

“yeah, i’m done here.” you snap, yanking your jacket and purse up before turning on your heel.

“please—” his hand circles your wrist and you yank it away without a second thought, not caring if anyone sees.

you just keep walking. everything is completely numb at this point. it doesn’t even feel like you’re in your own body, you’re just moving. the fresh air hits you as you step outside and you inhale the cold, letting it shock you awake a bit.

you unravel your jacket from your arms and put it on as you book it through the parking lot, only to realize that you’re shaking.

the double doors burst open behind you, and you hear him shouting your name, but you still don’t stop. his heavy footsteps increase in pace, and you make it to the sidewalk just outside the restaurant when he finally catches up.

“please, just give me the chance to explain.” chris begs, once again reaching for your hand to try and slow you down.

you stop, only to shove him away from you with a surprising burst of power. he let’s go, but he’s still looking at you desperately as if it’s not black and white.

“there’s nothing to explain. in fact, this is exactly why i fucking hated you so much to begin with, why i was so hesitant to let myself believe that you could actually feel something for anyone besides yourself. you made me look like an idiot, thinking that you’d changed at all.” you lash out, unable to control the rage spilling out of your mouth.

he winces, visibly hurt from your words, but he powers through anyways. “i immediately knew i made a huge mistake, and even though i did it thinking it would make me feel better, it made everything worse. when you left that morning i thought it was over for me, and it hurt in a way that i’ve never felt before because i really fucking care about you.”

you snort, crossing your arms over you chest defensively. “yeah, well, you’re doing a fabulous job at showing it. i mean seriously, chris, do you know how fucking horrible that was? to find out from the girl herself because you couldn’t be bothered to at least be honest? and now you expect me to believe anything you say when in reality your words mean shit.”

chris feels you slipping from his fingers, so quickly that he doesn’t know how to stop it, or how to get you to trust what he’s saying. it’s a type of distress that he’s never been through before, because he’s never gotten attached.

“i know i fucked up, and i know i should’ve never even responded to her in the first place. i don’t have the right to ask you to trust me, but i need you to know that it didn’t mean anything to me.” he pleads, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice now.

you feel your eyes burning again as you meet his gaze, and you’re not sure if it’s hurt or frustration making you cry.

“it means something to me. i put my faith in you enough to go all the way, to let my guard down this past month and admit to myself that i do have feelings for you. and now i look just as stupid as everyone told me i would, even though i really did trust you so much. i thought things were different, that you wouldn’t dare do that to me.” you’re choking on your tears as you speak, and all he wants to do is reach out and wipe them away but he can’t.

you take a step back, almost instinctively. “but you did, and now it’s over.”

chris feels his whole world stop for a second. he takes in every inch of your heartbroken face; eyes wide and red, tears streaking down your cheeks as you hold yourself in your own arms.

he hates himself so much, more than he ever has in his life, for destroying things with the only person that matters. especially on a night that was supposed to be so special.

“i’m begging you not to do this. i’m so, so sorry that i ruined your confidence in me, but it’s only ever been you. you live in my thoughts, in my dreams, in every single goddamn place i go. and it took me way too long to say it, but i want to be with you so badly that it kills me. you know this is real, and i will do anything to prove it to you.” he takes a step closer, but you move away and put your hand up as a warning.

it’s everything you’ve been wanting him to tell you, but it’s too late. you don’t know how to forgive him yet, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to forget.

“i can’t, chris. i just…i don’t know anymore.” you sound so defeated, but you don’t care.

by the grace of god, your friends pull up at the exact right moment to save you. cass throws her hazards on and stops the car, glaring bullets at him through the glass as she waits for you to get in.

you’re done talking for now, and chris recognizes that. there’s nothing he can do or say to take it back, and as much as he wants to keep trying, it’ll only push you even further. so he nods his head once solemnly, vision beginning to blur as he takes all of you in one last time.

you’re the girl of his dreams, and he’s absolutely fucked it.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he repeats as you pile into the backseat, unable to conjure up any words besides those ones.

