#and are more than happy to share it with you all)

[eggsaladstain]

anyways i just love the way kpop demon hunters stayed true to its roots in korean/asian culture, especially around the core theme of community vs individualism

the fact that it's not a single chosen one but a group of three

the fact that the honmoon is not powered by the hunters themselves but by the energy and love of the fans

the fact that gwi-ma turns people into demons by promising that he is the only one who can help them when he is in fact reliant on his army of demons to collect souls for him

the fact that "your idol" is about surrendering yourself to a single higher power while "golden" is about soaring to new heights together

the fact that gwi-ma preys on people's individual insecurities and shame to get inside their heads while rumi, mira, and zoey set them free in the end by encouraging them to embrace their differences and reminding them that they're not alone

the fact that you can see the audience cheering individually and even pushing into each other to get closer to the stage during "your idol"

while they're linking arms and cheering together and hugging during "what it feels like"

i have not seen the live action lilo and stitch but it feels like that movie sits on the opposite end of the spectrum from kpop demon hunters as a case study for how to tell a story in way that is culturally authentic and still resonates with a broader audience

and i think given that the core theme of the movie is all about community over individualism, the ending, particularly as it relates to rumi and jinu's budding romance, is really the perfect culmination of that broader theme

rumi and jinu's connection has all the hallmarks of that all-encompassing, all-consuming, borderline co-dependent first love where you keep your relationship a secret and sneak out of the house to meet up and feel like the other person is the ONLY person who really gets you

i'm the only one who can understand you, i'm the only one who will love you is the kind of thing that sounds romantic when you're 16 until you get older and realize how toxic it actually is and i love that the movie counters that in "what it feels like" with rumi realizing that she had that love and support all along from her girls, and later, from the fans who continue to cheer them on through their comeback

it's about connection and sisterhood and love and sharing your fears and lifting each other up and becoming stronger and better together

and as compelling as i found rumi/jinu and as much as i would like to see their relationship explored more in a sequel/series, i just really love that this movie, which is clearly targeted at young women, ends on the message that romantic love is not the end all be all, that friendship is just as important if not more so than a romantic partner, that single women can lead successful, fulfilling lives, that true happiness and freedom start from within

it's crazy that this message still seems revolutionary in 2025 but given the current state of the world, it feels more necessary than ever

[reasonsforhope]

"In a new study, University of British Columbia researchers set out to answer the following question: Would you rather have 10 cents in your pocket or a 1-in-10,000 shot at $1,000?

Their findings indicate that they may have figured out a way to get people to recycle more. 

The researchers, whose work was just published in the journal “Waste Management,” tested the idea of offering people who return used bottles a small chance to win a big cash prize, instead of the standard 5- or 10-cent deposit earnings.

The result? Participants recycled 47% more bottles for the chance at a $1,000 prize.

“This small change in how we reward recycling made a big difference. People were more excited, more engaged, and they brought in more bottles,” Dr. Jiaying Zhao, associate professor in the department of psychology and senior author of the study, said in a statement for the university.

“It turns out that the thrill of possibly winning a big prize is more motivating than a small guaranteed reward. It’s the same reason people buy lottery tickets; That tiny chance of a big win is exciting.”

The researchers ran three experiments in British Columbia and Alberta, where bottle deposit systems already exist. Despite the fact that these deposit stations give people a small refund when they return their recyclables, many bottles still end up in the trash.

In the first two experiments, people could choose between a guaranteed 10-cent refund or a chance to win a larger amount, ranging from $1 to $1,000. Even though the odds of winning were low, many people chose the lottery-style offer.

In the third experiment, participants were randomly assigned to either the guaranteed refund or the lottery-style refund. Those given the lottery-style option brought in almost three bottles for every two returned by the control group. 

The researchers found that people even felt happier when they had a shot at the big prize, even if they didn’t actually win — a feeling called “anticipatory happiness” — that made the act of recycling more enjoyable. 

All of this is modeled after an existing scheme in Norway.

“Norway is the only country in the world that has a similar recycling lottery, and their bottle return rate is close to 100%,” Dr. Zhao said. “The probabilistic refund could be their secret sauce. We hope Canada can adopt this innovative idea as well.”

In Norway, the bottle recycling lottery was implemented over a decade ago, and now, approximately 97% of all plastic beverage containers are returned across the country. 

Here, the model is choice-driven, giving people the option to choose between the guaranteed refund or the chance to win anywhere from 5 to 100,000 euros.

“The system also doesn’t encourage gambling,” Fast Company reported, “because there’s no way to enter with cash, and there are no ‘near misses’ like with other kinds of gambling.”

Norway has also implemented a program where some of the lottery’s proceeds go to the Norwegian Red Cross.

“Instead of 10 cents back to you, what if the proceeds go to a food bank or charity?” Dr. Zhao asked Fast Company. This is also part of her team’s research, with results soon to be published. 

It’s important to note that the lottery-style refund wouldn’t cost more than the traditional system, with both options sharing the same average payout. Cities could adopt this approach without spending an extra dime.

Additionally, Dr. Zhao mentioned that it’s important for cities to consider the choice-based model, giving people the option to get the regular 5- or 10-cent returns, alongside the new lottery initiative, to help canners and binners who rely on this kind of income.

“We don’t want to take the short gain option away,” she told Fast Company. “Instead, we want to give people the option to choose.” 

Aside from the valuable psychological insights of the study, Dr. Zhao and her colleagues are optimistic about a future in which more people are engaged in recycling. 

“Creating new bottles comes with a lot of carbon emissions, and not recycling bottles also comes with a lot of pollution,” Jade Radke, a lead author on the study, said. “So it can be a meaningful way to decrease all of those things.”

According to the UBC press release, if this approach is widely adopted, it could help recycle millions more bottles and reduce greenhouse gas emissions equal to taking one million cars off the road each year."

-via GoodGoodGood, June 25, 2025

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 4

A/N: Hello all of you. Wow, you all keep popping out of the kpop woodwork but thank you for all the support! I love reading your comments! I decided to post this today since I was able to squeeze it out tonight.

Reminder for people, I can’t tag more than fifty people so the tag list is closed. But, feel free to share outtake ideas in the comments or dm me!

TW: Self mutilation (just scratching on the arms), insecurity, and toxic mentalities (Thanks Celine)

Word Count: 4,457

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, and Abby = Kwan)

That night, as the Saja Boys laid outside the venue for Huntr/x’s fan sign event, there was nothing for them to do but scroll on their phones or talk to each other. Each had a single sleeping bag and only Jinu had a chair to get more comfortable so the boys were a little miserable. But, needs must in war.

“Sooo… who else has been hardcore simping for (Y/n)?” Kwan suddenly asked to fill the quiet.

“Hardcore.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

There was just something about you that called to them. Maybe it was the way you smiled or the way you laughed without restraint? The way you treated them with normal kindness despite knowing that they served Gwi Ma? The way Gwi Ma’s voice quieted when they were around you? The way you made them feel more human than they had in centuries?

There was more to say between them. Of course there was, they were fond of this half human, half demon girl and they were plotting to destroy her world and kill her sister and her friends. And the moment you told them your weakness, they would have to exploit it to make the Honmoon and the Hunters shatter.

The Saja Boys felt a creeping feeling of despair.

~~~

That morning, you had gotten the girls up and made them something to eat then let the wardrobe and makeup team up. Their outfits were already set out in the living area along with the girls' makeup. The girls hated this part, usually doing their own makeup but it kept appearances up when there was a team doing final checks on their appearances. And pampering them. It also gave more people more jobs.

It was totally chaotic and you caught yourself scratching every now and then before your focus was drawn to something else.

“Okay okay okay, girls, team, everyone down to the cars! Gotta get the venue set up!” Bobby ushered everyone toward the elevator, the girls and you going down first and Bobby would follow with the rest of the team. You were so thankful for a private garage. It kept rabid crowds of fans trek crowding them.

When they got there, they set up the tables and the posters quickly, you making last minute adjustments to their appearance. For fan sign events, you stood behind the girls to get them anything they needed and to take care of gifts the fan gave them to keep room on the table.

Bobby set the last of the posters in front of them as the girls did final stretches and settled into their seats. “All right, team, I know everyone is all Saja, Saja, Saja, but we’re gonna turn it into Huntr/x, Huntr/x, Huntr/x! Yay! These fans slept on the sidewalk, overnight!” He did his best to hype them up.

“And I got all the fuel you guys’ll need to get through the next few hours,” You told them, nodding your head to the box of drinks and snacks you had for them.

The girls did their little circle, cheering each other with their pens, “Happy fans, happy Honmoon!” They whispered.

You took your place behind the girls as the doors opened and the fans flooded in, spearheaded by five people in sleeping bags, “Let’s bring them in! Welcome!”

The five sleeping bags eagerly waddled up to the table despite Bobby’s urging to go in a single file without pushing. You couldn’t help but giggle, it reminded you of the sleeping bag Mira had you design for her for the Met. Maybe they were Mira fans…

“And who should I make this out to?” Rumi greeted them.

“‘To our biggest fans.’”

‘Wait. You knew that sly, antagonistic, pretty voice.’

The sleeping bags dropped and the Saja Boys smoothly posed. Your jaw dropped. Did they really spend all night on the sidewalk just to mess with the girls? Were they that petty? Apparently, yes. Yes they were.

Bobby moved quickly, greeting the boys respectfully despite the interruption and the girls' complaints as they snapped their pens, summoning another table for the boys. But as soon as half the line split to line up in front of the Saja Boys’ table, Rumi stood, “The Saja Boys will sit with us!”

Zoey and Mira protested but the half of the crowd swiftly rejoined the original line as Bobby teared up at Rumi’s genius. The girls rearranged themselves, spreading out though Mira and Zoey clearly didn’t want to.

You couldn’t help the frown you had as Chungae and Kwan sidled up to Mira while Zoey fawned over Hyeon. And Jinu was whispering with Rumi. You did your job, grabbing five more waters from your box to pass out to the boys. It kinda… hurt when they didn’t acknowledge you, you knew they couldn’t, not with the fans and the other girls here, but still. It stung.

You couldn’t help but giggle when Kwan started passing out signed sketch outlines of his abs though.

You blinked and then sighed fondly when Hyeon started barking at a fan for some reason. You bit your lip, you wanted to pull him back but you couldn’t make any contact with the boys like this. You scratched at your arms in stress.

“No!” Zoey hit him with her pen, scolding him, “Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon backed down unhappily, pouting as he bit back a growl at the girl. He crossed his arms, sulking. ‘She hadn’t noticed how the fan’s eyes kept flickering up to stare behind them, at you,’ Hyeon mentally growled.

At the same time, Kwan, Mira, and Chungae started fighting over who would sign a fan’s leg cast first. Seeing the huge problem, you grimaced and quickly rushed over since no one else was doing anything.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You waved your arms over them, smiling tensely down at them, “Good idols don’t further injure their fans,” You hissed pointedly though your customer service smile didn’t waver. You shoved Chungae’s pen in his hand and slid the man’s leg over to him first.

”So sorry about any discomfort sir, they were just so excited to sign for you,” You bowed to the fan and scurried back to your place. You made sure to keep a watchful eye on them.

‘Why couldn’t they be like Jum? Jum was just quietly signing the posters and whatever the fans asked to be signed—within reason. Jum is being perfect. Be more like Jum guys.’

Speaking of Jum, he waved you over and you leaned down to offer your ear when he crooked his finger to the squeals of some of the fans. “Do you have any energy drinks? It was a long night on the sidewalk…” He whispered. Your face heated at the sensation of his voice in your ear and his breath fanning over your skin.

‘No! Bad thoughts (Y/n)! Focus on the boy, he wants an energy drink!’

Straightening up stiffly, you didn’t dare say anything because you knew you would stutter and stumble and make a mess of yourself. You smiled and nodded your head, hurrying over to your drink and snack stash. You were not running away from the hot maknae.

Jum couldn’t help but smirk and chuckle fondly as he watched you scurry away to get an energy drink for him. The back of your neck was flushed so he could imagine the flustered look on your face. He hadn’t even meant to, he was just really tired. But your reaction definitely gave him a little bit more energy, at least enough to smile at fans and send hearts at them every now and then. Jinu would owe them big time for this one…

“Here you go, Jum,” His name slipped out without you meaning to but, thankfully, no one seemed to hear you.

Jum took the can with a smile, making sure your fingers brushed as he did, “Thanks (Y/n).”

And then he cracked it open and took a long drink, his throat bobbing with every swallow.

‘Was this fan service!? Run (Y/n)!’

You got out of there as fast as you could. You scurried back to the safety of your drink and snack stash so you could bury your face in your hands until your face cooled down. ‘In front of the fans too…’

You looked up in time to awe over the cutest little girl ever going up to the table with a drawing, her eyes on Jinu. You couldn’t see Jinu’s face as he slowly took the drawing, other fans shouting about how much they loved Jinu.

You blinked, cocking your head in confusion when Rumi suddenly stood, her arms held out to gesture at Jinu, “Isn’t he great? Woo! Jinu, everybody! Yeah Jinu!” Rumi cheered. It set off the crowd of fans, cheering and clapping wildly as they threw bouquets of flowers to each of the Saja Boys.

“‘Woo, Jinu’?” Mira echoed in disbelief. You grimaced, she didn’t sound happy at all…

Jinu then stood, “Unfortunately, the Saja Boys have to run. Thank you, everyone.” The rest of the boys followed his lead.

You stood at attention when Bobby suddenly waved to you, “(Y/n), can you show them to the back exit and call one of the cars around?” He trailed off into muttering about how the boys never had any managers or employees with them, a little disgruntled.

You started to nod when Rumi’s protective streak flared anew, “No!”

Everyone was looking at her.

”Uhhh, I mean, I was gonna ask (Y/n) to get me a, uhhh…” Rumi trailed off, her mind blanking on what to say. The Saja Boys already kidnapped her sister once and put her in danger, she didn’t want them doing it again.

“Some more water! You wanted some more water, right Rumi?” Zoey chimed in, her smile strained as she tried to help.

“Yeah! Yeah, I need some more water!” Rumi agreed quickly. All eyes went to the half full water bottle on the table. She quickly snatched it up and chugged it down. Aggressively.

“Okay… I’ll get you some more water, you can go ahead (Y/n),” Bobby reassured and you smiled awkwardly. There was no getting out of this. Not that you really wanted to get out of it…

“It’s fine, I’ll be right back Rumi,” You reassured your sister before leading the boys to the back as they waved to the fans, “This way.”

As soon as the boys were out of sight of the fans, they sagged with exhaustion, tossing the bouquets out.

You grimaced, and fished them out of the garbage, “Come on guys… I know you guys are tired but, just take some pictures with them later or something, the fans’ll like that…” You knew they were exhausted and probably aching from sleeping on the sidewalk all night but you couldn’t just let them do that right in front of you.

Jinu was quiet behind you, staring thoughtfully at the girl’s drawing in his hand.

“Tired…”

“Too much effort…”

“Can’t do it…”

“Nghhh…”

You shook your head at them, leading them to the back exit as you juggled the flowers in your arms to get your phone and text one of the drivers to come around to the back door.

“Okay, wait right here and one of our drivers will come and take you guys wherever you need to go,” You told them, shoving your phone in your pocket.

You almost fell over when someone’s body weight was suddenly on top of your shoulders, their face resting in the crook of your shoulder. “So tired…” Hyeon groaned. You blushed but couldn’t move before Chungae and Kwan plopped on the ground to lean their back’s against both sides of your legs. Jum pouted, settling with just leaning his head against your arm as all four boys tiredly closed their eyes. You were stuck.

It was like when a cat or a dog deigned you with the honor of them laying in your lap so you didn’t dare shift even a millimeter in the horrible case of you disturbing them. Your muscles were tense and you felt like your legs were going numb but you didn’t dare move.

You looked up flatly when you heard Jinu snickering to himself. “These are your children, shouldn’t you take them?” You hissed at him.

Jinu held his hands up in surrender, “Hey, they like Mama more, that’s not my fault,” He smirked.

The cluster of five people all looked at him in deadpan. Did this guy really just insinuate that he and you were their parents? “Ew.”

Your phone chimed and you slowly shook the boys off, “Alright, car’s here guys.”

They whined but released you and got to their feet. Chungae took your hand in his, swinging them back and forth as he pleaded, “Come with us, wanna cuddle…”

‘Okay, so Chungae got childishly clingy when he was tired. Noted.’

“I can’t, you guys can’t keep kidnapping me. I gotta stay with the girls for this event,” You told him and started herding the boys outside and to the car.

“Fine…” Chungae huffed, mindlessly giving you a kiss on the cheek before he shuffled into the car first, “Bye darling…”

‘Was he really that tired?!’ Your face combusted.

Looks like they were taking turns.

Hyeon was next, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it before he followed after Chungae, “‘Till next time, princess.”

Kwan wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you in a tight hug and oh gosh. You can feel all his muscles. “See you later, babe.” And then he was climbing into the car too.

Jum approached you with a cool air, but his eyes didn’t meet yours as he took your hand in his and gave it a soft, shy squeeze, “Thanks for the drink earlier, beautiful.” You opened your hand as he climbed into the car to see your favorite candy. Was this gift-giving…?

Jinu tried to hide his chuckle at how red and flustered you were as snores started sounding from the car already. You pouted at him. “You look like the co-host from ‘Play Games With Us!’ after the spicy challenge,” He quietly cackled.

Was your face really that red? You pressed your hands to your cheeks to cool them down, tossing the flowers into the car after the boys. “Shut it, pretty boy,” You grumbled petulantly.

Jokes on him, now he was flustered and blushing. Jinu could dish it out but he couldn’t take it when the flirting was directed at him apparently.

Jinu cleared his throat, looking away from your little smirk as he fumbled with his hands. “Okay, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. Bye Jinu,” You waved as he fumbled to get into the car as you walked back to the door.

“Uh, byeee, ugh,” he cringed at the way his voice came out. You didn’t get to hear him mutter and groan at himself as he quickly closed the car door behind him and the car soon took off.

You shook your head in amusement at the boys and went back inside to finish the event with the girls.

It was hours later of Rumi glancing worriedly at you out of the corner of her eye until the event finished, Bobby grinning happily at the success of the event.

“Great job girls!” He cheered, circling the table as employees cleaned up the venue. He showed his phone to Mira and Zoey joined to see what it was, “The internet loves this, and the internet is never wrong!”

You looked over their shoulders as Mira snatched Bobby’s phone to go through the stories, “Rujinu! That’s genius.” It was a picture of Jinu and Rumi’s feet touching under the table with the caption, ‘Rujinu?! Playing footsie?!’

Mira tapped through to a drawing of Zoey with a glowering baby Jum in her arms and Hyeon at her side with a beaming smile, “Zoeystery. Where did they come up with that?”

And an edit of Mira with Chungae and Kwan on each side of her, the three surrounded by hearts, “Miro-mabby?” Mira tried to sound out the poly ship name as her fist clenched.

“Aw, you’re so cute together!” Zoey cooed lightheartedly.

Your eyes widened when Mira clicked again and this time it was a collage of Jum whispering in your ear earlier, drinking the energy drink, and you burying your red face in your hands with the caption, ‘(Y/n) is literally us, same girl! I hardcore ship it tho! (Y/n) + Baby!’ With plenty of hearts.

Zoey gasped excitedly, “They even did you, (Y/n)!”

You bit your lip, flushing as Mira turned her head to look at you, “You were blushing over them?” She asked you incredulously.

You stared flatly back at her, “I don’t wanna hear it when you kept watching Abby make those sketches of his abs.”

She shrugged, “Point taken.”

Zoey nodded, “Yeah, fair enough.”

~~~

Rumi didn’t know what to do.

On one hand, she had Zoey and Mira with this diss track, racing towards their goal of destroying all demons and trapping them in the demon realm with Gwi Ma for eternity.

On the other hand, she had Jinu and the constant niggling in her head that not all demons deserve to suffer.

And below it all, the protective determination to protect you, her sister. The faster she completed the Honmoon, the faster her and your patterns would be gone so you both could live normal lives. That’s what she wanted for you.

Rumi couldn’t talk to you about what was going on, you wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t want to freak you out over Jinu knowing about her—and by extension—your patterns.

But she did have to talk to Jinu. Maybe there was hope for him. And if there was hope for him, then there must be hope for you and her.

That’s why she gave the note to Derpy to give to Jinu.

So, early in the morning as the sun was just barely about to come up, she saw Jinu waiting for her. “She wants to meet, and she’s late?”

Rumi couldn’t help but sneak up behind him and land on the wall, making him shriek and flail as he turned and saw her suddenly crouched behind him. “You made me come all the way out here so you could jump-scare me?!” He panted, gripping his chest as he felt his heart slowly come down from the hummingbird speed it had jumped to. (Y/n) would never treat him like this…

Rumi jumped down smoothly, ignoring his question. “Follow me.”