it registers in your head, but you don’t respond. you can’t even look at him anymore, because it’s too hard to think about what could have been. so you close the door hard, determined to shut him out of your life for good this time.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi

[mechncheese]

I love the science cont. of yours so much, all the designs are so awesome! Your art style is so fun n silly I love it so much! Love that they don’t get along much lol, skyfire is for sure struggling tryna lead these fellas- i think it’s really cool that he’s gonna have a bit of a focus, I don’t see many people talk about him and he’s a very fun guy. Are there any specific ideas you have (that don’t go into spoiler territory) angst wise? It’s gotta be stressful stuck with a bunch of people you don’t fully get along with while being far away from home lol. Excited to see what to come! :D

Thank you so much ! Angst wise hmmm scrolling through my list-- I have quite a bit (ranging from a level 1 to a level 10 in terms of severity) ! I don't have them too fleshed out yet but I can give you the temporary headers I have for some of them, these are mostly out of context and a little vague or very direct but you get the idea. I'll do my best not to spoil too much ! I put it underneath a "read more" in case anyone doesn't wanna see

Jetfire loses his cool; pressure and stress really got to him

Wheeljack goes solo; he'll sure show them !

Ratchet vs Wheeljack; The scientists are fighting

Perceptor gives everyone a scare; What happened to our usually reserved guy?

Jetfire vs an entire army of seekers + his ex; it's exactly what it sounds like

The one time Thundercracker stood up for himself and it all went wrong feat. Megatron; Thundercracker gets fired in the most literal sense

First Aid & Red Alert fumble their job feat. Lifeline & Quickslinger; Oopsies?

Brainstorm and Prowl vs Shockwave; "If I see you again on my property, I'm beating your ass. hard" /ref

Reunited; what?? with who?

Those are the ones most clear in my head but yknow ! more to be added eventually ! I hope these were enough to give u a little glimpse into my mind but also vague enough bahah !

[neigepomme]

omg i NEED to know what kind of tiktoks caleb sends to mc because i feel like his fyp would be so messy...like some lame lego tutorials, those long ass videos of dogs acting cute, how to be an alpha male tips and a bunch of brainrot. i just know his ass is sending the most random videos to her.......

CRACKING MY KNUCKLES i had to scour through my dms with some of my guy friends for this one.. i understand the man experience now (i don't. they fascinate me truly)

so here are some tiktoks caleb sends over! his fyp is in fact a mess but hey that's just the guy experience.. HIT THE LINKS TO WATCH 'EM!!

basketball related tiktoks — caleb? he plays ball. you know who also plays ball? lebron james. anyways so for context a tiktok trend popularized this app called bronify where guys literally make parodies of songs but they're glazing lebron. it is honestly insanely funny and a bunch of these covers are crazy good

basketball related tiktoks pt. 2 — remember the luka doncic trade that had all the men of america freaked out and they were explaining to their girlfriends why it was nefarious? yeah so that event canonically happens with caleb and you and he sees a tiktok about it and sends it over to you with the caption "us"

lame corny pickup lines — a friend of mine actually sent this to me and i cringed out but it was funny in a really corny way and i think that's just peak caleb. big strong man being a loser.. sighs dreamily

cute dog vids — bonus points if it's a bernese mountain dog!! caleb quite literally reminds you of a dog and you let him know that, so logically: you like him = you associate him with dogs = if he sends you dog vids you'll be reminded of him. ez math!! also because they're cute and they make you happy so that makes him happy

silly comedy sketches — for this one specifically, he sends it to you and captions it "me when i cook something new for you :P". yeah. he's confident in his cooking skills but also the idea of you hating a dish he prepared? awful. externalizing that concern through a funny tiktok

couple tiktoks — this is what caleb sends the most often!! there's a trend that you two haven't done yet? he's begging you to do it with him. the romantic ones where kisses are involved or you two have to match outfits are his favorites of all time.. oh my loverboy

these are the ones i have links for!! other than that, he probably enjoys listening in to the reddit aita videos he hears from your phone when he's cooking!! there's also a lot of lego/model building and probably some "i love my girlfriend" adjacent tiktoks..

HE'S A LOSER!!! HE'S SUCH A LAME CORNY LOVESICK LOSERRRR OH MY BABY.......

[bunni-v1]

sunday x m reader who wont shut up while hes working so he makes reader cockwarm him to shut him up

Cockwarming With Sunday

🍓Dom Sunday makes my skin crawl. Anyway, I went for a softer take than what you wanted, sorry lol. Even when Sunday tops I can't see him as all that mean, at least, not in the way this was worded lol. Anyway, I'm very well Sunday's biggest hater (I love him more than life itself), so I hope you enjoy this. I want him dead.

Tw: NSFW; Implied power dynamics; Mean(?) Sunday; Grammar Errors; ts kinda ass

Info: Dom!Sunday x M!Reader (it's hard to tell lol); Cockwarming; pre ae sunday; Nsfw

Word Count: 1.5k

Sunday was always considered to be a patient man, especially with those he considered important to him. He had put up with plenty of Robin's silly plans and humored her with delight -- he loved her after all, and any plan she had wasn't truly all that silly so long as it came from her. He even enjoyed her endless conversations when he was meant to be finishing up paperwork. His time with her was sparse, he could afford extra time away from his duties for her. She never kept him for long anyway, understanding his position better than anyone else.

You, however, did not have the excuse of being his darling sister. You spent a significant amount of time with him, both in and out of work, and he had all the time in the world to spend with you. Which meant you knew better than most others how much he needed to fill out this report today. Yet... you kept running those stupidly pretty lips of yours.

He wasn't even sure what you were talking about, he'd tuned you out about ten minutes into your talking. Nearly an hour had passed, and you were still going on and on about something or another -- he catches that it's about an up-and-coming artist you'd seen, not that he cares for any musician that isn't his sister. It wouldn't be so bad if you were just talking, he'd mastered the technique of ignoring things that seemed to get under his skin, but you needed assurance that he was listening.

He would occasionally have to pause and answer questions without much context, or hum in acknowledgement of your words. Your incessant rambling is normally incredibly endearing to him, but with the deadline looming over his head, and the ache stinging between his brows it was enough to make it vexing.

He lets out a sigh, hands pressing the pen to the desk just a bit too harshly. You silence yourself, flinching back a little in surprise. He nearly coos, he hadn't meant to scare you, but you were very cute when frightened. (Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking such things...)

"My love," He hums, meeting your gaze with a calm smile, "you know I love having you around, don't you?"

You nod, nervousness shining in your eyes, giving you away despite the brave front you put on. You were always too easy for him to read, a bit concerning considering the enemies he has, but he'd prefer you pliant than hardened -- at least, in that way.

He gestures to the papers on his desk, "You also know how important it is that I get this done today, yes?"

"Of course," You answer immediately, and he can see the realization of why he was scolding you across your face. So very cute. "Was I talking too much?"

He hums an affectionate smile on his face, and gestures for you to come to his side. You do so with no arguments, as expected. He turns in his chair, grabbing you by your hips to situate you between his legs. You flush a bit at the contact, predictable as always, but he chooses not to comment on it.

"I need to get this done, angel," He asserts again, and you frown shamefully.

"Would you like me to leave?" You offer, but the idea sours something in his chest.

He shakes his head adamantly, "Of course not. I love having you here, but you'll have to behave for me."

There is a spark behind your eyes at his words that makes him ache a bit, his member coming to life much too fast for his liking. The effect seems to be mutual, as far as he can tell from his position near your crotch. His placid smile morphs into a slight smirk, and his eyes meet yours again, "You can behave for me, can't you?"

You nod adamantly, "Of course, s-sir." The title is stuttered, somehow unsure despite your knowing very well what he wanted from you now. It was so adorable how concerned you were with overstepping with him. You truly could do no wrong in his eyes, even when you were getting in the way of his work.

"Then," he pushes you to step back, leaning back in his chair, "Take your pants and underwear off for me. Quickly, I'd like to get this done as soon as possible."