He did. “Well, I’m glad you’re finally ready to talk. Although, you could’ve picked somewhere nicer for a date.”

Rumi faltered, “‘Date’? No! Ew! What are you talking about?”

Jinu pointedly held up the invite she had sent him, reading, ‘Save the Date.’

“That doesn’t mean—“ She sighed frustratedly, “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.” She snatched the invite from him, going back to her walk as he trailed after her.

“Right… I thought you were into your friends. Glad it’s not me,” Jinu mused as he followed the purple haired girl.

Rumi blanched again, “What?! No! No way! I— They— We— Just, just keep your nose out of my love life, okay?! Business. Meeting.”

Jinu held up his hands in surrender, “Okay, loud and clear,” He agreed and the two resumed walking, Rumi with much redder cheeks than she had arrived with.

“What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?” Rumi asked him, her face serious and solemn now.

“Go on.”

“Help us win the Idol Awards. Because when we win, the Honmoon will be sealed,” Rumi explained, hopping up onto the wall with a touch to the Honmoon so it glowed out over the city. “And that will guarantee your freedom. Gwi Ma will be permanently cut off, and all the demons will be gone from this world. My sister and I will finally be free of these patterns. No more hiding. No more secrets. You can be on this side when the Honmoon is sealed. Away from the demon world, away from Gwi Ma. You can be free from those voices forever.”

Jinu looked away in consideration. Rumi didn’t know his true story, she thought he had made a deal for his family, when in reality, he made the deal for himself. Besides, her thinking was flawed, even he could see it. She was telling herself comforting lies.

“But I am a mistake.”

Jinu frowned at her words, looking up at her.

“Have been since the moment I was born. So, I have to believe. Because if there’s no hope for you, what hope is there for me?”

After a moment, he couldn’t help but ask, “And your sister? Is she a mistake too?”

Rumi looked down, conflicted. “(Y/n)… I don’t want to think so, I love her. But… if we weren’t born the way we were, maybe she would’ve been able to use the Honmoon like us…” Rumi trailed off softly, unsure and bitter over her own conflicted thoughts and emotions on her sister.

They were interrupted by a middle aged woman offering a bracelet to Jinu to give to his ‘girlfriend.’ The two flailed, stumbling over their words until the woman gave Jinu a flat look and Rumi the bracelet with the advice to find a better boy since Jinu was hopeless.

“Well, there’s your answer. Hopeless.”

Rumi gave the bracelet a soft, thoughtful look, “That’s the funny thing about hope. Nobody else gets to decide if you feel it. That choice belongs to you.” She held the bracelet out to offer him, “Here. Think of it as a… friendship bracelet.”

When Jinu took too long to think about it, Rumi turned away to leave with a sigh. “Wait.” He told her, holding his hand out for the bracelet when she turned. She smiled softly and slid it into his hand.

Looking at the bracelet in his hand, he couldn’t help but say, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you or your sister are mistakes.”

Then they went their separate ways.

~~~

It was all getting to be too much for you.

The girls were at the venue for the Idol Awards since early this morning, practicing their performance for Takedown. You had asked Bobby to deliver snacks to girls for you because you were busy running errands in the city. Bobby had reassured you that he would do that while you did your errands—i.e. getting some air.

Since the fan sign event, you had been scratching at your patterns more and more. The Idol Awards were tomorrow and it seemed like you couldn’t escape Takedown whenever you were in the apartment with the girls. It always seemed to be playing, whether the girls were changing lyrics, working on choreography or just rehearsing singing the song.

And the more time you spent with the Saja Boys, the less you wanted the Honmoon to be completed.

Jum pretended to be aloof but he liked to give you little things that reminded him of you. He often found you while you were out running errands just so he could follow you while you did, no matter how boring it was like getting groceries. The both of you had gone back to the cat cafe the other day and had taken selfies on his phone with the cats. He had a whole album of them now.

Chungae came to your balcony most nights to whisk you up to the tower roof balcony. You two would sit and look out over the city, just talking. He would insert a flirty line every now and then to see you blush and rile you up but would always smooth it over with a fond smile.

Hyeon was more of a wildcard. He would find you while you were getting a breath of fresh air at the park or just in the city. Like he had a built in radar for you, he would find you when you felt stressed and he would distract you. He was a little protective though, growling at people he felt were too close to the two of you.

Kwan was starting to make a foodie out of you. He would barge in during random parts of the day when you were alone to drag you off to a new food place he had found or heard about. No matter how bizarre it seemed, he would always try it and you somehow ended up trying it too. He would draw you into little debates, getting you wound up in your bickering until you were laughing with your eyes passionate as you argued your point.

And Jinu was like a ghost fading in and out between all these different interactions. He was probably the calmest besides Jum and Chungae—it was a little weird that those two were the calmest when they were the two youngest of the group. Jinu introduced you to Derpy, his tiger and the little demon bird that always accompanied him. You laughed when he explained that he had made the hat for Derpy but bird kept taking it. Jinu and you bonded over music. You shared modern music with him, not just modern kpop, but jazz, rock, punk, pop, classical, everything you could think of. The two of you would sit under the night sky, an earbud in each of your ears as you listened to music.

You didn’t want to lose the five boys that had somehow wormed their way into your heart, not when they made you feel more safe and seen than even Rumi did. Besides, if even the five boys who were so kind and comforting to you ended up trapped on the other side of the Honmoon, then what hope was there that you would get to stay? In your stress, your patterns have progressed more than Rumi’s has. She could still wear shorts and skirts if she wanted to, even if her arms and neck had to be covered. But you?

Your patterns have progressed well onto your legs to the point where you couldn’t wear shorts or anything that showed your legs at all. The stress was making you scratch so bad despite you taking Jinu’s advice and trying to keep your nails short, that you had to start bandaging your arms under your sleeves to try and mitigate the harm you were unintentionally doing to yourself.

“(Y/n)?” You looked up at the call of your name. Oh yeah. You were trying to get some air so you went for a walk.

Who is it?

(A/N: Vote for who it is here! Can’t post anything until the poll is over!)

Outtakes:

*Before the Series*

You: “You completely wrecked your private jet?!”

Huntr/x: “It wasn’t our fault! It was the demons!”

You: *Pulling your hair out* “That is literally your excuse for everything!”

…

Jinu: *Resting semi-comfortably on a chair* “So…How you guys doing?”

Saja Boys: *Laying on the cold hard cement sidewalk, plotting Jinu’s death* “Shut the f*** up.”

…

Random Fan: “Awww, Mira, Romance and Abby get along so well, it’s so cute!~”

Mira, Romance, Abby: *Currently trying to kill each other*

Other fan: *side eyeing their friend* “Yeah…so well…”

Random Fan: *Manically whispering* “I will die on this ship.”

…

Jinu: “So, you like those other girls, right?”

Rumi: *Bipanic mode activated, blue screen mode activated* “Uhhhh…”

…

Rumi: “Yeah…me and my sister were born as mistakes.”

The Saja Boys, Mira, Zoey: *Ready to fight* “I’m sorry, what?”

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[straykidsnerd255]

Omg hiii!!! I’m loving what Saja boys hcs and I loved the pop mart hc u wrote!! (*^▽^*)

What would the saja babes be with an alt/goth gn!s/o? Their demon performance literally sparked this request (0///0)

Oh stop, you are too kind. Thank you so much! And thank you for sending in this request! I hope that you enjoy<3 Had to listen to Your Idol on repeat and don’t regret it. They can have my soul. I’m sure if I wore the goth reader all that well but I hope it's still good! 

Jinu:

Jinu is a sucker for your gothic style. Considering he is a demon, black and deep purple are his colors. 

Seeing you wear those very same colors made both his human side and demon side preen with happiness

Jinu had appeared as his demon one night in your shared apartment and you saw him, in the middle of putting your make-up on. 

You both had a seriously long talk that night

You didn’t understand why he would hide his demon side from you but the fear that filled him when he told you that he believed you would leave him made your heart break. 

You took his hand in yours and pressed it to your chest, just over your heart. 

“You are the only one that makes my heart race like I’m wearing pastel colors and flowers in my hair. Just like when you performed Soda Pop.” You giggled as the tips of his ears turned red.

When you and Jinu went on dates, he wore the pastel colors, you wore the black, a 180 to his demon persona. 

You designed your nails after his actual claws and Jinu could feel his heart racing like he had been running a marathon.

Scratch his head when the both of you are lazing around. Specifically in his demon form because he will purr. 

His demon will practically beg for back scratches when the two of you are lounging in the dorm room watching tv.

His demon form will clasp your hands together and hold them tightly when he feels overwhelmed. 

You show off all your black clothing and make-up on different nights when he is feeling down, hoping that will cheer him up. (It does. He’s a sucker for you.)

Abby Saja:

He is all about the bright colors. He is constantly wearing the bright blues and greens and pinks while you wear only black. You did occasionally wear a dark red whether it be contacts or a belt to hold your pants up. 

You fell for Abby Saja at a concert and when he saw you, he fell harder. Literally, he fell off the stage and landed at your feet, dust slowly settling as he rubbed his head and took your offered hand, worry in your eyes. 

From that moment, he knew he needed you by his side. He asked the security to take you back to their waiting room so he could talk to you and possibly get your name. 

Dating a demon for 3 years is still pretty new to you but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Abby Saja always asks for head rubs when he comes back from a rather long concert or a long tour that has finally ended. 

Even in his demon form, he is gentle when he holds you. He refuses to hurt the person that actually likes his demon and will ask him to show his demon randomly. 

The moment he stepped into the apartment, he saw you sitting on the couch in one of his black t-shirts and black basketball shorts. His demon appeared and he dramatically fell onto your lap. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your stomach as he closed his eyes and breathed in your scent.

“Long day?” You asked, immediately removing the black hat and running your fingers through his hair, occasionally screeching at his scalp. 

He shivered but nodded his head. “The longest day I have ever had. Please don’t make me go back and do it again.” He would whisper but you knew he loved it more than anything.

Mystery Saja:

He loves your goth style. He even asked you if you would be willing to dress him up the same way, his demon getting excited to try it out. 

Mystery had been getting ready for a concert when he saw you putting the make-up on, your eyes trained on the lines you were making on your eyes. 

He stopped, jaw dropped as he watched you. 

“You should apply as our makeup artist. You are talented with that.” He said, walking into the bathroom and stood behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he watched you. 

You giggled and finished the last of the make up before turning around and wrapping your arms around his waist and laying the side of your face against his stomach. 

“Gotta make myself look good for my boyfriend's concert. Where would the fun be if I didn’t show up in the colors that matched your demon side?” You asked, watching as his human form slipped away and his demon form appeared. 

You left an hour after he had left, knowing that was when you would be let into the stadium.

You watched him and his group with a soft smile, your heart pounding as he danced his heart out. 

When he caught sight of you, you smiled and waved watching as his whole face lit up.

The second the concert was over, you made your way to their dressing room but before you could even open the door, Mystery opened the door and pulled you into his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You were amazing, my love.” You whispered.

Romance Saja:

Even in his demon form, he refused to take your soul. The way you looked dressed in all black, chains falling around your hip and the black makeup around your eyes made him feel fuzzy. 

Romance will flirt with you non stop when you are getting your clothes on and makeup on.

When they were on stage in their demon forms, Romance refused to use his voice to control you. He watched you from the stage as you jumped up and down, ignoring the other fans around you. 

His chest swelled with pride as you danced along to the song. 

When the two of you are out shopping for new clothes to add to your closest, he does his best to learn the gothic style and does his best when it comes to choosing something you want. 

At one point, Romance asked if you would be willing to put the same eye makeup on him and you, in a giddy excitement, immediately sat him on the chair in the bathroom as you got to work.

When you two were getting ready for a date, Romance dressed in more lighter reds and pinks, pulling his hair back into a half bun to keep it out of his face while you pulled on a oversized black t-shirt, slipped into black cargo pants, clipping a few chains on the right side, and pulled on socks and combat boots.

Romance wrapped his arms around your neck as you applied the last of your makeup, his eyes shining when you turned to face him.

He will also sit and paint your nails black while he talks to you about his demon side, giving you all the details and such about it before pink smoke surrounds him and his demon is sitting in front of you. 

You can only stare at him mesmerized as he finishes painting your nails. Yes you have seen the demon before but from a distance. Having him in his demon form in front of you makes your heart thud against your chest like it has never done before. 

You are also taller than Romance, and built a little more than him so Romance has a thing for you standing behind him when fans are talking to him. 

Romance, when he is tired and you don’t have your full outfit on, will lay on your chest and sleep.

Romance will actively show you off in his instagram posts, holding your hand or pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

Baby Saja:

Baby Saja will walk around you, studding the clothing that you decided to wear on your date. 

His hands would graze the chain that sat on your hip, trace over the chain around your neck before taking you hand in his, looking up at you and smiling softly. 

He will never admit it but the way you dress in all dark clothes makes him happy. His demon likes the darker colors. It's easier on his eyes.

When he performed Your Idol, he could see you copying all his moves, mouthing all his words all while staring directly at him. 

You are slightly stronger than him when in human form so he will ask you for piggyback rides, mainly so he can nuzzle into your neck better. 

When he comes home after having to act like a popstar, he just collapses into your chest, while you are laying on the couch, scrolling through your phone. 

His demon appears as he rests his chin against your chest, silently begging for your attention. 

When you finally look at him, he blushes and buries his face in your chest, making you chuckle and wrap your arms around him.

He will insist on doing your makeup when you don’t feel like doing it yourself, carefully do your hair in a half bun leaving half your shoulder length hair down so he can play with it. 

Because of your gothic style, he will beg the rest of the group to let you be their manager, knowing that you have seen their demons and don’t care one bit. 

Your black nails are just long enough that he will ask you to scratch at his head when he is extremely tired and will actually fall asleep against your chest when you do so.

[auxiliaryslinky]

Take it from 9-11 year old me whose entire bit was making comedy & slice-of-life plots: it's not about the Tuesday being so random, it's the fact that the random itself is the plot.

Slice-of-life isn't so big on focusing on the grand details of an overarching epic plot (eg. guns ablaze and world ending magic spells galore) as it tends to highlight more mundane and ordinary experiences in the lives of people in a fictional setting. A huge plot can still exist alongside a slice-of-life style of narrative, it doesn't derail it at all, it's just that it portrays a world and its inhabitants differently. If it doesn't humanize them, it does make them seem more alive in their own way. Like they're more than just Genre characters for Genre plot.

In my personal writing journey, slice-of-life as a genre can be a medium to explore deeper forms of interaction through shared, relatable experiences, and somehow show that their lives in this other world mirror or mimick the sort of crap we experience too. The interaction doesn't just exist between characters, it reaches to us and those around.

Slice-of-life may not speak for everybody's lives entirely, but they're slices for a reason.

We as real people may not always have filler beach episodes or maid cafe after school jobs, but we do go on silly vacations with others and work part-time in random places to get money as a teen. The only difference is that slice-of-life gets away with highlighting and romanticizing the little sparks in mundanity that we as people losing our crap in a dying world and economy will find too optimistic or even cringe.

The random Tuesday can become "Tuesday when I had to chase my cat and bumped into a person who became my best friend of 7 years" if you're willing to go crazy enough.

It could even be "Tuesday night when my character drank too much and slept on the side of the road" since life isn't always so happy or light.

And if you're like me, while it's not to everybody's taste, as somebody who now writes literary fiction — slice-of-life can further the drama of a big plot, with enough elbow grease and manipulation. They aren't mutually exclusive at all.

The Tuesday is just a day after all. So much can happen...

PLOT EXAMPLE TIME

Teenage hero confronts the villain in a Tuesday evening? Of course the big bad doesn't schedule his world-ending attacks, he has to be stopped! And surprise, surprise!

Hero's sister? The nervous and shy one he always told to follow her dreams and even helped practice her dance flexibility with his secret hero training, the little sister he promised he'd always attend performances for even if the world ended? The one he promised he'd attend a recital for on next Tuesday?

Yeah, her ballet recital is that night, and she's peering through the curtains anxious, and looking for support, just to find his seat still empty thirty minutes in and her stomach sinks.

He may love his sister and he's her top supporter but he too, loves not having everybody else die and it be his own fault, but man his sister's gonna be so disappointed and he even promised her, but–

A smarter, more stoic batman-esque savior might have little issue trading one bad experience to defeat another worse one, but you don't reasonably expect a teenage superhero (and in the slice-of-life sideplot, an older brother with many broken promises) to think straight in this amount of physical stakes and emotional chaos do you?

people who write slice-of-life stories scare me. like how did you find a plot in a tuesday

[bucketsp]

pazzi - best friends but real lovey dovey on each other and paige does anything azzi wants her to do in front of their teamates

the space between us

pairing : pazzi

content : fluff, slightt angst (friends to lovers, mutual pining)

a/n : thank you anon for this request 🙏 i changed it up a little bit, but i hope you still loveee. also based it off of 23 - 24 roster because i miss niknik and lili. thank you as well for the support on snow day and repped, if you haven't read those, maybe u should? please remember this is all fiction. enjoy reading!

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

from the day they met, it was always something a little more with them.

like the way azzi would ask, “can i sit here?” on every away-game bus ride, even though paige always saved her the window seat.

or the quiet, “can i have a sip?” as she reached for paige’s water bottle mid-practice. and paige never said no, she never even blinked.

they were best friends. that’s what they told everyone.

but best friends didn’t flirt like that, didn’t look at each other like this, didn’t act like it had always been them, a team of two, orbiting each other, no one else getting close enough to matter.

they didn’t need to say it out loud.

they had each other. and that was enough.

until it wasn’t.

it started with azzi spending more time with this girl from the track team. bree. funny, loud, magnetic in a way that drew people in. she was the kind of person who never hesitated, especially with azzi when she asked her out right at the door of the champions center, handed her a smoothie and said, “you free friday?”

paige saw it from across the court, of course. yet all she did was watch azzi smile back and say yes.

and something in her chest cracked open, soft and sharp at the same time.

not because she was jealous, not exactly. she was happy for her, but because suddenly she wasn’t the first one azzi told about her day, and suddenly the pre-practice routines were off, the stolen glances in the locker room or the shared inside jokes as the team was being told off by geno.

and paige didn’t know what to do with that.

so she did nothing.

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

practice the next day was tense. azzi kept looking at paige like she wanted to say something. paige kept pretending not to see it.

and then, during a full-court drill, paige fumbled a pass and muttered under her breath.

azzi jogged over, concern on her face. “you okay?”

“i’m fine,” paige said, too quickly. “you don’t have to check on me.”

“what does that mean?”

“nothing"

“paige.."

“just go, az.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

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

they didn’t talk for two days.

paige stayed late in the gym, long after everyone else had left. it was easier to be around ghosts than to look azzi in the eye and feel that ache in her chest grow stronger.

until friday night, when azzi walked in just as paige was lining up a free throw. she didn’t say anything, just caught the ball on the rebound and passed it back.

paige stared at her.

azzi crossed her arms. “you’ve been avoiding me"

paige swallowed. “i’ve been busy, march madness is coming up”

“you’ve been hiding"

a beat.

“maybe.”

“why?”

paige was silent. she caught the ball again, dribbled once. twice. then let it fall.

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

it starts at ted’s.

because it always does. late-night runs after big games, when the adrenaline’s still in their veins and no one wants to go back to their dorm just yet. it’s loud inside, a little sticky, the lights a shade too bright, but it feels like home. like uconn tradition.

paige sits in the corner booth with azzi pressed in beside her. her thigh is warm against paige’s. her hair’s tied back, but a few loose strands fall forward, and paige has to grip her root beer float like it’s keeping her alive.

they’re not talking. not really. just sitting in that kind of silence that’s not awkward, but heavy. azzi’s bouncing her knee. paige keeps glancing at her. she looks nervous. too quiet, too still in the wrong ways.

"paige,"

and even before paige could even look directly at her azzi's already leaning in.

slow.

intentional.

her hand brushes against paige’s jaw like a whisper.

and then she kisses her.

it’s soft. hesitant. it tastes like cherry coke and something sweeter. like hope.

and paige, she’s waited forever for this, dreamed of it, begged for it in silence.

but she pulls back.

just an inch. just enough.

"azzi, stop. you're drunk"

“i'm not, paige.”

paige tenses. "you are, what happened to bree?"

azzi looks down, then back at her. her eyes are clearer than they should be, considering how many fries she just devoured. “i have to tell you something.”

paige stiffens. her hands go cold, but she feels a little hope inside her.

“i never told you,” azzi’s voice doesn’t waver. “we broke up.”

paige’s heart stutters. “when?”

“a week ago.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

azzi lets out a breath. “because i didn’t want to lie to you about why. or pretend like it didn’t matter when it did.”

paige stays quiet, letting her talk.

“she cheated on me,” azzi says flatly. “with some guy from the LSU football team. i found out the day after that scrimmage. i didn’t tell anyone.”

paige stares. “what?”

azzi shrugs, like it’s nothing. like it’s old news even though it’s clearly not. “i think part of me already knew. not about the guy. just… that she wasn’t the person i wanted to tell good things to. not anymore.”

and then she looks at paige.

really looks at her.

“you were.”

paige swallows. hard. her throat feels too tight. the air’s too heavy.

“you always were,” azzi adds.

paige’s eyes flutter shut. “then why’d you pick her?”

“because you scared the shit out of me,” azzi says. “and because i thought i had more time.”

it’s not perfect. it’s not a line. it’s just true.

“you’re sure?” she asks. “this isn’t about bree?”

azzi shakes her head immediately. “this has never been about bree. not even once.”

“she cheated on you.”

“and you stayed,” azzi says. “even when i made it impossible.”

paige covers her eyes. her voice cracks when she speaks.

“you don’t get to kiss me if you’re not sure.”

“i’m sure,” azzi says.

and this time when she kisses her, it’s different.

hungrier, deeper, like nothing else mattered.

and paige kisses back like she’s drowning. like she finally found the surface.

they don’t even notice kk standing there with her milkshake in hand, eyes wide as saucers.

not until kk blurts, “HOLY SHIT.”

paige freezes. azzi jumps a little, lips still inches from paige’s.

then the rest of the team explodes.

“FINALLY,” aaliyah yells from a booth behind them.

“i knew it,” nika says, pointing her fry at aubrey like she won a bet.

“i had money on them making out before the tournament,” ice mutters.

“you owe me twenty,” aubrey says smugly.

kk just stares. “yo. that was kinda hot.”

paige groans, hiding her face in azzi’s shoulder. azzi’s laughing now, full and free, her arm curling around paige’s waist like it’s always belonged there.

“i guess this means it’s official?” aaliyah calls out.

azzi grins, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“yeah. it’s official.”

and paige, with her heart finally whole in her chest, just nods.

“took you long enough,” nika says.

but paige doesn’t care.

because azzi’s still holding her hand under the table.

and this time, she’s not letting go.

[yuwritesstuff]

Headcanons about Satoru as a Girl Dad 🌺✨

He cried the first time he held her. Not in front of anyone else — he was joking and cocky and obnoxious at the hospital, trying to hide all the worries. But when it was just the three of you and she curled her tiny fingers around his pinky, he broke. Quietly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he cradled her and smiled happily. He had the whole world in his arms, given to him by his loved one.

She’s the only one (except her mom, of course) who can boss him around. “Daddy, sit.” And he does. “Daddy, today I choose what you’re gonna wear!” And these are the most mismatched pieces of his wardrobe, an absurd combination. But he puts these on and goes to meet with the higher-ups. “Daddy, put me on your shoulders!” And the world becomes even more interesting for her from the perspective of his height.

He’s obsessed with her laugh. He’ll spend hours doing the dumbest things just to hear it — ridiculous dances, jokes, and parodies. That sound is his favorite in the world. It means she’s safe. She’s happy. She’s so real, his little sweet baby. He hopes that this will be one of the things she’ll remember best from her childhood. That laughing is always allowed, even for adults.

She’s just as sharp as him — and it terrifies him. One time, she tricked him into giving her dessert before dinner. A four-year-old. He was both horrified and deeply, deeply honored. “She’s definitely my kid,” he said, wiping away a proud tear. But of course, he often falls for her tricks just because he likes to spoil her.

He teaches her how to stand up for herself. From day one, he tells her: “You don’t have to shrink for anyone. You don’t owe the world softness unless you choose to give it.” And she listens. She learns. It’s like a protective mantra that he whispers to her as she falls asleep, hoping that these words will stay with her and she will realize its meaning later.

He has zero resistance to her tears. If she starts crying, his whole world stops. No jokes. Just soft panic and immediate scooping up. “Who do I have to fight?” he whispers. “What made my baby cry?” His heart is aching, and he’s ready to do anything to make her feel better. It’s hard for him to say “no” if it’s tears of demand, so she’s already spoiled by him from a very young age.

He sees her mother in her constantly. Sometimes he quietly watches her, observes her gestures and behavior, and sees you in her. Mom’s features are intertwined with dad’s, and it strikes him to the core — this is a little person made of both of you. You soulmated so hard that you created another heart, a cute little friend for both of you. She’s everything.

Oh, but she definitely has his temper too. She once looked up at him mid-lecture and said, “Is this gonna be long? I have blocks to build.” He nearly exploded with laughter. “Siblings? What are the pros and cons of that?” she wonders seriously when you ask if she wants a brother or a sister. “If they’re as cool as me... hmm, I’ll think about it!” she sticks out her tongue and giggles. His little smartass.

He keeps her drawings in his wallet. Folded, worn, cherished. Even when he’s across the world on duty, her crayon versions of the three of you remind him why he fights. When he comes back from work, they draw together, and his own drawings are no better than a child’s spontaneous doodle, but she praises him so sincerely that he melts.

They have wild inside jokes no one understands. Even you, her mother. It drives you crazy sometimes because they act like real idiots. But they’re your favorite idiots. Like synchronized “dramatic faints” at the breakfast table. Or gossiping about you quietly with a sly smile on their faces. Or their secret handshake that takes 40 seconds (you counted). Sometimes they just treat life like a game they’re winning together.

She shares his love for sweets. He buys her all kinds of goodies and treats her with the best desserts in the city, on weekends he pampers her with custom-made sweets from a pastry shop. So when it’s time to visit the dentist, you send him with her to the doctor as a lesson. He taught her to brush her teeth well. It’s nobody’s fault she has a sweet tooth like him!