You nod again, doing as he says like a well-trained pet, pretty eyes looking to him for approval as you shove the clothes to the side. He rewards you with a smile, leaning forward to run a finger along the bottom of your hard cock. You hiss at the sensation, drawing a chuckle from his chest.

He eases himself out of his pants as he tugs on your sensitive member a few times, enjoying the little whimpers you give him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach. He leans back again as it does, telling you what to do with his eyes alone. You follow along like in a trance -- he'd almost believed you were under the influence Harmony, if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t using it in the moment.

You hiss lowly as he slides into you. Going raw must've been painful for you, but it felt heavenly for him. Your ass squeezed him so well like it was meant to hold him deep within. He smiles reassuringly at you as you finally sit fully on his lap, taking your chin in his hand to settle a kiss to your lips.

"Very good," He compliments.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze, "Thank you, sir."

He tuts at you, drawing your gaze back just as quickly as it left, "You can sit still and wait like a good boy, can't you? If you can't well..."

"Of course I can!" You respond with a desperation that surprises both of you, quickly adding, "Sir."

"Good, good," he hums, pressing a warm hand against the back of your neck. Your chin rests against his shoulder on instinct, getting comfortable against him. Once he's satisfied with you behaving, he leans forward and starts back to working on the document you'd been distracting him from.

The scratching of his pen is one of the only things keeping you grounded in reality. The stretch of his thick cock in your ass is almost too much for your brain to handle. You shouldn't have been talking so much, honestly, this is no one's fault but your own. Still, the torture of not being allowed to move for fear of worse punishment is enough to make you want to cry.

You sit there pretty on his dick like a good boy, though. Always so obedient for him, if only he didn't have to tell you to behave. No one is perfect, so this was a sacrifice Sunday had to make to keep things as he liked.

His fingers climb up your spine, tingling across your body right to your achingly hard cock. You almost hear Sunday chuckle when it twitches between the two of you, but it's so quiet you believe you might've made it up in your fucked out brain. You wiggle your hips in an attempt to get some friction, but all Sunday has to do is place his hand on it and you cease all movements.

Sunday seems, on the outside, entirely unaffected by everything. For the most part, he really is. He's blasting through his work faster than before, but that was because he couldn't wait much longer to bend you over the papers and reward you for good behavior. Each squeeze around him has him swallowing down groans, determined to not give into your temptations -- no matter how wonderful that sounded.

When he signs the last dotted line and closes the stack of papers back to the front page he lets out a sigh that resembles more of a moan than anything as you clench anticipatorily around him yet again. His pen is set on the desk with a little 'click', and he finally looks at you after agonizing minutes of your squirming. Lust has clouded over his gaze, and he looks positively angelic nearly lost to his own sin.

You are no better, pleading with your eyes for him to fuck you like the sweet thing you were. Tears pricked at the corners of your lashes, a picture of absolute beauty. He smiles at you, wiping them away from your cheeks as they spill over.

"You were very good, my sweet angel," He hums, moving his hands to your hips, "you deserve a reward for behaving, don't you?"

You nod adamantly, your heart picking up in excitement. He raises an eyebrow expectantly at you, and you know what you're meant to do next without the need for words. Standing from his lap, hissing as he leaves your tight hole, and bending over his desk like the good pet you were.

"Very good..." He hums, and your spine tingles in excitement as you hear his pants and belt hit the floor around his feet.

[darknoverse]

tw: blood WAHOOOOOO DONNY DOCKS AND SCALLYWAG LORE !!!!!!

wanted to illustrate how TERRIFYING she actually is ,while also being whimsical and silly .

for the context ; donny thought she was Lucky lancer for SO LONG through the whole sailing . for a whole trip. he thought she was someone else . until she went "HHEHEHE HOHOHOHO actually nah i killed that guy years ago because he was so ASS" logically she could've just killed him. but she didnt. she wanted to have more fun on a longer term (btw the way she patted his head teasingly was part of her act as Lucky back then . she's teasing donny in the worst ways)

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