He loves to put her to bed. He reads her fairy tales and tells her funny stories, assures her that there are no monsters under the bed and checks it several times if she’s scared. “Your daddy is the strongest monster fighter!” he winks. And when she falls asleep, he kisses her on the forehead and just lies next to her for a while before going to his beloved wife to make another such cutie pie.

He talks to her like an equal — always. He doesn’t baby her thoughts or shield her from the truth. He explains the world gently but with honesty. She asks hard questions. He never lies. It’s not easy when she realizes what a complicated world she lives in. Every time something inside him breaks when she gets a little more mature. But he knows that this is part of the journey too.

He’s incredibly protective, but in stealthy ways. He won’t be the loudest dad at school (surprisingly). Instead, he’ll silently ward off anyone who makes her uncomfortable — a quiet glare, a sudden presence. Nothing gets past him. He doesn’t want to get into things that she has to experience on her own, but he also doesn’t want to be on the sidelines if something hurts her.

He’s terrified of failing her. Beneath the jokes and playfulness, he carries a deep fear — that the world will hurt her the way it hurt him. So he watches closely, listens deeply, holds tighter when she sleeps. He knows that there will definitely be challenges and pain in life, but while she is so young, he will protect her and her childhood with all his best. She will have a different, better life.

He tells her every day: “You’re loved. Always.” Not just “I love you” — but “you are loved”. By him. By her mom. By the universe itself. He wants her to know it, feel it, believe it in her bones. Despite all the hardships, there is so much beauty in the world, and it’s a true miracle that we are all here, so fragile and eager for love and validation. He deeply realizes it when he becomes a father. And he wants her to feel it too.

He dreams of seeing who she’ll become. Whether she becomes a sorcerer or an artist or a chaos gremlin scientist — he’s there. Sometimes he forgets about all his bravado and feels something that he hasn’t felt much before. Fear of leaving this world too soon, not being a present father and partner. He wants to have a future in which he will see his child grow up. Happy, no matter what path she chooses. “This is her story now, and I just wanna be a part of it for as long as possible!” he smiles.

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…conservationist!rafe && scared!reader

back to basics!! (looks!!)

height: 6”2, friendly type of height, tall enough to deal with all sorts of animals who get into high spots; and always willing to grab equipment for his employees

build: lean. not overly muscular, though they’re definitely there. biceps big enough to trap your head under…or a little lion’s. always climbing up trees to pry the stubborn monkeys out of them.

age: mid to late twenties, but the maturity of a man much older. doesn’t look a day over twenty, though, clean shaven and neatly combed hair, though you love when it gets all soft and gives him that boyish look.

glasses: wore contacts the first time you met him. wore them when handling animals, rarely wore his glasses because he disliked the look of them. first time you saw them and melted? had them on. always. had to claw it back from a monkey after it snatched it off his nose.

clothes: t-shirts that stretch over his biceps, unaware of the amount of ladies he gets drooling over him. basic, unbuttoned shirts, sleeves rolled up to his forearms over a white tank. cargo pants/shorts, same mountain boots. and watch where a non venomous snake tried to sink it’s fangs into the leather.

personality

caring: the most gentle soul to exist. cares for the environment and animals, devoting his life to them..and you. soft words and touches, playful and considerate. no argument ends in tears on his watch, will forever help you overcome your fears and make sure you’re okay.

optimistic: no challenge is too hard for him, or impossible. if you’re scared of animals, he’ll help you through it. if a species is going extinct, he’ll do all his research and see what he can do. he’ll care for every sick animal in his conservation, even when times get rough. rare to see him without a lingering smile on his mouth.

adventurous: loves travelling to countries like kenya, or india, places where he can discover more. enjoys learning to befriend ‘deadly’ animals, loves the thrill, even when it borders dangerous, and you have to reel him back. who would he be without this?

confident: people on kildare don’t quite get why the projected business shark, somehow turned into a shark tamer. it’s still a business, an amazing one at that– though rafe claims it’s not the for the money he makes a ton of it– but it’s not in economics like they all thought. nonetheless, rafe doesn’t care for their judgement. he’s confident and assured in what he does because it makes him happy.

dislikes/likes

suits, and uncomfortable clothing. loves freedom, hates stiff fabric that restricts his movement.

conspiracy theorists who think climate change is fake. take one look at the animals he cares for day to day, he’ll disprove them.

mixed breeders or petting zoos that care about aesthetics rather than safety. hates advertisement off suffering. he invites people to his conservation, but charges nothing, only a voluntary donation.

loves his sloth. calm and lazy, carefree in a way he aspires to be. always happy to see him. had him for years.

when you go out of your comfort zone for him and discover something new that actually makes you happy. loves seeing you embrace a new side of life.

trips, like safaris for documentation and exploration. adores getting to see new animals, or save new animals. loves bringing you along too, taking pictures on his camera of both the animals, and what he loves most- you, of course.

family && people-specific hcs

pet names for you: carebear, dovie, pup, baby, dolly

– willing to piggy back you off whatever tree you climbed to escape an animal that wouldn’t even harm you, especially after the prospect of a million little bugs on the bark makes you want to jump off the tree

– sits you on his lap, and tightly holds you while he tries and gets you used to spiders. hand under yours, 8-legged creature crawling over your palm while you fight the urge to squirm away.

sarah: forever close to his sister who shares his passion for saving animals too

– would definitely have a conservation area for the turtles she saved at the beach, preparing them for release back into the ocean

– sarah would probably be a climate activist, who’d partner up with rafe, organise peaceful protests and promote conservations..like her brother’s.

(yap: posting this gorgeous baby. my favourite au, he’s such a sweetie)

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes @dumbbandpoetic

[salsa-and-light]

@spidersteelandsmile

Your story is beautiful. Than you for sharing, these sorts of things aren't talked about enough.

Knowing Queer people and Queer stories is the strongest antidote to prejudices like these.

I respect that you tried to approach this diplomatically.

I don't know if you were being brief to come off as non-hostile or if you genuinely aren't familiar with many of the tactics of homophobic Christians, but in my experience they do not have reasons for their beliefs.

Many have very rudimentary explanations which are either entirely untrue or fall apart upon examination. Examination that they can not or do not do themselves.

So I will admit that talking to them seriously can be taxing, even if they do have good intentions. It does not appear to me that that this person has good intentions.

I would be happy to explain more on the different ideas and sources surrounding this subject if you are curious, and you are more than welcome to read on. But in my opinion, I don't think you are going to get reasonable answers from someone like this.

>>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>>

@artist-issues

"But it’s kind of pointing out a flaw in your understanding of God’s Word to open your post with “give me verses” and then narrow it down to “but only the ones where Jesus is talking.”"

Christ specifically was operating in opposition to the religious norms of his day.

At various points both in his ministry and in the rest of the New Testament the Law and contemporary Jewish norms are specifically ended, removed or condemned.

Christian follow Christ, Christians focusing on Christ is the default.

We shouldn't be acting out the arrogant legalism of the pharisees who killed him, that's for sure.

"“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.“ John 1:1"

This is actually a good thing to mention.

As Gay Christian and historian of Christianity, Diarmaid MacCulloch put it:

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

So yes, Jesus the Christ seems to be the most important person to listen to in.. Christianity.

"“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness..."

No one said that scripture was useless.

What you're doing is talking around the fact that the founder of our faith didn't have anything to say about homosexuality.

If you want to argue that it doesn't matter, then fine, do that.

Arguing against points no one made makes you seem defensive, or paranoid.

..

Though you have stumbled upon something worth mentioning.

The scripture is trustworthy.

But why would you be⸮

You can have your opinion of course, it's just that your opinion isn't worth much.

In a way it's telling that when questioned you cite the inerrancy of God and scripture.

As if the authority of God.. makes your argument stronger.

Difficulty with separating your opinions from God's is usually a problem.

"Peter, in his letter, said Paul’s words were Scripture"

..No..

but also,

"His letters contain some things that are hard to understand, which ignorant and unstable people distort, as they do the other Scriptures, to their own destruction." - 2 Peter 3:16b

It's odd that you decided to breeze past the part where he says people distort scripture.

I'm not even disputing the legitimacy of Pauls readings, but if I were, why would I trust Peter more?

And even if I did trust Peter more.. he doesn't use the word "scripture" in Greek, he said "writings".

["γραφὰς-graphas" is the Greek word in quetion, being the source for the English root "graph" as in "photograph", "graphics" or "grapheme" a linguistic term for a fundamental unit of written language"]

Even the English word "scripture" just originally meant writings but through the isolated exposure to the word through the Catholic church the word gained religious connotations. Spanish, French and other romance languages have a doublet of the term but have to specify "escritura sagrada", "Saintes Écritures" or holy scriptures, because their terms are the equivalent of "writing(s)".

This is mostly a English phenomenon.

So no one was arguing that Paul was unimportant, but if they were.. then your argument would still be bad.

"And if you doubt that the Apostle Peter had the authority to say what was and was not the Word of God, then you’re doubting that anything you know Jesus to have said was ever actually what He said"

Again, no one is disputing the accounts of Peter.

But if they were this would, again, be a terrible argument.

There are four Gospels and Peter didn't write any of them.

If someone wanted to ignore Peter's account they could and still have the majority of the accounts of Christ's ministries.

..

i think you're misunderstanding the problem here.

I don't think anyone here is saying that Christ is the only source of information.

Christians are people who follow Christ, it' not that deep.

But if we are listening to Paul we should listen to him.

Here's what he said.

"One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul?" - 1 Corinthians 1:12b-13

We are not saved by the Law or by Peter or Paul.

Appealing to them to supplant the ministry of Christ is contradictory to the ministry of Christ and that of Peter & Paul.

"a lot of the eyewitness accounts of what Jesus said come from the Apostle Peter."

I don't even know what this means.

Peter didn't write the Gospels, at most he Wrote 1st Peter and 2cd Peter.. and that's disputed too.

This isn't even the topic, I don't care and you're not the person to talk to about this anyways,

but these claims are just puzzling.

"If you’re going to say Scripture is your authority, you have to answer the question “why.”"

Interesting that you didn't give a why when you were making things up about how being straight was a fundamental part of the faith.

"The only reason to make Scripture the authority for your life and how you live it is if, indeed, it is the Word of God."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"And you have to believe all of it is the Word of God. All of it."

This is called a false dichotomy.

Another lie.

Not that anyone was saying that they didn't believe the Bible.

Which again,

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"Now that we’ve established that it’s all-or-nothing"

You didn't establish anything.

You said something insane and blathered for a bit.

No one is even arguing that parts of the Bible are untrue, your arguments are just terrible

It's amazing that language teachers can't correct this sort of thing.

"you can’t just pick and choose which verses have authority and which don’t"

No you don't get to choose.

If you're listening to the whole Bible then you are actually commanded to ignore certain portions of it.

Which I know that you know, because I know you're not making animal sacrifices correctly.

"here are the ones where homosexuality is prohibited.[Leviticus 18:22 & Leviticus 20:13]"

This is so embarrassing for you.

..

I'm going to ignore the hypocrisy of quoting a code of law that you don't follow and I'll even ignore that I count five mistranslations in just two verses and I'll focus something worse.

You're being dishonest.

Let's make this very, very simple.

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Is two men having sex together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Now,

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of two men having sex together⸮

No.

This is the equivalent of saying that clothes are banned because hats are banned. You're exaggerating the meaning to match your personal feelings, not the semantics of the actual text.

This verse, which is A) mistranslated and B) defunct, still does not prohibit homosexuality.

It doesn't prohibit gay marriage, it doesn't prohibit gay parents, it doesn't prohibit anything that a lesbian might do.

It doesn't even prohibit all forms of sex between men.

Even in a defunct, mistranslated text you still felt the need to lie.

Because nothing about your views is based on reason, or honesty. It's certainly not based on text.

It's based on your prejudice.

"This is God...telling the Israelites in His Law"

It's Levitical Law, the law of the Levitical priesthood. Priests from the tribe of Levi.

And among its lists of laws, [which you do not follow], are laws requiring the execution of rape victims and systematizing the ownership and sale of women; among other things.

So I'm actually grateful that you spent so much time building up Paul so you can't backtrack when Paul writes about the Law.

"But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code." - Romans 7:6 "So the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian." Galatians 3:24-25 "The former regulation is set aside because it was weak and useless" - Hebrews 7:18

But supposedly you got your conclusions from the text.

"It’s meant to reveal the standard that humanity falls short of, not condone falling short of that standard."

Sure the perfect version of humanity wears tassels.

Funny, Adam and Eve didn't wear anything.

"Jesus has not changed His mind about this. Homosexuality is an abomination. And ⬇️ [Romas 1:26-27]"

This is lazy.

I could tell you to just read the whole chapter; but who knows what you'd come up with.

If you had read the whole chapter.. you would know that this chapter is talking about a pagan sex cult.

And if you knew what you were talking about, then you would know that these men usually had sex with women.

Condemning a bunch of cultists is not a commentary on homosexuality even if the members were homosexuals, which they decidedly were not.

"⬆️ This was written in the New Covenant"

What would that even mean‽

Not everything in the New Testament, is a part of the new covenant.

You realize that the New Testament also includes the crucifixion and commands for slaves to obey their masters right?

"God hasn’t changed His mind. What He says is natural is natural...it’s not natural to be “consumed with passion” for the same sex as yourself."

You're talking about what's ""natural"" as if you aren't online. Be serious.

You want to know what else is unnatural⸮ Modern medicine, electricity, indoor plumbing, the written word.

If you had thought about this for more than a second you would have realized how stupid naturalism is as a moral standard

And if you had done that then you might have actually attempted to understand the meaning of the text.

The Greek term "φυσικὴν - physikēn" just means instinctual or inborn. It's a relative of the English word "physical".

It does not reference any such concept like an universal natural order.

It just means that these men were usually with women and not men.

This is the closest the Bible ever comes to describing orientation.

If Paul had intended to make broad sweeping commentary on homosexuality, a concept that would not exist for another eighteen centuries, then why would he be specifying that these men were acting out of character.

Probably because having sex for the worship of a pagan god is even more heinous when it's not even the sex you'd want to be having.

"Jesus talks about the correct view of marriage by quoting...[Matthew 19:4-5]"

Jesus does not say that this is the correct view of marriage, Jesus never even calls this a marriage, and neither does Genesis 2:24 which he is quoting.

You're compulsion to lie is troubling.

And because I actually know this topic fairly well I suspect that you're thinking that it must be about marriage because the verses mention wives.

But no

English translators added "wife", both the Hebrew and Greek terms of this quote(Genesis 2:24 & Matthew 19:5 respectively) just mean "woman"

And again, it's fortunate that you've spent so much time defending the validity of other scripture because if you want to argue that all scripture is equal.. then Jesus can't be claiming that the correct view of marriage is heterosexual monogamy.

Because the Bible frequently refers to polygamy and makes a distinction between marriage and other forms of relationship like concubinage.

So if you're claiming that no other sort of marriage can exist, then you're contradicting scripture.

"I know you said you don’t understand how what Jesus does say condemns homosexuality."

There’s nothing to understand, this is an imaginary problem.

Mentioning heterosexuality isn't condemning Queer people.

Queer people manage talk about heterosexuality all the time without being homophobes.

"Jesus was talking to people who were trying to trap Him by asking about the right way to handle divorce—a matter of marriage. And Jesus answered by explaining what the correct view of marriage is"

Assumption.

"We fall so hard that even what we desire is twisted and broken, and even our ability to know what brokenness is"

Clearly yours is.

"And that’s why it’s so good that you asked me to give you verses. Because when we can’t trust whether or not we know what’s good or bad, right or wrong"

You're a fool if you think feelings stop at the page.

Your feelings influence you.

You are not impartial, objective or even terribly knowledgeable.

Your interpretation is less reliable than the conscience of someone who actually knows something about the Queer experience.

"The Bible. God’s Word."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"You can’t base what God wants for you, what’s right and wrong, on your feelings"

That's what you're doing hon'

You arguments don't make sense and your behavior is more in line with an emotional outburst.

"Life experience is meant to be informed by what God says in His Word"

I'd love to see where you got that idea from.

All human communication is formed on the basis of past experiences.

Anything you could interpret must be transmitted through the lens of past experiences.

Which is why bias is an inherent part of the human condition.

"Because your analyzer, your mind, your heart, are broken,"

Oh look gaslighting.

Isn't it rich that you remember the basic reality of bias and fallibility only when they're using them to explain why you should be the authority.

"What I am telling you is that your interpretation of that experience, that it’s somehow “from God,” that He set it up that way and that’s how you know He approves of your homosexuality—that is what’s incorrect"

Cool story, but you can't prove it.

"Your interpretation of what you’ve lived through as “from God” is incorrect, and it is very dangerous."

Real quick, how many people died from being gay and happy⸮

It's "dangerous" because you can't disprove it. And you know that no one will buy the misery you're hawking without censoring any alternative.

"There are plenty of verses about that."

Oh yes there are plenty of verses about being wrong about scripture.

But history seems to indicates that that doesn't stop people frome being wrong.

One of us must be wrong don’t you think, but do those verses tell us who⸮

"This is against saying that “God placed a burden on me to do this or that” because you run the risk of perverting His words."

I guess you're also abstaining from the "burden of proof" too.

"Again, this verse proves[Jeremiah 23:25-27] you can think you’re hearing from God, or something is coming from God, and be wrong."

And you're exemplifying that problem beautifully.

"But you don’t have to read very far into the Bible to notice that God is a specific, existing Person with His own set of characteristics, wants, loves, and dislikes, and you can’t change them or decide what they really any more than I could change or decide what your characteristics,"

Says the homophobe using non-binary pronouns to blaspheme a God of Love.

This is a non-point.

No one is trying to change God here but you.

You're the one making the claim that God's grace is undone by homosexuality.

That's heresy.

"The only way to know is to line what you’re thinking about His will up next to Scripture. See if it matches."

Oh girl, don't you know better.

If your only standard for your base ethics is whether scripture "agrees with you" then it's no wonder you're so nasty.

For one you don't know much about the Bible, so basing your morality on your hazy recollections is.. not exactly ideal.

But let's suppose that you actually knew something.

You want to know who reads the Bible and comes away thinking they have God's approval⸮

Everyone who wants it

I'm sorry but even I and the other Queer people you so despise regularly come to the conclusion that the Bible supports us.

Your own pseudo-logic condemns you.

Queer people don’t usually go around bragging about it because anyone can get scripture’s approval: me, you, nazis, slavers, imperialists.

And lest you be confused, this is not because everyone else is lying to themselves and you are the one true Christian who reads the Bible honestly.

It’s because bias is inherent to the human condition and we can be wrong no matter how good or bad our intentions are.

"And if you’re living as if He does not think homosexuality is an abomination,"

Abomination is one of those mistranslations from the laws that you don't follow that I mentioned;

by the way.

"One more verse, because it’s the one where Hope is found.[1 Corinthians 6:9-11] See? Do you see?"

Another instance where some more research would have saved us both some time.

Please refer to the documentary about this

1946: The Mistranslation That Shifted Culture

Or if you can't find that documentary, you can look at this recorded presentation made by one of the presenters.

Both 1 Corinthians 6:9 & 1 Timothy 1:10 are mistranslations totally unsupported by historical analysis and even modern English semantics.

You don’t have to watch these videos, but if you want to claim to be informed with any honesty it would behoove you to actually be informed.

"Don’t be deceived - you can be wrong about this."

But not you is that right.

- negative self awareness -

"It is defined as normal by the Bible TO be deceived"

Yeah,

Which explains why Christians have proclaimed evil prejudices like racial hierarchy and imperialism for centuries.

Can you think of anything similar⸮

"You can be deceived—into believing that any of the sins he lists are somehow NOT sins"

And you were deceived into thinking that Love was immoral based on mistranslation.

"It’s in the verse. It’s plain. Nothing twisted or hard to see or understand about that."

You wouldn't be saying that unless you already knew that the translation is contentious.

If you had spent time trying to understand the situation instead of covering your own ass, then you might have been able to learn something.

"Homosexuality is a sin. But it’s not a super-sin. It’s not special"

Lie. You don't believe that.

And I know you don't believe that because you didn't write angry pouts about other sins.

You also didn't claim that the arrogant or the hypocritical stop being Christians.

Presumably because you aren't so stupid.

But you're not smart enough to not get caught in an obvious lie.

"Such were some of you - Christians have been homosexuals."

And Christians continue to be homosexuals.

Gay conversion is not possible through any ethical means, nor is it possible through unethical means, and we know this because we've tried all of them.

Advocating torture because you can't handle reality is evil.

"But it’s past-tense. It was who they were. It is NOT anymore."

Being gay has never been who anyone is.

And you would know that if you saw Queer people as your equals instead of as evil bogey man made to torment you.

"Homosexuals" is a mistranslation. And your wild conspiracism is embarrasing.

"The name of Christ? “Christian.” An identifier that is incompatible with the name “homosexual.”"

Prove it.

You have no credibility, your knowledge is inaccurate, you honesty is wanting and you're a minority opinion even among the bigoted.

This isn't an argumment, it's begging.

"You aren’t a homosexual. If you’ve been washed, sanctified, by the Spirit of God"

And we're still not heterosexual or straight.

Which is it. Is God's power limited⸮ Or are you⸮

There is a wrong answer.

"Please don’t jump right into responding to this reblog by saying things to me like “I pray that one day God opens your eyes to a world of love, not hate,”"

Oh.

So you do have an understanding of how impersonal platitudes are annoying.

So you weren't ignorant, you were a hypocrite.

"as if anything I’ve said is hateful"

- negative self awareness -

I don't know what needs to be done for you to have an attitude adjustment, but I teach rich pre-teens and they're not this bratty.

"or anything apart from what God says is love can be love. He is love."

Lower my expectations and keep digging.

You're somehow deluded into believing that Love can be evil.

I follow a God of Love, you’re doing something else.

Look at 1 Corinthians 13

You know.. Love is patient, Love is kind..

Ring any bells⸮

Why don't you read that chapter and let me know when you find a gender requirement.

"He says it is is better than the lies the world has convinced you is “love.”"

Oh so your evil.

Queer people are in fact capable of Love.

How you think you're not full of hatred is beyond me. Though I suppose you could be lying.

"Read what is typed in this post and weigh it and consider it, as if it’s the first time you’ve heard it."

So without all of your homophobic biases.

Funny, without assuming that homosexuality immoral and that Queer people are incapable of Love the Bible doesn't seem so prejudiced after all.

Way to tell on yourself.

Get real.

People aren't going to magically acquire your biases even if they could somehow get rid of their own.

You are not some blank slate interpreting without motive, you are dripping in bias, with a large helping of self-importance to boot.

"And THEN make the decision"

I did.

I got three degrees worth of knowledge and read a pile of books on the subject.

You can't even be bothered to read your own posts so you don't get caught in a lie.

Maybe you got off on being able to dominate the other boys and girls in Sunday school, I don’t know, but this behavior is terrible.

I once believed the way you do. Then I got better.

You could too. But you choose to wallow instead.

"Or are you going to stop trusting your deceitful heart and what the whole world says, and trust in God alone?"

You can't even Trust that God made a Love you don't experience.

Don’t bother talking about trust when you’ve shown that you don’t value it.

"If you’re a Christian, you chose to die to your old self and be Christ’s. Be what He tells you to be."

Which is a Queer fuck.

And if you don't like it, kick rocks.

"One is a traveling nurse who was engaged to another woman, the other is a 15 year-old girl who was dating another girl. They gave their lives to Christ in this past year and are happy, even though it’s hard, following Him."

80% of supposed "ex-gays" are openly Queer again within five years.

And that's according to the manipulated data of "conversion therapists."

But if you're hanging around we might be able to cut that time in half.

Wishing them a speedy recovery.

"“Let God be true though every one were a liar…”"

Well we already know which one you are.

I will say it again:

The LGBTQ+ person who asks Christians to "welcome and accept them without telling them they should change" is openly demanding that the Christians change. From being Christians, to being non-Christians.

Because Christ died to save you from who you used to be. When you become a Christian, you're choosing to change from who you were to who He tells you to be. That is Christianity. To tell Christians to stop talking and behaving like that is what they believe is to not only reject Christianity yourself, but demand that they reject it, too.

Do not listen to any influencer, pop culture icon, or person who says to you that Christians do not love LGBTQ+ people, because they say LGBTQ+ people should change who they are.

Christians change who they are. More accurately, they let Christ change who they are. That’s how they became Christians. Truth goes hand in hand with love—it is not avoiding it. Because love is not anti-rejection. Love rejects plenty of things! Love rejects hatred, self-focus, and lies. So of course Christians who believe in a God that says, “let Me change you into who you’re meant to be” can tell you that you need to change—and that is loving. They love you, and they’re not okay with leaving you the way you are. Because Christ didn’t leave them, the Christians, the way they were.

Don't listen to anyone, "Christian" or otherwise, who tells you different.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Newlywed Solomon HCs

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: Things Solomon does now that he's officially married to you.

AN: Hi all! I'm trying to get myself out of a writing funk (my event requesters, I'm so sorry, I'm trying ☹️). Since the new app won't have the side characters until later, I decided to just make some headcanons for Solomon so my brain could un-mushify itself. Nightbringer was but a mere taste of what married life with Solomon could be like and I need more, lol.

Warnings: Reader refers to Solomon as "my love," lengthy (I got carried away), other than that, it's all fluff!

Newlywed Solomon who wakes you up in the morning with soft whispers of love in your ear. “I’m so lucky to wake up next to you. You have no idea how much I love you.” He holds you close, legs tangled, happily sharing his warmth with you as he presses soft kisses around your face, occasionally nuzzling his nose against your neck.

Newlywed Solomon who brings you coffee in bed. He knows how you like it and makes sure every measurement of milk, sugar, or creamer is perfect. It’s bitter… almost sour, despite the effort he puts in, but you’ve learned to hold your grimace as he sips his own beside you peacefully, his off hand thumbing over your knuckles.

Newlywed Solomon who sends little texts throughout the day if you’re apart. He wants to know if you’re thinking about him like he is of you. Expect anything from a meme he found, a gif of a cat, an emoji, or even a photo of himself showing what he’s up to. If you send a photo of yourself back, be prepared to have him spam you with heart reactions and words of love. He’s happy to know you’re safe and having a good day.

Newlywed Solomon who tries to keep up with housecleaning. He’s not particularly good at it, but he’s learning as he goes. You’ll find the bed sheets freshly washed and on the bed, though the fitted sheet is clinging to the corners of the mattress by a prayer. Sometimes one of his shirts ends up folded and tucked away amongst yours (you think this is on purpose so you’d see it and wear it). A lot of it he does with magic, but your kisses of encouragement make him want to do better each time without the added help.

Newlywed Solomon who mentions extending the family… in the form of cats. Easily agreeing, you both end up walking through a shelter with the hopes of rescuing a kitty in need. He stops in front of a cage with a pair of siblings inside, and after reading about how they’ve spent their lives in the shelter, he turns to you with misty eyes and a hopeful smile. That night, you bring home two kitties that are already spoiled by Solomon in the form of a large cat tower, a fluffy bed, and a bag full of toys, treats, and pretty collars.

Newlywed Solomon who loves matching with you. Matching robes hung side by side on the wall, matching mugs sitting patiently in the cabinet to be used, even matching toothbrushes that sit on either side of the bathroom sink. He’s even imbued your wedding rings with magic to connect your hearts so that every time you touch the banding, a soft pulse of the other’s heartbeat can be felt.

Newlywed Solomon who’s only allowed to watch as you prepare meals. He’ll quickly set the table before rushing over to hold you from behind. It’s the only way to keep himself from assisting, and besides, any moment holding you is a good moment. His help in the kitchen is in the form of grocery shopping, though he tends to get a little sidetracked from the list you wrote and you end up with a fully stocked inventory and random ingredients you have no idea what to do with.

Newlywed Solomon who’s devoted to your care when you’re under the weather. If you’re physically sick, he’s constantly checking your temperature, feeding you soup (that you requested he order), as well as offering some spells to cure/comfort whatever ails you. If you’re struggling mentally, he’s doing whatever he can to support you. Whether you need to be held as you cry into his shoulder or ask for a cup of tea and some space as you sort yourself out before confiding in him, consider it done. Your well-being is the most important thing to him.

Newlywed Solomon who loves spending quality time with you. Your legs rest on his lap as you sit opposite of him on the couch, watching something on TV, while he reads a book and strokes your calf mindlessly. He’s easily distracted, studying how you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re invested, the steady rise and fall of your chest, your little reactions to a sudden twist in the show. He loves how expressive you are in these calmer moments. You’re way more interesting than a thousand words on a page.

Newlywed Solomon who watches in awe as you get ready for the day. Laying against the headboard, his eyes trail along your scantly clad body while you sift through outfits. There is no lust in his eyes, just admiration for the person you are. He loves everything about you and he loves that you trust him to see you like this. He’s vocal when you ask for his opinion, but never cruel or hurtful as there’s never anything negative to say. To him, you look wonderful in any style and he hopes you’re able to see yourself the way he sees you.

Newlywed Solomon who lets himself get dragged off to bed when he stays up too late. Even when his eyes sting and neck aches, he finds it difficult to pull away from his work and finish it the next day. So, when the bed feels too big and cold, and you come looking for him, he’s grateful. Cuddled close in the bed after you generously cover him up more than yourself, fingers card through his hair, coaxing him to sleep easily. Through a crack in his droopy lids, the last thing he sees is you, smiling softly as you whisper words of love to him. “Get some sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up, just like always.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Birthday post - Boyfriend Zayne

Posts on the TL w/ boyfriend Zayne during your birthday trip

_thedrzayne

♥️ liked by imjenna, misshuntermc, liiisa_ and 34k others

_thedrzayne: She wanted to spend her birthday week with me I'm honored

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: Are you my present? 😋

↳ _thedrzayne: If you’d like ↳ misshuntermc: 😈😈

yvannamama: Happy Birthday beautiful! 😘

↳ misshuntermc: Thank you bby 🤭

gray.sun: Happy Bday bestie! 😋

↳ misshuntermc: Thank you bestie 😚

liiisa_: That view is so pretty 😍

↳ liiisa_: oh yeah the buildings are nice too 🫤 ↳ simonesays: Bro thought we wouldn’t notice ↳ talkthat_tara: About as slick as sandpaper ↳ misshuntermc: I chose this shirt for a reason 🙂‍↕️

imjenna: What did glorilla say?👂🏼

↳ misshuntermc: JENNA WHY ↳ nene.nero: wrong she said face cute titties perk 🗣️

callmecaleb: Don’t ask me the color of nothing 🫠

↳ talkthat_tara: STAAAHHP ↳ _thedrzayne: Don’t make me block you

— View 18 more comments

misshuntermc

♥️ liked by _thedrzayne, yvannamama, talkthat_tara and 240k others

misshuntermc: Don’t look at the caption look at me💅🏾

photo credit: My man my man my maaannn

tagged: _thedrzayne

comments

_thedrzayne: The definition of Eye Candy

↳ misshuntermc: So many thoughts an none of them are holy 😏 ↳ _thedrzayne: Save it for later ↳ misshuntermc: Yes sir 🫡

simonesays: GIRL IM LOOKIN’ 👀

talkthat_tara: I’m no better than a man 😮‍💨

liiisa_: Zayne you wanna share?

↳ _thedrzayne: Absolutely not ↳ liiisa_: Lame 🙄

imjenna: Have a glass for me hun! Enjoy yourself!

↳ misshuntermc: I’ll have a shot for you as well! 💕

_thedrnoah: Happy Birthday sweetheart :)

↳ misshuntermc: Thank you 🥺

— View 305 more comments

_thedrzayne [Private Story]

↺ viewed by misshuntermc, nene.nero, gray.sun and 8 others

_thedrzayne: My sleeping beauty

mentioned: misshuntermc

yvannamama replied to private story: ooooh did you put her to sleep Dr. Zayne? 👀

gray.sun replied to private story: ooooh why’s she so tired? 👀

talkthat_tara replied to private story: Where’s her bonnet? 😧

misshuntermc replied to private story: PUT MY BONNET ON ME NEXT TIME I BEG YOU 🤧

_thedrzayne

♥️ liked by simonesays, callmecaleb, misshuntermc and 24k others

_thedrzayne: I hope we can spend many more birthdays together Happy Birthday My Love 🤍

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: You’re stuck with me for life if you get tired of me go take a nap 😚

↳ _thedrzayne: I’ll never tire of you

talkthat_tara: Words can’t explain how much I love how well you treat her ☹️

↳ liiisa_: No fr we have to protect this relationship at all costs 😤

callmecaleb: She’s allergic to grass remember 😒

↳ simonesays: Don’t you have a fighter jet to go barrel roll or something? 🤨 ↳ giggity_gideon: If they have no haters Caleb must be dead …. again ↳ nene.nero: PFFFTTT ☠️

— View 30 more comments

[formulafanfics13]

First Day, First Look - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 2

okay so i got a bit carried away tith this one... 10K special ig🫣

The Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team factory didn't usually buzz at 8:57 a.m. But today wasn't usual.

Today, Kimi Antonelli, the prodigy, the boy genius, the teenage Formula 2 phenom turned official Mercedes F1 driver, was arriving for his very first day.

The corridors were sharper. Cleaner. Engineers passed by in pressed polos and fresh white sneakers. Someone actually wiped down Toto's coffee machine. Twice. Just in case.

Everyone knew it mattered. This was the beginning of something. A new chapter. And Toto Wolff, standing by the front reception, hands in his pockets, navy blazer impeccable, wasn't just here to welcome a driver.

He was here to welcome a legacy. But he wasn't expecting her.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Security nodded them through. Kimi walked in first, tall for his age, hair neatly tucked behind his ears, a shy smile tugging at his mouth like he wasn't sure if he was meant to be this nervous. Behind him came his parents, warm, friendly, unassuming.

And then Toto saw her.

Kimi's older sister.

She walked like she belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once. Dark coat draped over her arm. Black slacks that didn't cling but flowed. Her hair was twisted up in a lazy knot with sunglasses perched on top, even though the sky was overcast. She carried a camera bag, no obvious brand, worn leather and quiet quality. And her eyes, her eyes, swept across the Mercedes lobby with something between disinterest and clinical fascination.

She wasn't impressed. She was observing.

And it hit Toto like a gut punch. 

Not just her beauty, though fuck, she was beautiful in that understated, I-don't-try kind of way that makes men lose their minds. But her presence. The way she stayed one pace behind her family. The way she nudged Kimi's arm when he hesitated by the sign-in tablet, whispering something that made him relax.

Toto had spent decades around the world's most powerful women. But this? This was different. She wasn't trying to be seen. She just was.

"Kimi!" he said, stepping forward with a wide smile, voice booming and warm. "Welcome to Brackley."

Kimi shook his hand with both of his own, a little too tightly. "Thank you, Toto" Then, without missing a beat, he turned toward his family. "This is my mama, my papa, and my sister."

His sister.

Toto turned, politely, and extended a hand. "It's lovely to meet you all."

Her hand slid into his last. Warm. Slim. Calloused at the fingertips. Photographer, he clocked. Possibly film. Not new to the world. And when she looked up and met his gaze, fuck.

Her eyes were darker than he expected. And she held his stare.

"Thanks for having us," she said, voice soft but controlled. No trace of nerves. A different accent than Kimi's, same base, but smoothed out by time abroad. She chose how she spoke.

Toto wanted to ask her a hundred things. And say nothing at all. Instead, he nodded once, slow. "We're very happy to have you here."

Kimi's parents beamed. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, not guarded, but measured. Like she knew the effect she had and wasn't sure whether or not to weaponise it.

But what struck Toto more than anything... was how close she was to Kimi.

It wasn't just protective big sister energy. It wasn't distant affection. It was bonded. Every time he glanced toward her, she was already watching him. When he walked a few steps ahead, she matched pace. When he laughed nervously at Toto's jokes, she tilted her head like she memorised the sound.

And he leaned on her without even realising it. Brushed against her arm. Checked her expression. Smiled when she nudged him in reassurance. They moved like they shared a nervous system. Four years apart. But soul twins. Siblings and best friends.

At one point, during a break in the factory tour, when one of the engineers offered to show Kimi the simulator rig in the next room, Kimi hesitated.

He turned to her. "You wanna come?"

She shook her head. "Nah, go ahead. You'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive." She said it like she meant it. He left with a smile, finally looking relaxed for the first time that day.

Toto didn't miss a second of it. He cleared his throat lightly, and she looked back at him. "You two are very close," he said.

A shrug. "He's my favourite person in the world. Always has been."

"You don't get the impression he's nervous around you."

She smiled. "That's because he's not."

"Do you keep him grounded?"

"I try. But he's always been better than people give him credit for. Smarter. More self-aware." Her tone was soft but proud. "Everyone wants to talk about how young he is, but no one sees how old his soul is. He was born for this. He just doesn't like showing off."

Toto nodded slowly. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you good at showing off?"

She tilted her head. "Wouldn't you like to know."

That landed like a match dropped in gasoline. Toto didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. He just watched her, and she watched him back.

She wasn't afraid. She wasn't flirty. She was simply present, and in full control of the electricity between them.

"I take it you're not based in Italy anymore," he said.

"I split time," she answered. "London. Florence. Sometimes Milan. I do freelance photography and film work. Architecture. Documentary-style mostly."

"Ever done motorsport?"

"God, no."

He laughed. "Good. Don't start. It'll ruin your soul."

She cracked a real smile then. Something deeper. "You sound like you speak from experience."

He met her eyes again. "I do."

They stood there for a moment. The factory noise behind them softened to a hum. Her fingers toyed absently with the strap of her camera bag. "I should find Kimi," she said finally.

Toto nodded. But as she turned, he said, "You can stay."

She looked over her shoulder.

"I'd like to speak more. If you'd let me."

She considered. "Maybe."

She didn't expect Toto Wolff to offer.

But when she paused near the glass corridor junction, half-intending to ask someone where Kimi had gone, Toto glanced at his watch and murmured, "He'll be with the simulator team. Come, I'll take you."

He didn't phrase it like a suggestion. Just turned and began to walk beside her, long legs in perfectly tailored trousers, navy cuff rolled to his wristwatch, voice soft but cutting through the silence like a knife through silk. She followed, shoulder to shoulder.

The factory corridors were sleek, clinical, the whole place felt like it had been sanitised and polished within an inch of its life. But next to Toto, she didn't feel small or out of place. He didn't slow down for her. He didn't lead either. Just walked like they were equals.

And close. Too close. She could smell him again, expensive, precise. There was something magnetic about how he moved. The way his body seemed to orbit closer to hers with every quiet step. It wasn't overt, but it was intentional.

She noticed. She also didn't pull away.

On the way, they passed the canteen, sleek windows, tall bar stools, brushed steel and light wood. A small group of people sat inside, eating quietly. Among them, her parents.

"Ah," Toto said, nodding once. "We should collect your mother and father as well. No point in repeating the full factory induction twice."

She smiled softly. "Good luck getting my mum to stop asking questions. She's in love with this place."

"Your dad hasn't said much."

"He won't. He's proud of Kimi, but he hates the press. Cameras. Anything loud. He's a good man, but quiet."

"I noticed," Toto murmured. "He watches everything."

"He does," she agreed. "And when he does speak, everyone listens."

Toto opened the door, and the sound of her mother's voice reached them immediately, enthusiastic and animated, already deep in conversation with one of the factory chefs about the best kind of flour for Emilia-Romagna pasta. She laughed.

Her father looked up first and nodded respectfully. Her mother lit up like a firework.

"Oh! We were just saying how clean everything is! And the coffee! Toto, you must thank the chef for me, it's better than Milan."

Toto smiled, utterly composed. "He'll appreciate that. We're happy to have you both here."

She watched her father stand slowly, brush off his trousers, and fall into step behind her without a word. Her mother kissed her cheek quickly before launching into a quiet flurry of questions in Italian. She answered a few, distracted by the sound of footsteps ahead.

There he was. Kimi. Coming down the hallway from the simulator wing, still in his polo, cheeks slightly flushed, hair messed up from the headset. He spotted them instantly. And even from ten steps away, she could see the way his gaze flicked, from her, to Toto, to how fucking close Toto was standing next to her. Barely a hand's width between them. Her body relaxed. His jaw tight.

She smiled. Innocent. Almost.

"Kimi," Toto greeted, slowing his pace just slightly. "We're just on our way to my office for a quick debrief. Thought we'd collect you all together."

Kimi nodded, eyes still flicking back and forth. "Yeah. Sure."

The group fell into a rhythm, Toto and the parents ahead, chatting about heritage and factories and family pride. And her and Kimi? They trailed just behind. Quiet. Familiar. Side by side like always.

He didn't speak at first. Just glanced at her again. Then groaned softly under his breath.

She smirked.

"Please," he said, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. "Please don't start with my boss."

She bumped his shoulder lightly. "I haven't done anything."

"You're standing this close to him," Kimi muttered. "You're doing the look."

"What look?"

"You know what look."

She grinned. "Are you telling me I'm not allowed to have chemistry with the man who pays your salary?"

"Yes," Kimi deadpanned. "That is exactly what I'm telling you."

"Why? Scared he'll promote me instead?"

Kimi gave her a long, slow glare. Then cracked a smile, reluctantly. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah," she whispered, teasing. "But you love me."

He rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed. Because this was them. Always had been. Banter layered over bone-deep loyalty. He could be annoyed, but he never pushed her away. She looped her arm through his as they turned the final corridor, just before Toto held the door open to his office, and whispered, "You've got this, little brother."

Kimi nodded, heart pounding but steadier now. And behind them, Toto glanced over his shoulder just once, watching them both. Watching her. Still saying nothing.

But the look on his face? Dangerous. Interested. And absolutely not done with her yet.

Toto's office was no clutter. No noise. Just minimalist lines, a long dark oak table, black leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a portion of the Brackley test track. Everything inside was ordered and cool. Like him. Like he'd built the space to reflect his exact way of thinking: sharp, efficient, restrained. And yet, as the Antonelli family took their seats around the table, the energy was anything but restrained.

Kimi sat beside his father, shoulders still a little stiff. She perched next to her mother across the table, camera bag placed neatly at her feet. Toto sat at the head of the table, tablet in front of him, sleeves rolled slightly, collar sharp, watching them with a subtle attentiveness that hadn't waned since she walked through the door.

He was focused. But on more than just Kimi. "All right," Toto began, tapping his screen once. "A few simple things I like to go through with all our incoming drivers and their families."

He glanced up, smile polite but real.

"You are, of course, invited to attend any race you'd like. We'll arrange paddock passes, hospitality access, whatever makes you comfortable. There are designated family zones, media guidance, it's all handled internally. If there are ever any concerns, I'd rather you raise them directly with me."

Kimi's mother nodded, grateful. "That's very kind. We were unsure what to expect."

"We've had many young drivers come through this team," Toto said gently. "But Kimi is one of the few we've brought up from the very start. That makes you part of the family."

Kimi looked down, cheeks flushing a little. She smiled softly at him across the table. Her fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, but didn't want to embarrass him in front of The Boss.

Toto continued, tapping the screen again. "We'd love for all of you to attend the first race of the season," he said. "It sets the tone, for Kimi, and for the fans. Seeing a united front around a new driver helps build that connection."

She tilted her head, eyes still on the view out the window. "Will there be champagne?"

The room froze for half a second. Kimi snapped his head toward her. "Seriously?"

She shrugged, deadpan. "I'm just asking the important questions."

He groaned, then smacked her arm, not too hard, but enough that the sound snapped against the silence.

She turned to him, eyes narrowed. "Kimi!"

"Don't say shit like that in front of Toto!"

"I didn't say anything bad!"

"You said champagne like you were gonna shotgun it-"

"I didn't even say I wanted to drink it-"

"You implied it!"

She went to flick his arm back, and he yelped as she connected first, a sharp jab to his shoulder that made their mother sigh deeply from across the table.

"Basta," she muttered. "Stop behaving like bambini."

Kimi rolled his eyes. "She started it."

"She's twenty-two."

"She's still sucking-"

"Kimi!" she gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding. "Watch your mouth!"

"I was gonna say sucking up the champagne," he grumbled, folding his arms. "Jesus."

Toto made a small sound. Quiet. Controlled. A smirk. Barely-there. Covered instantly with a hand against his jaw as he leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping his lower lip, trying desperately not to smile like the image of her drinking champagne from a race bottle hadn't already rooted itself somewhere dark behind his ribs.

She noticed. Of course she did. And as Kimi leaned across to poke her again, she grinned, wide, unapologetic, the kind of grin that said I could ruin everything in this room if I wanted to.

"Anyway," she said sweetly, turning back to Toto like she hadn't just caused a public sibling meltdown. "If there's champagne and a view, I'm in."

Kimi groaned again.

Toto cleared his throat. "We'll ensure there's both."

Their father just shook his head. Their mother muttered something in Italian under her breath about drama.

But Toto? He watched her laugh and lean back in her seat, her legs crossed, her eyes dancing, and for the first time in weeks, he felt dangerously close to smiling like a man who'd just been dared.

*

It was quieter than usual in the upstairs lounge.

Mid-morning, coffee mugs half-full. A playlist murmured low from someone's phone docked nearby, soul music, older, vibey. The kind of tracks Lewis liked to play when he wanted the room to feel calm. Safe.

George was reclined in the corner sofa, legs stretched out, one hand lazily spinning a protein bar across the table. Lewis leaned back against the armrest, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, relaxed but focused. Kimi sat opposite them, knees bouncing, chewing the edge of a straw like he was trying to bite through the nerves building in his jaw.

He hadn't spoken for ten minutes. Which, in and of itself, wasn't strange. Kimi didn't talk much around them unless he had something worth saying. But the silence today had a different weight. A hum in the air. Like he was sitting on a bomb with the pin in one hand and no plan in the other.

Lewis clocked it first. "You good, man?" he asked, brows raised.

Kimi looked up. Blinked. "Yeah."

George tilted his head, studying him. "Sure?"

Kimi sighed. Then, very slowly, put his water bottle down and said, "Can I ask you something?"

Lewis and George both straightened just a little. "Course," Lewis said. "Everything okay?"

Kimi hesitated. Looked at the floor. Then looked back at them and said, in a flat, dead-serious voice:

"I think my sister's going to end up sleeping with Toto."

Silence. Dead fucking silence. The kind that cracked open in slow motion.

Lewis blinked. Once. Then again. George actually choked on his protein bar, coughing and grabbing his water bottle like he'd just swallowed a full marble. Kimi didn't move. Just sat there, perfectly still, like he'd been waiting to say it and now that it was out, he couldn't unsay it.

Lewis stared at him, jaw tight, lips parted in something between confusion and cautious dread. "I'm sorry- what?"

Kimi didn't flinch. "I think she's gonna sleep with him."

George wheezed. Lewis leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Kimi."

"I'm not joking," Kimi said flatly.

"No, I can see that," Lewis replied slowly. "That's the terrifying part."

George finally cleared his throat, face red. "Okay, wait. Start again. From the top."

Kimi sighed and leaned back, arms crossed. "She's been texting him."

Lewis and George exchanged a look so loaded it could've powered a race simulator. "Texting?" George asked.

Kimi nodded. "Yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw it. The contact name is just 'TW.' No emojis. That's so suspicious."

"Wait, you looked?" George asked, half-grinning.

"I didn't look, she left her phone open in the kitchen while making coffee and I saw a whole string of messages from him. He texts her at midnight."

Lewis winced. "That's not... ideal."

"She smiled at the phone," Kimi added, almost bitterly. "Like a nice smile."

George blinked. "What's a nice smile?"

"You know what I mean. The kind you make when a man who's too old for you says something smooth."

Lewis cleared his throat. "How long's this been going on?"

"Since the first day my family came."

George rubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck me."

Kimi groaned. "I told her not to start."

Lewis leaned back again, quiet for a moment. Then, "Look... have you asked her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll lie. Or worse, she'll smirk."

George nodded slowly. "Smirking is worse."

"She smirks when she's about to do something unhinged."

Lewis exhaled through his nose. "And Toto?"

"I don't know," Kimi snapped. "That's the worst part. He's so, controlled. But he was standing this close to her in the hallway. Like, too close. For anyone. Ever. And he's my boss."

George made a low whistling noise.

"Do you like Toto?" Lewis asked gently.

Kimi blinked. "Yeah, I do. That's why I'm spiralling."

"So what do you want to happen?"

"I want her to leave him alone."

"Do you want him to leave her alone?"

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down. "I don't know," he admitted. "I want someone to be in charge of her. But I don't want it to be my literal boss."

Lewis stared at the floor for a long second, then looked up. "That's fair."

Kimi ran a hand through his hair.

George shifted in his seat. "You think they've sent-?"

"I don't want to think about that," Kimi hissed. "But probably not yet. She moves slow. Until she doesn't."

Lewis tried, tried, not to laugh. "She sounds like a handful."

"She's the best person I know," Kimi muttered. "But she's also capable of absolute chaos. She kissed her philosophy professor in front of the entire cafeteria in third year because he gave her a B."

George slapped the table. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She said it was 'a protest kiss,'" Kimi said grimly. "And then the next week, he bumped her up to an A."

Lewis leaned back again. "That poor man never stood a chance."

Kimi nodded solemnly. "Neither does Toto."

And for a second, a long second, all three sat there in a stunned, chaotic hush. Until George finally said, "If she does sleep with him, do we have to pretend not to know?"

Lewis didn't miss a beat. "We have to pretend not to care."

Kimi put his head in his hands. And somewhere in the factory, maybe in an office, maybe mid-text, Toto Wolff was already falling headfirst into the storm.

No one had spoken for almost two minutes. Then Kimi exhaled through his nose and sat up. "...You should meet her."

George looked up. "What?"

"My sister. You should both meet her. Properly."

Lewis's eyebrows raised just slightly. "You sure?"

"No," Kimi said. "But yes."

George tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because maybe if you see her in real life, you'll understand why I'm losing my mind."

"I thought you didn't want us involved."

"I didn't," Kimi said. "But I've realised I need back-up. Or at least... validation."

Lewis smiled faintly. "So we're not stopping her. We're just... observing the crime."

Kimi groaned. "Something like that."

George stretched, tossing the protein bar wrapper into the bin across the room. "Alright. I'm intrigued."

"You'll like her," Kimi muttered, mostly to himself. "You're only a few years older than her anyway."

George blinked. "Excuse me?"

"She's twenty-two."

Lewis let out a soft oof. "That's barely off your radar."

George turned to him, scandalised. "I do not have a radar."

"You definitely do," Lewis said calmly.

Kimi waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. She's not gonna sleep with you, she's too smart for that."

George raised both hands. "Hey! I'm just showing up for intel!"

"You're showing up because you want to see what kind of girl has Toto Wolff texting at midnight."

Lewis glanced sideways at Kimi. "Is she single?"

Kimi looked horrified. "Do not start."

Lewis laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Kidding."

"Are you?" George muttered.

Kimi groaned again. "Listen, she's got that kind of energy that makes people say yes to shit they shouldn't."

"That sounds like my ex," George muttered.

"She's not like your ex," Kimi said flatly. "She's... unpredictable. Like, she reads Walter Benjamin and watches Love Island. She cries at sad dog videos but argues about free will for fun. She can't cook for shit but once negotiated 25% off a tattoo just by flirting with the artist."

Lewis nodded slowly. "Dangerous."

George looked worried. "I might fall in love with her."

"No," Kimi said immediately. "You won't."

Lewis grinned. "Now I'm curious."

Kimi leaned back again, defeated. "Fine. You want to see the circus? I'll send a message. She's in London this week. I'll get her to swing by the factory tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" George blinked. "That soon?"

"If I wait, you'll both overthink it. And I need someone else to see what I'm seeing."

Lewis nodded, already mentally clearing his schedule. "I'm in."

George hesitated. "Okay. Fine. I'll come."

Kimi looked between them, narrowed his eyes. "Don't fall for her."

George grinned. "No promises."

"I mean it, George."

Lewis just smirked. "Don't worry. We'll behave."

Kimi shook his head and pulled his hoodie back up. "You don't know what you're walking into."

And deep down, he knew he'd regret this. Because once they met her, once they saw her, there'd be no walking back. Not for any of them.

*

She didn't ask what to wear. Which meant she was already planning to make a point.

Kimi had told her to come by at 10:45. Not early, not late, just enough time for things to be casual but still controlled. She'd said, "Sure," with that smirk in her voice he knew meant trouble. And now, as they stepped out of the sleek black courtesy vehicle in front of the Brackley entrance, he knew he'd fucked up.

She looked unreal. Not overdressed. No, that would've been too obvious. But perfectly in-between. Black wide-leg trousers that hugged her hips, a fitted white tank top under a lightweight linen shirt tied loosely at the front, sunglasses perched on her head, a dainty chain around her neck. Her camera bag was replaced with a small structured tote. She smelled like grapefruit and something deeper. Something expensive. Like a warning dressed in citrus.

She didn't look like she was here to meet anyone's little brother. She looked like she owned shares in Mercedes.

Kimi adjusted the strap of his backpack and groaned softly as the glass doors slid open. "Don't do the smirk," he muttered.

"I'm not smirking."

"You're always smirking."

"I just have good bone structure," she said sweetly, brushing past him as they stepped into the front lobby.

Toto was already waiting. Standing exactly where they had first seen him days ago, crisp white shirt today, no jacket, sleeves rolled to the forearms, watch gleaming. He looked calm. Polished. Prepared.

And the second he saw her, his whole posture changed. His mouth twitched. His arms relaxed. His eyes tracked the way she walked across the marble floor like he was watching an impossible line come to life. When she reached him, he didn't hesitate.

"Good to see you again," Toto said, stepping forward.

"Likewise," she said, slipping off her sunglasses and tucking them into her bag.

He leaned in slightly, not quite touching her, but definitely closer than necessary. She tilted her head. A mutual pause.

And then, he smiled. Softly.

Not for Kimi. Not for show. Just for her. That was the exact moment the door at the back of the lobby opened, and George Russell and Lewis Hamilton walked in.

Kimi heard George suck in a breath and immediately wanted to throw himself into the nearest wall. The timing was criminal. Lewis's eyebrows shot up. George actually stopped walking. They were close enough to hear Toto's next words. "I hope the journey was comfortable?"

She nodded, smooth. "No complaints."

"You look..." Toto paused, carefully choosing his word. "...well."

She smiled. That smile. The one that made Kimi want to throw something.

Behind them, George muttered, "Holy shit."

Lewis pressed his lips together like he was holding back a noise, a laugh or a gasp, Kimi couldn't tell. Maybe both. She turned at the sound. Saw them. Her eyes lit up.

"You must be George and Lewis," she said, like she was greeting two men she'd been briefed on before a boardroom pitch.

And the worst part? She made it sound like they should be honoured.

Lewis stepped forward first, offering his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh god," Kimi muttered behind her.

She took Lewis's hand, a graceful shake, and gave him the same kind of once-over he usually reserved for billionaires and art collectors.

"All good things, I hope."

Lewis smiled. "Mostly."

Then George stepped forward. Taller than her, but visibly stunned. "Hi. Yeah. Um-hi."

She grinned. "You're only two years older than me, right?"

George blinked like she'd just hit him with a flashbang. "Uh. Yeah. Twenty-four."

"Cool," she said, easy and smooth. "Kimi said we'd get along."

Kimi made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Toto watched it all with his arms folded, quiet, but the smirk on his face was barely contained. Like he was enjoying the show more than he should've been. Like he was the only one in the room who knew how this story ended.

And Kimi? He stood dead-centre in the middle of it, praying the floor would open beneath him. "I need a Red Bull," he muttered.

George laughed. "You're driving for Mercedes."

"I don't care. I need one intravenously."

"Someone's in a mood," she teased, reaching out to tug Kimi's sleeve.

"Because you've weaponised my entire team, that's why."

"I'm just being friendly," she said with exaggerated innocence.

Lewis leaned toward Toto, low enough that only he could hear: "You're fucked."

Toto just smiled. And didn't deny it.

The conversation drifted toward the simulator wing like a quiet shift in gravity.

They'd barely gotten through fifteen minutes of easy chatter, Lewis asking her how long she'd been shooting film, George trying (and failing) not to flirt while complimenting her watch, Kimi hovering like a storm cloud ready to ruin any moment that dared become charming, before Toto glanced at the time and cleared his throat.

"Right," he said, voice crisp and measured. "The three of you have sim testing booked in for the next two hours. Setup's already live. Engineers are waiting."

Lewis nodded. "Copy that."

George sighed dramatically. "No mercy today?"

Toto smirked. "Not from me."

Kimi groaned softly, already shifting into work-mode. He adjusted his polo and glanced at the corridor, then turned toward her, frowning. "You okay here?"

She raised one eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm in danger?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then turned to Toto. "Will someone be with her?"

Toto tilted his head slightly. "I'll stay."

Three words. Casual. Light. Deadly.

Kimi looked at him. Looked back at her. Her lips were already twitching.

He groaned aloud. "No."

"I didn't say anything," she said, biting back a grin.

"Your face said it."

George watched them like he was front row at a play. Lewis just chuckled under his breath and took a sip of water, wisely not getting involved.

"I'm capable of being unsupervised for two hours," she added, leaning lightly on the armrest of the nearby chair. "Unless you want me to get bored and accidentally activate the pit wall broadcast."

Toto smiled, small and dangerous. "I'd like to see you try."

Kimi groaned again, dragging a hand down his face like the soul was leaving his body. She caught his eye just as the others turned to leave. He gave her a look. A very specific look. Please don't do it.

Her response? A slow, shit-eating grin, as she lifted two fingers in a peace sign and winked.

Toto waited by the hallway, hands in his pockets, saying nothing. But the way his gaze lingered as she stepped toward him, the way his eyes slid from her earrings to her waist to her mouth, it was already written all over the walls of this factory.

Kimi was halfway down the corridor when he muttered to George and Lewis, "This is going to kill me."

George grinned. "On the bright side, I totally see it now."

Lewis just clapped Kimi on the back and said, "It was already too late the second he asked her to stay."

Toto's office was quiet. The door clicked shut behind her with the kind of softness that felt intentional. Like even the architecture knew not to make a sound while she stepped inside.

She didn't sit right away. Just walked slowly toward the window, taking in the view, the stretch of the test track in the distance, the shimmer of glass catching muted spring light. She wasn't pretending not to be impressed. She wasn't impressed. But the silence, the space, the control of the room, it suited him.

When she finally turned around, he was already at the small bar cart, fixing two coffees with unhurried hands. "I hope you take it how I do," he said over his shoulder.

She quirked an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"Strong."

She smirked, stepping forward as he handed her the cup. "That was a loaded sentence."

He smiled, not full, not soft. Just enough to make her feel the weight of it.

They sat. Opposite corners of the long sofa. Enough distance to feign innocence. Just enough proximity for the tension to build. "Thank you," she said after her first sip.

Toto looked over at her. "For the coffee?"

She shrugged, swirling the cup gently in her hands. "For not treating me like I'm just someone's sister."

"You're not," he said plainly.

Their eyes locked. And that was it. The shift. It wasn't loud. It wasn't obvious. But it was immediate. The air stretched tight. Like if either of them breathed too deep, it would snap.

She crossed her legs, lazily, the hem of her trousers sliding just enough to reveal the delicate chain around her ankle.

Toto's eyes flicked to it for half a second. Then back to her face. "You're enjoying this," he said.

"Enjoying what?"

"Being here. Watching me try not to stare."

She grinned, smug and slow. "That obvious, huh?"

"No," he said. "That intentional."

She laughed under her breath, leaning back into the sofa. "Well, you are doing a terrible job."

He tilted his head, studying her. "You're trouble."

"I've been called worse."

There was a pause. Then, with the smoothness of someone who was always in control, he lifted one hand and patted his knee. She looked at it. Then at him. Then back to it. He didn't move. Didn't elaborate. Just left it there, an invitation, a line she could choose to cross.

She raised one perfectly shaped brow. "I'll sit there..."

He waited.

"...if you increase Kimi's pay by ten percent."

Toto's lips twitched. "Ten?"

She nodded, sipping her coffee with faux innocence. "Just a humble request from a concerned sister."

He held her gaze. Unflinching. "I'll do fifteen," he said, voice low, "if you stay here for the full two hours."

Her smile was pure sin. She set her coffee on the table with slow precision. Pivoted. And then slid, gracefully, into his lap, her thighs draped over his, arms resting lightly on his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Toto didn't move. Didn't flinch. But his hand came to rest on her waist. And stayed there. She leaned in, lips dangerously close to his ear, and whispered, "You drive a hard bargain, Wolff."

He smirked, one hand sliding just slightly lower, palm spread wide. "And you negotiate like someone who knows exactly what she's worth."

She met his eyes again. Up close, this time. Breath mingling. Nothing innocent left. "I know exactly what I'm worth," she said.

And Toto thought, not for the first time, that letting her into his world might just be the most reckless thing he's ever done.

But in that moment, with her on his lap, smiling like sin incarnate? He didn't care one bit.

The clock on the wall ticked once. The coffee had gone untouched for ten minutes. Forgotten. Cooling on the edge of the low table. Forgotten like everything else the moment she slid onto his lap, long legs draped over his thighs, shirt knotted just tight enough to tease, mouth parted like she was already half a sin into the next one.

But she didn't move. Not yet. And neither did he. Toto's hand rested lightly on her hip at first, firm, but still polite. Still respectable. That ended fast. Because now, without a word, his fingers began to slide.

Slow. Upward. Along the inside of her thigh. The linen of her trousers was soft. Loose enough to move. He found the seam. Found skin.

And still, still, he kept his eyes on her face. His palm moved higher. "Do you want this?" he asked. His voice was low. Not a whisper. A warning.

She inhaled slowly. Held his gaze. "Only if you can take control."

There was a pause. The kind of pause that split time into before and after. Toto's expression didn't shift. But his eyes darkened, like something ancient had clicked into place. "Good," he said. Then added, with quiet certainty, "Because I don't do it any other way."

And just like that, her breath caught. Because it wasn't a threat. Wasn't bravado. It was the quiet truth of a man who'd never asked for permission to lead. Who didn't flinch when handed power. Who wasn't afraid of what it meant to take someone apart and put them back together — carefully, deliberately, in hisimage.

His fingers slid further under the fabric of her trousers. Found bare skin, warm and soft, her thighs already shifting to let him in deeper. She let out a soft exhale. Her hand came up to his collar, thumb grazing the edge of the button like she could feel his pulse through the thread. "Then lead," she said.

And Toto smiled. Not because he won. Because she knew what she was offering. And she wanted him to take it.

She didn't even realise she was holding her breath until he moved her. Not rough. Not rushed. Just deliberate.

Toto's hands slid from her thigh to her hips, broad palms warm through the linen, thumbs grazing the ridges of her pelvis like he was feeling for pressure points. He tilted his head slightly, watching her, really watching, the way her lips parted, the way her lashes fluttered with anticipation.

Then he shifted forward in the seat, planting his feet more firmly. His hands guided her. Down.

Her breath stuttered in her chest as her clothed core pressed against the hard line of him through his tailored trousers. She could feel the heat, the shape, the promise of what he'd been holding back.

"Just like that," he murmured.

His voice was deeper now, honey-dark, the Austrian smoothness melting into something more guttural. His grip stayed steady, not forcing, not rushing, just controlling. A silent command written in the way his fingers curved and held.

"Take your time," Toto said. "You're going to stay here for a while."

Her hips twitched. He felt it. Smiled. "Grind," he said quietly.

And she obeyed. A slow roll, hips tilting forward, then back again, dragging herself across the rigid line of his cock with a quiet gasp in her throat. The friction was clothed, obscene, not nearly enough, but far too much. It sent a jolt straight up her spine.

Toto groaned under his breath. "There you go," he whispered, one hand sliding up her back to the knot of her shirt, tugging it tighter just to feel the tension across her chest. "Don't rush. Let me feel it."

She bit her lip and did it again. Another slow drag. Another roll of her hips. Her clit throbbing through the thin fabric. His cock pulsing underneath her.

Her breath came faster now, soft, shaky. Her thighs trembled.

Toto leaned in, lips grazing her jaw.c"Look at you," he muttered. "Grinding on my lap like you were meant to be here."

Her hands tightened on his shoulders. She tried to say something, a curse, maybe, or his name, but the words never made it past her throat.

His hand came up, cupped her jaw gently, forced her to face him. His eyes locked to hers, a piercing, impossibly dark look that made her stop moving.c"You want me to fuck you right here, don't you?" he said.

She nodded.

He shook his head once. "Say it."

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered. "Here. Now."

Toto exhaled, slow and sharp.

And thenche tightened his grip on her hips. Rocked her forward harder. Forced her to feel it, the heat, the friction, the pressure building between them like a spark waiting to catch.

"Keep grinding," he said. "You're not getting anything else until you've soaked through those pretty little trousers."

Her mouth fell open, body jolting forward with the next roll of her hips. He groaned again, this time louder, his cock flexing beneath her like it was trying to break free.

"God, you're already so fucking wet," he muttered, hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers splaying across her stomach. "You feel that?"

She whimpered, nodding.

"Then keep going." So she did. Over and over, hips grinding, body trembling, breath catching on every pass.

And Toto? He didn't move. Didn't rut. Didn't fuck her yet. He just held her there. Let her unravel on top of him, undone by nothing but friction, pressure, and the kind of control most men couldn't begin to imagine.

His grip never wavered. His eyes never left hers. And when she finally came, shaking, gasping, hands clenched in his shirt, Toto smiled like he'd just won a war.

"You did well," he whispered, brushing her hair from her face. "And now I'm going to ruin you properly."

She was still trembling in his lap when he stood. No warning. No hesitation. Just the quiet shift of his body as he slid her off his thighs and placed her down on the carpeted floor between his legs like she was something precious, a thing to be handled, not touched casually.

And then he took her wrist. Not rough. Not soft. Owned.

He walked her to the desk with that same lethal calm he used on pit walls, the kind that made billionaires sit up straighter and world champions fall silent. And she followed like she'd been born to.

No fight. No fear. Just trust and hunger in equal measure.

The coffee mugs were still sitting at the edge of the desk. One empty. One forgotten. Toto brushed them aside with the back of his hand, not even looking.

Then he turned her. "Bend over," he said.

Her breath caught. Her thighs pressed together. She leaned forward slowly, hands flat on the surface, palms braced on the cool glass. Her ass pushed back just slightly, the hem of her trousers taut across the curve of it.

Toto stepped behind her. And for a moment, he did nothing. Just stood there. Breathing. Watching. Taking in the way she looked bent over his desk in the middle of his domain.

He dragged his hands over her hips. Up her spine. Down again. Pressed his palm to the small of her back and pushed. Lower. Deeper. Submissive.

He tugged at the knot of her shirt until it unraveled, the fabric falling open just enough to expose the smooth line of her back. And then he undid her trousers. Slow. Torturous. Watching the way her breath shook with each inch of zipper. He slid them down to her knees, then paused.

No underwear. Toto exhaled through his nose like he'd just been dared. "You planned this," he said.

She didn't answer.

He smacked her ass once, open palm, sharp and mean. She gasped, fingers gripping the desk. "I asked you a question."

"I didn't plan anything," she said, breathless.

"Liar," he muttered, kneeling behind her.

She whimpered when his hands spread her open, thumbs digging into the soft curve of her thighs, spreading her slick folds, exposing just how fucking wet she was from nothing but grinding on his lap like a spoiled little thing desperate for praise.

He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost over her. "Dripping," he muttered. "You came like this, didn't you?"

She moaned softly. "Yes."

"Good." He stood again, unbuckled his belt with one hand, letting the sound echo through the room. Unzipped. Freed his cock, already hard, already thick, already throbbing for her.

She looked back over her shoulder just as he lined up. Toto stared at her, bent over his desk, shirt open, trousers at her knees, and smiled like a man about to do something awful.

Then he slid in. Slowly. So slow it hurt. She cried out, fingers clawing the desk, hips twitching as he sank into her inch by fucking inch. He filled her completely, deeper than she could take, but not nearly enough.

"Shh," he whispered. "Take it."

And then he started to move. Not fast. Brutal. Each thrust was slow and deliberate, dragging all the way out before slamming back in so hard the desk creaked beneath her. His hands stayed tight on her hips, controlling every motion, every noise, every ragged breath that tore from her throat.

"You feel that?" he growled.

She nodded, shaking.

He slapped her ass again, harder. "Use your words."

"Yes-fuck-yes, I feel it."

"You feel me."

"Yes."

"Because this pussy is mine now."

She moaned so loud it echoed off the glass. Toto leaned over her, body pressed to her back, cock still pounding into her in that perfect, devastating rhythm. "Keep your hands where they are," he whispered against her ear. "And don't you fucking dare come until I say so."

Her thighs shook. Her eyes blurred. Her mind went blank except for him. His name. His cock. His voice. And the way he bent her over the desk like he'd been waiting years for this.

He didn't fuck her like she was a girl he was trying to seduce. He fucked her like she belonged to him. And she'd never wanted anything more.

Her fingers were slipping. Sweat-slicked palms braced on the edge of Toto's desk, legs trembling, vision blurred, she could barely breathe, let alone think. He was still fucking her. Still slow. Still brutal. Each thrust carved into her spine, every drag of his cock hitting something deep, perfect, obscene. Her shirt was falling off one shoulder, mouth open and silent, like even her moans had been stolen from her.

But Toto? He was calm. Measured. Driving into her like he had all the time in the world and no fucking patience left for anything else.

Then, just when she felt herself spiraling again, that second orgasm building like heat under her ribs, he stopped. Pulled out. Her knees buckled. She gasped, whimpering at the sudden emptiness.

Then hands. Big, rough, commanding. Under her arms. Around her back. Lifting her. He turned her like she weighed nothing.

Laid her flat on his desk, back against the cool surface, legs draped open. Her trousers were still bunched at her knees, shirt hanging open, hair messy and mouth wrecked. Toto stood between her thighs, towering. And then he pushed back in, one hard, devastating thrust, making her cry out as her body stretched wide around him again.

But this time? He held her face. One hand cradled her jaw. Thumb at her cheekbone. Fingers threaded in her hair. "Eyes on me," he said.

She blinked, barely able to focus.

"I said look at me."

Her eyes snapped to his.

He rolled his hips forward. Harder. Deeper. "Good girl."

Her whole body shook. The tension snapped like elastic, her orgasm ripped through her without warning, no build-up this time, just white-hot pleasure detonating behind her eyes as she screamed, back arching off the desk, hands grabbing at his shoulders.

"Keep looking," Toto growled.

She did. Somehow. Watched him the whole time, the way his mouth twitched, the way his jaw clenched, how he watched her come like it was a reward he'd earned. "Fuck," he muttered, fucking into her harder now, chasing it.

He didn't slow down. Didn't pause to let her recover. Just kept driving into her, hand on her throat now, pressure just enough to ground her while his other hand gripped her thigh and pulled her leg up over his hip for more depth.

She gasped. Sobbed. Felt it building again. "Toto-fuck-I can't-"

"Yes you can," he snarled. "You will."

His cock hit deeper now. His control was cracking. And she loved it. Every part of her burned. Her nerves felt frayed, her pussy raw and soaked and stretched around him, and still  he didn't stop.

"Come for me again," he growled, voice breaking. "Let me feel you fall apart one more time."

And she did. Her second orgasm hit like a fucking collapse, body convulsing, cunt clenching around him in spasms so tight he groaned, mouth falling open as his rhythm stuttered. He slammed in one last time. And came. With a grunt, low and deep, cock twitching inside her, hips jerking as he emptied himself into her like he needed to mark her.

They stayed like that. Pressed together. Breathing hard. His body over hers, hands still braced on either side of the desk. She blinked up at him. He looked down.

"You're staying the full two hours," he said, voice ruined and hoarse.

She smiled, dazed, fucked-out, glowing. "I'll stay," she whispered. "But you're giving him twenty percent now."

Toto laughed, breathless and fucked and already planning how to ruin her again. The only sound for a full minute was breathing. Slow. Quiet. The kind that settles between two people like ash after fire.

Her chest still rose in tiny, uneven pulls of air, body splayed across the glass desk like the aftershock hadn't worn off. Her thighs twitched once, involuntary. The skin of her stomach shivered where the cool air kissed it. Her shirt hung loose, limp and open, one button still somehow done near the collarbone.

Toto's hands hadn't left her yet. Not fully. One slid softly up her side now, tracing the dip of her waist before he exhaled, slow, through his nose and finally pulled out of her. She whimpered quietly. Not from pain. From loss.

He stepped back, silent. Reached for a napkin from the bar cart and gently wiped between her legs, careful but firm. Then leaned forward to press a kiss to her inner thigh. Just once. Just enough to undo her all over again.

She watched him. No one had ever fucked her like that. And no one had ever cleaned her like this. He moved with efficiency, but with reverence. Like she was both an art piece and a threat. And then he was standing again, tucking himself back into his trousers, refastening his belt with the kind of calm that made her want to crawl back onto his lap and undo all that control just to hear him break again.

But instead she sat up, groaning softly, legs swinging off the desk. Toto walked to the sofa and wordlessly retrieved her trousers from the floor. Walked back. Handed them to her. The smirk on his lips almost looked sweet now. 

"Thanks," she murmured, voice raspy.

"You're welcome," he said, eyes flicking to the mess between her thighs. "I had motivation."

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she slid her trousers up. She didn't bother with her shirt, just pulled it tight and knotted it again, now slightly crooked, the fabric warm with her own skin. She rolled the sleeves to her elbows, hair still messy, makeup slightly smudged.

Toto buttoned the second-to-top button on his shirt. She watched his fingers move. Efficient. Elegant. And then he stepped forward again. Cupped her face. Kissed her forehead. Fuck. It was worse than all the fucking. It was tender. He held his lips there for two seconds longer than he needed to. Then pulled back, motioned toward the sofa. "Come."

She followed without a word. They settled into the same corners of the couch they'd started in an hour earlier, only now the air was heavier. Warmer. The silence wasn't loaded anymore. Just full.

She reached for her coffee. It was lukewarm. Didn't matter. Toto took a sip of his and looked over the rim at her. Quietly watching. Calculating. And then he asked. "So," he said. "Tell me about yourself."

She blinked, half-smiling. "You've had me bent over your desk and now you want to talk?"

"Yes."

Her brow lifted. "Why?"

"Because I already know your body," he said, calm. "Now I want to know the rest."

She didn't look away. Toto leaned back slightly, one arm across the top of the couch. His eyes were soft now, but no less intent. "What do you do when you're not ruining my drivers' blood pressure?" he added.

She laughed quietly. "Documentary film. Mostly small projects. I shoot some stills too, if the mood hits. Architecture. Urban movement. I did a series last year on abandoned opera houses across Eastern Europe."

He nodded once, genuinely interested. "Where'd you study?"

"Florence first. Then London. I left Milan after a year, couldn't handle the people."

"I believe that," he said. "Too many mirrors."

"Exactly."

He sipped again. "You travel a lot?"

"Not recently. Kimi keeps me tethered."

"You like that?"

"Yeah. He grounds me." She glanced down at her cup. "I'm not always great at... staying still."

Toto tilted his head. "You're good at staying present."

She looked up.

"You were present with me," he added. "Fully."

"Is that rare for you?"

"Yes."

The quiet sat between them again, this time gentler. Familiar. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He watched her do it. "You're not what I expected," he said.

She smiled. "What were you expecting?"

"Something more polished. Less sharp. Less dangerous."

"And now?"

"I'm aware," Toto said, setting his cup down slowly, "that I'm in a lot of trouble."

She grinned. "Then you'd better keep me close."

He nodded once. "That's the plan."

And neither of them said another word for a long, long time. Because in that quiet, under the weight of what they'd just started, they already knew: The next time wouldn't be behind a locked office door. The next time? It wouldn't end.

*

She wasn't there. And it was honestly more distracting. No citrus and camera bag, no glint of gold chain, no lingering scent in the hallway that made people pause without knowing why. No gravity-shifting smirks. No chaos walking in heels.

The factory had returned to normal, or at least, it was trying to. But the silence her absence left behind was suspiciously... loud. Especially in Toto Wolff's glass-walled office, where the air conditioning hummed, filtered light poured in, and the three drivers seated across from him tried to act like this was just another post-sim meeting.

It wasn't.

Lewis sat with his ankle crossed over his knee, nodding thoughtfully as Toto went through sponsor logistics. George was flipping a pen between his fingers like he wasn't still processing what he saw the day before. And Kimi, shoulders stiff, hands clasped in his lap, stared hard at the Mercedes logo stitched into the centre of Toto's carpet like it might give him answers.

"-so the Shell dinner will be in Bahrain after race one," Toto was saying, tapping on his tablet. "Lewis, your speaking slot is confirmed. George, you'll handle the PR Q&A. Kimi, you'll be introduced at the private partners' brunch. No media, just senior board. I'll prep you myself."

"Got it," Kimi said, quietly.

Toto didn't miss the tension in his voice. Lewis didn't either. George definitely didn't. But no one said anything. Not until Toto reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a single folder, clean, thick cardstock, nothing written on the outside. He stood. Walked around the desk without a word. And handed it directly to Kimi.

The teenager blinked, startled, then took it and opened it slowly. His contract. But not the one he'd signed. This one was different. Base salary, adjusted. Bonuses, increased. Branding rights, sweetened. Appearance fees, doubled.

George leaned in. Lewis tilted his head.

Kimi frowned, flipping to the final page, scanning the figures. "...Wait," he said. "This isn't the original deal."

"No," Toto said simply.

"This is... this is better."

"Yes."

Kimi looked up. "Why?"

Toto folded his arms across his chest. "You can thank your sister."

Boom. Lewis froze, eyes snapping to Kimi. George's pen dropped right out of his hand and clattered to the floor.

Kimi's whole soul left his body. "You're-you're joking," he said, voice high and desperate. "Please tell me you're joking."

Toto raised one eyebrow. "Do I look like I joke about money?"

Kimi stared at the contract like it had just slapped him. "You bumped my base by fifteen percent because she what?"

"I bumped it by twenty," Toto said calmly. "Because she earned it."

George's mouth opened. Lewis's hand clapped over his own like he was physically holding in a scream.

"Toto-" Kimi gasped, half-standing out of his chair. "That's literally-I didn't ask her to do that!"

"I know."

"I told her not to!"

"I know that too."

Kimi pressed the contract to his forehead. "I want to die."

"You're welcome," Toto said, returning to his chair like nothing had happened.

Lewis finally spoke, voice a slow tease. "So just to clarify... she actually negotiated that raise."

"She proposed ten," Toto said. "I offered fifteen."

"She countered with twenty," George breathed, stunned. "And you accepted."

"Correct."

George turned to Kimi, blinking. "Mate. Your sister's better at this than we are."

Kimi slumped forward onto the desk. "She's not supposed to be here."

"She's not even here now," Lewis muttered. "And she's still getting shit done."

Toto smiled. Not smug, satisfied.

Kimi groaned. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"

Toto didn't answer. Which was the answer.

George looked like he'd seen God. "I thought yesterday was just flirtation. Like, elite-level, espresso-and-eye-fucking type flirting, but still, flirting."

Lewis leaned back, nodding to himself. "And you're still alive. Barely. That's impressive."

Kimi covered his face. "I want to go home."

"She said she'd stay the two hours," Toto added casually. "She stayed longer."

George gasped. Lewis wheeze-laughed into his hoodie sleeve.

Kimi stood up, ready to launch himself out the nearest window. "I am not accepting this," he said, shoving the folder back toward Toto.

"You already signed the first one," Toto said, entirely unfazed. "You don't have to sign this one. I'll honour it anyway."

Kimi froze.

George blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Toto nodded.

"Why?" Kimi asked, half-horrified, half-suspicious.

Toto finally looked up from his desk. "Because she asked me to take care of you," he said softly. "And I said I would."

And just like that, all three of them shut the fuck up. Because for all the chaos, for all the flirting and smirking and ridiculous tension, that was the line that landed hard. That one cut through everything else. Kimi didn't say anything. Just sat slowly. Opened the folder again. George was still blinking in disbelief. Lewis took another sip of his coffee and muttered, "She's gonna own this entire sport one day."

And no one disagreed.

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[arachnidseyesmoved]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

YOU AND ME

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: Previous. Next. Damian and reader go on a date!!! That's all that happens, I swear! w.c: 1.8k

You bow with the rest of the performers on stage as the crowd gives one last show of appreciation. When the curtains fall, you very stealthily scamper towards the dressing rooms, not before catching the sly wink Zatanna throws your way.

Maybe you weren’t being that stealthy.

The door to your dressing room clicks shut and you eye yourself in the vanity mirror, only then realising how nervous the girl in the mirror looks. There’s a lot that can go wrong today and a lot you really want to go right. You fix yourself with a look of determination.

With a little twirl and a poof of smoke, your magicians outfit is swapped with the outfit you spent a rather embarrassing amount of time picking out. Before you can fuss anymore over your reflection, there’s a knock on the door.

That was fast, at least you’re not the only eager one. You take a quick, deep breath before opening the door.

Damian Wayne stands in the doorway, he takes you in while you take him in. He’s dressed much less fancy than the last time you saw him, bomber jacket with a simple but probably unnecessarily expensive t-shirt and loose jeans.

“Are you ready?” You ask, unable to fully hide your excitement. You see just the smidgen of a smile on his face as he answers rather seriously,

“I’m always ready for anything.”

“Ooh, Don’t challenge me, Wayne.”

You pull him into the room and shut the door. After knocking three times on said door, you give him a grin.

“You let me plan this whole thing, remember.”

You open the door and step through into an entirely different place. Damian’s sneakers touch cobblestone road and he squints in the sudden sunlight. He thinks he knows already, given the wide bustling streets and the architecture of the buildings around him, but he asks anyway,

“Where are we?”

You’re all too happy to tell him, winding an arm around his and leading him in a seemingly random direction.

“Turin, Italy. I did a mission here a while ago. That’s what we’re going to see first by the way, some good old spooky occult shit, this city has tons of it.”

He lets you drag him to several such occult sights. He listens while you yap about the differences between demonic and non-demonic cathedrals, how to know if a crypt is cursed and which ghost sightings are obviously real and which are fake. He does it all with an attentive mind, almost like he’s reading a book he really likes and he's trying to burn it into his mind.

Once you're done showing him all the "cool shit", you proudly announce that you also planned some things he'd actually enjoy. He keeps the fact that he was enjoying himself the entire time to himself.

You take him to an art gallery, an archaeological museum and a natural history museum. You listen to him yap all about unconventional painting techniques, which period had the best samurai swords and which fun facts about prehistoric animals are actually true and which are completely wrong. You listen with the ear of someone who’s hearing their new favourite song for the first time.

─⋅⋆⁺.

“I get that, but when a magician asks you for your favourite animal and you say "Anaconda." You should at least be a little ready for her to pull out an anaconda! He almost soiled himself on stage!”

Damian huffs a laugh, easing back against the bench you two found that completely coincidentally (as far as he knows) has a perfect view of the sunset. You sit in easy silence, sharing a cup of caramel ice-cream. He looks more at ease than you’ve ever seen him before and an embarrassing amount of pride blooms in your chest at how well your date turned out to be.

You stare ahead at the horizon and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are, the thought sparks a bit of unease. Realising you haven’t said something stupid or irritating in a while, you decide now would be a good time to break the fast.

“Do you think the sunset will be this pretty on our wedding day?”

His lips nudge downwards, not quite a grimace but he eyes your smug grin with much annoyance. He sighs and takes another scoop of ice-cream with his little wooden spoon before saying,

“I hope so.”

The teasing grin disappears from your face, and all you can do is gaze ahead blankly. That’s not what he was supposed to say.

You clear your throat and take a bigger than necessary bite of ice-cream, racking your brain for what the hell to say next. After a few minutes you try again, teasing tone more forced than before.

“Do you think Alfred would walk me down the aisle?”

He doesn’t look at you this time, he just stares ahead at the pinkish-orange sky.

“I'm sure he would if you asked. So would my father. He would be glad that at least one of his sons can commit.”

You look ahead too, wishing you could see the view through his eyes instead.

“I'm sure he'd be proud.”

Damian doesn’t have to ask who you’re thinking about when you say that, so he doesn't.

“Would you invite…her?”

He tilts his head up, genuinely thinking through how that would play out despite how ridiculous this complete hypothetical is.

“I don’t know. I’d want to.”

You nod in understanding. Some things are just too complicated to work out in the end. A twinge of sadness settles before you feel the impulsive urge to turn to a lighter topic.

“Titus would make the perfect flower boy.”

He lets a smile slip onto his face, finally looking back at you. The sun leaves little specs of gold in his eyes and you find yourself openly staring (unbeknownst that he’s making the exact same observation). He takes the cup from your hands and places it beside you on the bench. Taking your hand in his, he leans closer and kisses you gently.

His other hand gently holds your cheek. When you part, he stays close. It feels just like those stupid cheesy movies, like a pretentious romance novel, like a sappy love song. But it feels good, good enough that you hold off on the snarky comment for just a few seconds more.

“You know you’d have to make Jon the best man, right?”

Damian groans, pulling back and closing his eyes, acting as if that's actually something he'll have to do. You laugh and lay your head on his shoulder.

“C’mon, He’d be devastated if you didn’t.”

Damian puts his arm around you, keeping you close.

“Maybe I’ll just lie and tell him Arab weddings don’t have a best man.”

You let out a snort,

“Good luck with that.”

You stay like that until the sun sinks behind the distant mountains, replaced by the orange glow of street lamps. Eventually, you stand from the bench, clearing your throat a bit.

“I know I’ve kept you all day, but do you want to grab dinner?”

He stands from the bench as well, throwing away the little ice-cream cup before casually lacing your hands together.

“Anything for my future wife.”

Your heart almost stops. Your brain stammers and so do your words.

“Don’t- Don’t say that.”

“Say what, beloved?”

He asks, looking down at you with a smirk. You very much do not like being on the other side of this dynamic at all. And you know he knows that, he might just be able to feel the heat from your face!

“Stop that-”

Before you can finish, the world stops, literally. Everything slows to a halt. Crickets stop chirping, the breeze stops blowing, all commotion on the street is silenced. Even Damian is suspended in animation just like everything else. Everything except you and-

You’re looking around already, knowing exactly what this is. He used to do this when you were being belligerent on missions. He'd just stop the entire world to yell at you for being a dumb kid, even if he could only do it for a few precious seconds. Nothing for months and he picks now?

You slide your hand out of Damian’s and step closer to where you can see the yellow portal forming.

“You really have bad fucking timing.”

“Language.”

John Constantine steps out of the portal, hands in the pockets of his coat, cigarette in his mouth.

“I need yer help.”

You couldn’t stop the eyeroll if you tried.

“Obviously.”

Why the hell else would he be here. He sighs and takes in his surroundings, looking anywhere but you.

“What are ya even doing here, sight seeing?”

You step back towards Damian and grab his hand, bringing him out of the time freeze. He looks around, taking in the situation with shocking calmness, his expression turns to understanding when he sees John.

“I'm on a date.”

John looks to you, then at Damian, then back to you. It takes him a minute to understand who Damian is and what that means. The cigarette falls out of his mouth as he sputters like an idiot.

“Yer fucking with me.”

“Language.”

He regains some composure when he notices the way you’re looking at him. As if he just remembered how you two left things. That you might actually not want to see him.

“Look, Love, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an end of the world kind of thing.”

You feel Damian squeeze your hand a little, a reassuring act, an act of trust. There’s a deep understanding between you but with that comes a lot left unsaid. Left in the grey space of "We both understand this so there’s no need to discuss it really.” or is it that you want to talk about it but don’t know how. Being exceptionally gifted kids with exceptional, world-saving parents and bucket loads of trauma isn't something you just bring up casually.

But Damian understands obligation and responsibility. The need to do what’s necessary.

“Fine.”

John sighs, like he actually thought you wouldn’t say yes for a second. The thought brings you more spiteful pride than you’d like to admit.

“Come along then.”

He simply states, before disappearing into his little portal leaving it open for you to follow. Everything slowly returns to normal pace again, the bustle of the street returns as pedestrians keep on like nothing happened. Lucky bastards.

“I’ll call you…when I’m done.”

He nods his head. He’s taking this very well and you’re not sure how to feel about it. He's trying to be understanding, probably because he knows you'd do the exact same thing for him. You barely have to talk about why you have to go, what you have to do… but that doesn't mean you don't want to.

"Don't make me stitch you up again."

He brings you into a hug. You think briefly on how awkward a hug from Damian would have been just a month ago. The thought makes you smile as you burrow your face in his warm neck, breathing in his distinct scent. You open a magic door for him,

“This’ll take you home. To the manor.”

With that you give him one last long look before following your dad into his portal, going who knows where to face who knows what.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[raven-dor]

illicit affairs

in which you distance yourself from bucky barnes, and he won’t rest until he knows why

PAIRING: congressman!bucky barnes x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, morning sickness, pregnancy, miscommunication (but ig it's more like refusing to communicate), given last name! (Clark), arguing, ANGSTY ANGSTY ANGST, more arguing, kissing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

🎶 : illicit affairs - taylor swift

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is like my favorite angsty fic of all time, like it's up there with me and my husband (gwayne hightower) EEEK HAPPY READING!! also i might write a part two where the use the house she bought if that's something you guys would be interested in

The sun shone through the curtains, yellow and bright. You stared at the man dead asleep beside you, a contented smile creeping on your lips. He looked so peaceful, not at all like how he looked awake, always stressed, always worrying over something. If it wasn’t Congress or the team, it was you. Worry was Bucky’s main emotion, you would say when you teased him. He worried over your safety the most, often trying to convince you to stop working in the office, practically begging you to work from home. 

You glared at him every time. 

You could never bring yourself to stay angry, though. He was caring, more than most had ever been with you. You were fragile, something he cherished. 

It made you feel valuable; your cheeks warmed just thinking about it. 

He grumbled, burying his face further into your torso. His arm was lazily wrapped around your waist, and he smiled in his sleep, pulling you closer. You hadn��t wanted to wake him, but he had a meeting in forty-five minutes, and he still needed his routine cup of coffee. “Buck. You have to get up.” 

“Five more minutes.” 

“Bucky…” You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “You’ll be late.” 

“I could run there in five minutes.” You knew from the look on his face that he was considering it. Thanks to his super soldier serum, he really could run around the entirety of Washington D.C. in less than an hour. 

“You could, but your hair would be a mess.” You frowned, reaching down to run your fingers through the sleep-tangled tresses. “A lot like it is now. Besides, think about the people who voted for you, who elected you to this office. They wouldn’t exactly enjoy learning that their congressman was late to a meeting.” 

“I hate when you’re right.” He groaned, rolling over and walking toward the bathroom, leaving the door open as he fixed his appearance. “Have I told you how lovely you look this morning?”

“No.”  You playfully glared. “And if you did, you’d be a liar.”

He scoffed. “You’re timeless, Doll. Would’ve took my breath away even in the ’40s.” Your heart fluttered from his compliment. “Are you coming into work with me?” 

You shrugged, biting your lip as you admired his back muscles. “Dunno. I think I’ll take a half day. Probably go on a walk, find a nice cafe to get some work done in.” 

He frowned. “What am I going to do without you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be just fine. The world will turn without me running the office while you’re gone.” 

“I don’t know.” He was rather dramatic in the morning. “My executive assistant is important-” 

“We can’t go to work together.” You hissed. “You know that. The press would have a field day-” 

“I don’t care.” He sat on the edge of your shared bed. “Don’t you think it’s time the office knows?”

“Bucky. Think of your career, your position. It would look like an abuse of power, I would have to stop working-” 

“Perfect.” He looked terribly pleased with your last statement. “I’ve been trying to get you to stop working in the office for months.” 

“I like working.” You glared. “And I thought we’d finally gotten past that.” 

“We have.” He smiled, reaching out to hold your hand in his. “I just want you to be-” 

“I know.” You sighed. “But I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours. “Doesn’t mean I can’t worry.” 

Your eyes welled up, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You love me too much.”

He shook his head, eyes darting to your lips. “Not such thing as too much, Doll.”

You leaped up, pulling him down to you, his eyes wide as you kissed him senseless. “God, I love you.” You murmured against his lips. 

He grinned, kissing down your neck. “I love you more.” 

He’d been late to work. You had to peel yourself away from his touch and practically push him out the door, waving goodbye until his car had vanished from your sight. 

His townhouse was perfect, warm and inviting. When you first started dating, it was empty, with only the bare necessities. You’d laughed when you’d entered, insisting that he let you take him shopping. He’d agreed, and you would later find out he would agree to anything you asked simply because he loved the way your eyes lit up when you were determined.

 Your stomach lurched, and you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to try and quell the nausea. Finding your way into the kitchen, you grabbed your favorite mug, one that Bucky had bought with you in mind, and made yourself a cup of peppermint tea. Another wave of nausea, stronger than the last, hit you as the steam hit your nostrils. You realized that this was not something you could solve with a couple of deep breaths and a cup of tea; your stomach once again grumbled as you rushed toward the bathroom. 

Denial. 

That was the first stage, right? 

You stared at the tests on the bathroom counter, too shocked to cry. There was no possible way this was real. You’d been safe, you’d taken extra precautions. The science behind the super soldier serum coursing through his veins was something neither of you understood, and so you decided you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

Apparently, you thought as you stared wide-eyed at the positive pregnancy tests in front of you, your extra precautions had been for nothing. This was horrible timing, plain and simple. He’d finally made a name for himself other than the ‘Winter Soldier’. He was finally coming into his own, and you’d ruined it. 

You had to resign. You had to leave before the press found out. 

No, you reasoned with yourself. No one knew you were dating; if you simply pretended that you were pregnant by some random man, the office would believe you. 

There was one major flaw in that plan. What would Bucky think? What would he think if his girlfriend of almost two years suddenly broke up with him and showed up to work a week later, visibly pregnant? 

You decided to stick with your original plan, resigning from the office and fleeing DC. You ran up the stairs, shoving everything you’d accumulated into the two bags you kept here. Your drawer would be empty by the time he came home.

He would eventually understand that you were saving his job, saving what you’d both worked so hard for him to achieve. Besides, who knew if he even wanted that with you, a child, a domestic life? This was James Barnes, the World War II veteran, Avenger, and congressman. He had no time for trivial things like that. 

Anger. 

Your life was exactly what you’d wanted, perfect in every way that counted. Your relationship with Bucky was perfect.

At least, until now.

He had been the first man to truly love you, to care about you. You weren’t some object, some underling. You were his equal, his great love, his partner. 

You’d finally achieved your dream. You came to DC to head an office, to become a political weapon. You’d done that, you’d seen the potential in Bucky, and you had gotten him into office.

This wasn’t fair. 

You loved him, you loved him so much that it hurt. He was a gentleman. He held the door open, he respected you, he was- Angry hot tears ran down your cheeks as you lugged the bags over your shoulders, locking the front door behind you, leaving your key underneath the mat. 

This really sucked.

You hailed a taxi, smiling gratefully when the driver helped you with your bags. “Where to, Miss?” 

“Doll?” Bucky called out, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t show up to work! Something wrong?” 

No response. You were probably upstairs, too tired to call back out to him. He set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, shrugging off his sports coat. “I brought Indian food from your favorite place down on 8th street.” 

By this point, you were typically barreling down the hallway, jumping into his arms and peppering kisses over his face. He frowned, the house much too silent for his liking. “Baby? Are you home?” 

The hallway was dark, too dark for his liking. You were known for leaving the lights on, too scared to walk around his house in the dark. He laughed when you’d told him, but he’d never judged. If it made you feel safer, then he was all for it. 

He’d checked every room, every possible place you could be, but you were nowhere to be found. It was like you’d never even existed. His mind began to cloud, dark and poisonous. 

His first thought was that someone had taken you. That they, whoever they were, had followed the pair of you home one day, found out where he lived, and taken you as collateral. He began to dial Sam’s number when he pushed your shared bedroom door open, frowning at the sight before him. 

Your drawer was open, empty of all the things you’d brought over. He shut the door behind him, pushing the bathroom door open to find that even your products in the mirror above the sink and the shower had disappeared. His heart stopped, hands shaking as he deleted Sam’s number to make way for yours. It had rung two times before you picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Thank god.” His voice was quiet. “Came home and you weren’t here. Thought something had happened.” 

“I um…” You felt horrible, horrible that he had thought you’d been taken. You almost gave in, almost told him the truth. He loved you, and you knew he would be excited. “I-” No, you shook your head, you had to do this for him, for his future. He loved you, and you loved him, which is precisely why you had to do this. “I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

This was his nightmare; this was infinitely worse than someone taking you. That he could fight, he could win; this was uncharted territory. His heart clenched, on the verge of breaking clean in half. “What?” 

“This has been on my mind for some time now.” Lie. “It would be best, for both of us, for your career-” You willed yourself not to cry, not to break from the sound of his voice, more anxious than you’d ever heard him. “I’m sorry, but-”

“Where is this coming from, Doll?” He sounded desperate, broken. A tear ran down your cheek. “Did something happen? Did I-” 

“Bucky.” You cried, the tears you’d tried so hard to hold back breaking free. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I am going to make this harder than it has to be, because I love you."

Bargaining. 

His voice broke, desperate for an explanation. “Just tell me what happened, baby.” 

“I’d like to take the rest of this week off, please.” He would be better off without you, without this whole mess. This was for the best, you tried to convince yourself. “I’ll be back to work next week.” 

“Where are you?” If he could just see you, he would know. He was sure of it; he could read you like an open book. It was for that very reason that you did not want to tell him where you were. 

“I’m-” It was only a matter of time before he found where you were. Hell, he’d had your location in his phone since before you started dating, for safety purposes, of course. You’d laughed when he'd asked, giving him yours in return. It had been sweet, the way he nervously bit his lip. You remembered your cheeks flushing, stomach fluttering at the action.

Now it made you want to cry.

“I’m at my apartment.” 

“Your apartment?” He felt like he was dying, his heart clenching so tightly he thought he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was. You hadn’t been to your apartment in months, spending virtually every waking moment at his place. He’d even persuaded you to move in last week. “Thought you were moving in with me-” 

“Things change, okay?” You snapped, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- to snap like that.” You wiped your face clean of tears. “We were never going to last forever.” Lie number two. “Please, just let me do this.” 

“No.” He shook his head as if you could see him. “I can fix this, we can-” 

“I’ll see you in a week, Congressman.”

True to your word, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week. The radio silence made him jittery, and he began to lose focus in meetings, his peers growing more and more annoyed by his apparent lack of care regarding the nation’s interest. 

He wished he could tell them that his life turned upside down on a random Tuesday, that the love of his life had left him out of nowhere, but he knew better. 

They wouldn’t care. 

He’d been counting down the days, staring at his door for some form of life, for your familiar frame. 

Your desk was right outside his office, and he often found himself watching you through the glass wall. Now he just stared at nothing, at the empty desk that turned his mood sour. He frowned, dropping his face into his hands, wallowing in misery.

“Congressman?” 

His heart skipped, head whipping up. “Ms. Clark.”

You hadn’t wanted to go back to work, but you couldn’t just quit over the phone. 

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could have, probably should have, but your heart craved him, your eyes had to see him once more. 

Then you could hand in your resignation letter. 

You waved hello to the office as you walked toward your desk, almost laughing to yourself at the sight before you. There sat Bucky Barnes, in all his glory, with his head in his hands. If this were normal circumstances, if you hadn’t just broken up with him and were planning on moving across the country, you would have laughed. 

You draped your coat over the back of your chair, pulling your resignation letter out of your bag. “Congressman?” You cleared your throat, heart thumping hard against your chest.

“Ms. Clark.” His head whipped up, eyes wide as he stared at you. “You’re back.” 

“I am.” You reminded yourself that you were in the office and thus had to behave professionally. Placing the letter in front of him, you mustered up the weakest smile known to man. “Here is my resignation letter.” 

“Resignation letter?” Bucky rubbed his eyes, like you weren’t real, a figment of his imagination. “Ms. Clark-” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, not having the strength to look at him any longer. “For understanding.” 

“Wait just a second-” He stood up, practically racing toward the door to shut it before you could leave. “Don’t thank me for understanding.” His cologne threatened to overpower your senses. “Don’t thank me because I don’t understand.” He looked miserable, hands twitching like he was forcing himself not to touch you. “You haven’t given me any real reason.”

“Bucky.” Your voice was like a warning, a plea not to escalate things.

He didn’t happen to care, because he couldn’t let you go. Not without a fight, or at the very least, a reason for your sudden end of an otherwise happy relationship. 

He whispered your name so faintly you could have sworn he’d never said it. “I can’t let you go.” 

“This is highly inappropriate. We are at work, anyone could walk in at-” 

“I don’t care.” He hissed. “I love you? Do you know how much I love you?” 

“Of course I do.” You whispered, scared of someone overhearing. “And I- I loved-” 

“Bullshit.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “We were happy. You were happy. You told me you loved me that morning. What happened in nine hours?” 

“If there’s nothing else you need…” You straightened your posture. “I’ll be just outside.” 

“I need you.” He said it like it was a fact, like it was certain, etched in stone since the beginning of time. “You might not need me, but I need you.” 

Oh, how you wanted to correct him. You needed him like air, like the very oxygen that filled your lungs. You’d been in love with him for so long that you’d forgotten what it had been like before him. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hear you reject him one more time. Not when he knew that you still loved him. He knew it, even if you didn’t. “That will be all.” 

“Fine.” You nodded, turning on your heels like you hadn’t just broken his heart. Like you hadn’t just broken your own heart.

Depression.

You were actively fighting through it, fighting against crumbling into ash and letting the Earth swallow you whole. You’d been to a total of two doctors’ appointments, and even that had done nothing to improve your mood. 

If anything, it made it worse, knowing that Bucky would never be there, holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He would never see her first steps, her playing in the front yard, her first dance recital. 

And that was fine, because he would be doing great things, he would be changing the world. 

You didn’t even know if it was a girl or a boy. You had a feeling that it was a girl; your feeling was more of a wish than intuition. You’d always known you’d have a girl; it was something that had been part of you for as long as you’d loved playing with dolls. 

Your hand fell to your stomach, caressing it gently as you whispered. “Hello, my darling.” It was too early to tell if it was a boy or a girl, too early for kicking, too early for most things. 

You felt crazy when you talked to your baby; it wasn’t like she (or he) could hear you or show you that it could. “You’re going to be so loved, so deeply loved.” 

The bed in your apartment was comfortable, but you missed your bed, the one you’d been sleeping in for almost a year. Bucky’s bed. You missed his smell, his warmth. You slept in the one shirt he’d left over here every night, pretending as if nothing had gone wrong, that you hadn’t broken the one thing that kept you sane. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered again, eyes tearing up as you thought of him. “I miss your father.” 

Only two more days until you leave DC. 

Technically, one and a half. 

It felt surreal. You’d come here with such big dreams, and now, here you were, leaving with your tail tucked between your legs.

It was fine, not everyone was made for this life. 

You thought you had been. 

You’d already put a down payment on a modest house in a small town somewhere in Pennsylvania. It was pale blue, with three bedrooms, two stories, and it took everything in your savings. 

The front yard was perfect for playing in, for growing up. The large oak tree that shaded the house was perfect for climbing, even a tire swing. 

Maybe this was it, acceptance. 

It felt like it, in some horribly strange way. You’d finally reached the last stage of grief, of mourning your past life.

Mourning your great love. 

The office was relatively quiet, a nice reprieve from a normally chaotic environment. You’d decided to make the most of your last two days to finally organize the file system, hopefully enough so that his next executive assistant had an easier time finding things than you had. 

You wondered as you flipped through a folder labeled ‘The Superhero Support Act’ if he and his next assistant would fall in love, if she would make him forget about the pain you’d caused. 

You hoped she did; he deserved happiness.

By noon, you’d already organized all the digital files, your desk, and Bucky’s office. It was time for the white whale - the file closet.

It was dingy in here, the one hanging light doing nothing to brighten the space. You groaned, knowing that this would take longer than you thought. The files were dusty; they had obviously been neglected since the invention of the computer. Deciding to organize the files chronologically, you began your last mission.

 “Thought I’d find you here.” 

You cursed at the sky, wishing that Bucky would just leave before either of you said something you’d regret. You continued to face away from him, still sorting through the files as diligently as before. “Just doing my job.” 

“Mhm.” You imagined he was leaning against the doorway, looking as handsome as always, his jacket unbuttoned. “I see that.” He didn’t speak for a while, simply watching you organize. You wished he would leave once more. 

Wishes, apparently, are not granted on Capitol Hill. 

“I love you.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Congressman-” 

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “C’mon, Doll-” 

“Don’t.” You stood up, finally facing him. “We are at work.” He raised an eyebrow, stepping forward and letting the door fall shut. Your eyes widened, and you stepped forward, trying to open it. “If someone finds us in here-” 

“What will they do?” Bucky laughed. “You're leaving, as you love to remind me.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” 

“Funny.” He took in your face, trying to memorize it before you left. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You whispered.

“Like what?” He whispered back.

“Like you still love me.” 

“Of course I still love you.” He scoffed, following after you as you walked backwards, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “I’ll always love you.” 

Your eyes welled. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Stop telling me what I mean.” 

Your back hit the file shelf, gasping. “I-” 

He was barely a breath away from you, eyes darting toward your lips. “When will you understand that I love you? That I’m here, and I’m not leaving. That I’ve loved you since you walked into my campaign office, all frazzled, barking out orders?” His hand came up to your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen against your will. “That I wake up in the middle of the night, and the first thing I do is look over to make sure you’re still there, that you’re breathing, that you're real?”

“Bucky-” You were sobbing, fighting every instinct that screamed to let him in, to tell him the truth. “Stop.” Every time he spoke, it softened your resolve, made you want to tell him what you’d been carrying by yourself. 

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you love me, I know-” 

You place one hand over his mouth, the other on his chest. “It’s for the best, trust me. You said you love me, so just let me do this. Let me do this for you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, delicately peeling your hand away from his mouth. “Do what? What’s going on, baby?” He grew more and more worried every second you sobbed, every second you refused to open up to him. “Did someone-” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Bucky, I love you so much-” 

He grinned, a glimmer of hope breaking through his otherwise melancholy face. “I love you too-” 

“But this is for your own good.” Both of your hands were on his chest, pushing him away like he was temptation itself. “You’re meant to do great things, and you can do those, but I can’t be the person who slows you down.” 

“Is that why you broke up with me?” He laughed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, really I do, but you can’t make that decision for me.” 

“Too late.” You cried, his shirt wrinkling under your hold. “It’s too late.” 

“No, it’s not.” He shook his head, his hands holding your face like it was precious. If you had asked him, it was. “You’re scaring me, baby. What’s got you so upset? Talk to me.” 

“I- I can’t-” 

“You can-” 

“You don’t get it-” You sobbed. “I-” 

“C’mon, Doll.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m right here.”

“I’m pregnant, alright?” You sobbed. “There you go, there it is.” He staggered back, staring at you in disbelief. You felt jittery, manic with fear from his reaction, or lack of reaction. “I’m sorry, I just-” You hugged yourself, rambling as you tried to explain the reasoning behind your decision.

“I found out after you left for work, and I-I couldn’t live with myself if I slowed you down. You’re amazing, you’re really making a change for these people. And I’m so proud of you, so so proud. You’re my finest achievement, and I-I couldn’t see it all go to waste. I knew if I told you, you’d drop everything, and I couldn’t have that. Because you care too much, and it scares me. It’s horrifying how much you love me. I’m not used to it. You’re supposed to be more selfish, you have to be more selfish, especially in this-” 

You tilted your head, glaring at the man in front of you. “Are you even listening?” He had that same glazed-over look in his eye, still staring in disbelief. “Are you serious? I know I messed up, but the least you could do is say something.” Bucky slowly walked back toward you, like a predator stalking its prey. “I’m sorry, I really am. Just please, say something, say anything-” You gasped when his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you carefully into his hold. “Bucky-”

His lips dove to yours, your eyes fluttering shut as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He grinned, your teeth momentarily clashing, neither of you wanting to let up. Your knees weakened, glad that he had an arm around your waist, holding you up with ease. “We can’t-” 

“Are you sure?” He pulled back, breath heaving as he spoke. “Are you sure that you’re pregnant?” 

You nodded, smiling timidly. “Eight weeks yesterday.” 

“Eight weeks?” His eyes welled with tears as he stared at your stomach. “Oh, baby…” 

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to-” 

“I love you.” He grinned, peppering kisses all over your face, your laughter bubbling in waves as you squirmed under his attack of affection. “I love you so much, and I-” He fidgeted with something in his pocket. “This is horrible timing, I know that.” 

“What?” Your heart dropped as he lowered himself onto one knee. “Bucky-” 

“Before you say anything, just let me get this out, and then you can scold me or kiss me, whatever you want.” He smiled, pulling out a small velvet box. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say this, and now seems as good a time as any.” The ring inside was old, simple, but elegant all the same. “This is my mother’s ring. Rebecca still had it.”

“Bucky-” 

“I want to marry you. So badly it hurts. Marry me, and I swear you’ll be happy as long as you live.”  

“You know my answer is yes.” You cried, leaning down to kiss him. “A million times, yes.” 

He smiled, placing the ring on your finger. “Thank god. If you tried to leave again i was just going to blurt it out, and I didn’t think that-” 

“This is perfect. You’re perfect.” You grinned, staring at the ring as he stood up. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, Doll.” He kissed the back of your hand, smiling when he saw his mother’s ring. “I do have one request.” 

“Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” 

“Next time you’re pregnant…” Your heart skipped at the way he so casually said ‘next time,’ like it was inevitable. “Tell me before you do anything rash.” 

You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Sounds reasonable enough.”

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[colouredbyd]

Just A Scratch

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: during a full moon night, an unexpected accident leaves flicker (you) injured, shaking the bond between you, remus, sirius, and james. as they bend the truth to shield one another from pain and guilt, you learn that sometimes, lies are the kindest form of love.

warnings: injury, blood, animal attack, transformation, emotional distress, graphic descriptions of animal injury, mild panic attacks, graphic descriptions of lycanthropy transformations, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

w/c: 5.3k

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The night wrapped around the woods like a heavy cloak, thick with the scent of damp earth. 

You walked alongside the three, feeling the weight of the evening pressing on your chest in tandem with the exhaustion that seemed to seep from every slumped shoulder and dragging foot. 

Remus had been growing quieter these past few days, a shadow of weariness clouding his usual calm, and tonight, that fatigue clung to him like a second skin, heavier and more stubborn than ever before. 

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm, trying to share a fraction of strength, though your own heart ached in quiet sympathy.

Sirius’s voice, low but steady, broke through the silence “He’s gonna be okay,” he said, eyes burning with quiet conviction as he looked your way, as if he could read the worry you were trying so hard to bury.

The words, simple as they were, settled over you like a fragile promise, but still, you felt the tremble beneath them, the ache behind the certainty.

James and Sirius each took a side, their hands firm and sure as they cradled Remus between them. He leaned heavily into their support. You followed closely, your fingers brushing gently along his back.

The only sounds were the soft shuffle of feet on mossy ground and the slow, measured breaths laboring from Remus’s chest. 

The shack came into view, worn and weathered but steadfast, nestled in a clearing where the moonlight fell in silver pools. Here, the boundaries between man and beast blurred. Tonight, more than ever, it felt like a sanctuary not just of wood and stone, but of understanding and fragile hope.

"Almost there," James murmured.

You reached out, touching Remus’s arm again, offering warmth and silent reassurance as they guided him through the door. 

The air inside was cool and still, smelling faintly of old pine and earth—a small world carved from quiet necessities. 

You swallowed the lump of dread that threatened to rise as the first tremors rippled through Remus’s body. It was the inevitable sign that the transformation had begun, that the full moon was claiming him once more.

James carefully eased Remus down onto the worn wooden floor of the shack, steadying him as he sagged heavily between James and Sirius’s arms. His breaths were shallow, uneven, eyes clouded with exhaustion and pain, and an unmistakable worry settled over all of you.

Sirius crouched close, voice soft but steady, “You’re going to be okay, Moony. We’re not going anywhere.”

Remus looked up at them, doubt flickering in his tired gaze. “You really will be here?”

“We will,” James said quietly, voice firm but gentle. “Whatever happens, we’re right here. We’ve got you.”

You stepped closer, brushing your hand along Remus’s arm, offering what little warmth you could. “All of us,” you said softly. “No matter what.”

Relief washed over Remus’s face, though the tension hadn’t left. His voice was barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“We won’t leave you,” Sirius promised, squeezing Remus’s hand. “Not now, not ever.”

You pressed a kiss to Remus’s forehead, fingers lingering for a moment.. “You’re so strong,” you whispered, voice barely audible, hoping your words could be a balm for the storm brewing beneath his skin. 

“I love you, Remmy”

His gaze found yours, exhaustion melting into something softer, and in a voice frayed by emotion he whispered, “I love you too.”

The three of you formed a tight circle around Remus, your presence a fragile shield against the inevitable. For a moment, silence settled over the room, thick and reverent, as the first shivers rippled through his limbs. His breath hitched, and his eyes met each of yours—wide with fear, shining with pain, pleading for strength he could no longer summon.

You reached for his hand one last time, your fingers squeezing his with all the love and steadiness you could give. James brushed his shoulder in passing, a whisper of comfort beneath the growing tension. Sirius hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then leaned in to press a quiet kiss to Remus’s hair before pulling away.

Without a word, the three of you stepped back, hearts heavy and reluctant, retreating toward the far room at the back of the shack. 

The door creaked softly as it closed behind you, sealing Remus in solitude, as was always the rule. The transformation had to happen alone. It was a sacred, brutal thing—not meant to be witnessed or shared. Only endured.

You sat down with your back against the wall, every nerve in your body stretched taut with anticipation, ears straining for what you knew would come next.

And then, the screams began.

A guttural cry, raw and ragged, tore from deep within him. It was jagged and primal, scraping against the wooden walls, echoing into the night like a symphony of agony and surrender. 

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the shudder rippled through his body. Bones groaned and shifted with dreadful sounds that seemed to wrench at your very soul. A sob escaped his lips, fragile and heartbreaking. You wished you could catch it and hold it close, to shield him from every shard of pain.

Then came the howl.

Not just any howl, but a lonely, aching lament stretching into the night. It was raw and mournful, carrying the weight of every lonely full moon Remus had endured. The sound clawed at your heart—hollow, vast, aching for something just out of reach.

Your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion and sound. Before you could unravel beneath it all, strong hands cupped your ears with gentle insistence. 

Sirius reached for you, his touch instinctive and gentle. His palms, warm and calloused, came up to cover your ears with delicate pressure, shielding you from the worst of it. You felt his thumbs brushing softly against your temples, grounding you, protecting you.

He leaned in close, his chest pressed to your back, his breath warm where it spilled into your hair. A kiss found the crown of your head—slow and lingering, a silent promise.

“It’s alright, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet determination. “You don’t have to listen to this. You don’t have to carry it all.”

He stayed close, his warmth a shield around your trembling form as the wolf’s anguished cries filled the small room.

Minutes stretched like hours. The sounds softened as the wrenching transformation slowed. The guttural growls gave way to quiet panting, gentle and rhythmic like a steady heartbeat. The rawness faded into the steady thump of paws against earth and the soft rustle of fur brushing the floor.

When it was clear—the storm had passed, and Remus was no longer the man in the center of the room but the wolf—his eyes sharp and luminous even in the dim light—the three of you shared a silent understanding.

James shifted first, muscles rippling beneath familiar fur as he transformed into his stag. His antlers reached toward the rafters, noble and steady. 

Sirius followed, sleek and dark, a large dog padding softly beside you. 

You felt your own form begin to shift. Bones and muscles realigned, fur brushed over skin, until you stood small and vibrant—a flicker of fiery red among the shadows.

Out beneath the cold glow of the moon, your little pack slipped into its familiar rhythm. The shift from human to animal had washed through you in one long, seamless wave. 

Moony had accepted this ritual. It had taken long months, but now the wolf’s golden gaze no longer flared with confusion when met with antlers gleaming between the trunks or with the dark blur of Padfoot racing by. 

And you — small, lithe, winding through the underbrush or high among the branches — had long since become part of this strange world he understood.

The door to the shack had been nudged open, and the four of you had slipped free into the night. Moony sniffed the wind, body low and tense, muscles rippling beneath thick fur. Then, with a low huff, he set off toward the trees, his steps steady, as if he, too, knew what came next.

Padfoot bounded after him, darting in wide circles as he ran. The wolf growled, low and deep, and the chase began.

You leapt easily into the trees, claws curling into bark as you climbed, higher, higher, until you could follow from above. The branches swayed beneath you, and your keen eyes tracked their wild path below. Each thud of paw against earth echoed through the hollow places inside you, a rhythm older than words.

Behind them, Prongs moved with regal calm, tall and gleaming beneath the moon, antlers cutting dark lines against the sky. He followed at a slower pace, steady and sure, his gaze sweeping the shadows around them, watchful for danger. 

For no matter how many times you did this, there was always the risk — the forest was wide, the night full of sharp things unseen.

From your perch, you watched them run. 

It was beautiful in a way it should not have been. The four of you out here beneath the sky, untethered by names or titles, by human skin or human fears. 

And yet no matter how wild it seemed, how far the wolf ran, how high you climbed, none of you strayed far from each other.

You watched from your perch, high among the skeletal branches of an old oak. Below, the moon spilled its pale light in a trembling pool across the clearing where Moony stalked, nose low to the ground, every muscle taut with restless energy. 

He had grown quieter as the hours passed, the early wildness in his steps slowing to a more deliberate, measured prowl. 

Moony turned suddenly, nose twitching, body low to the ground. You stilled, claws sinking into bark, breath caught tight in your chest. Something had shifted in the air. 

You felt it, sharp and sudden, like a string pulled taut. The wolf’s ears pricked, his eyes narrowing, gaze fixed on something deeper in the trees.

That was when you saw it.

A flash of russet fur, low to the ground, slipping silently between the trunks. A fox — large, lean, and bold, its sharp muzzle lifted to the wind, unaware of the danger only feet away. It moved with confidence, weaving through the underbrush, its eyes glinting in the moonlight.

And Moony saw it too.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the wolf’s throat, darker than before. His hackles rose, claws digging into the earth as his body tensed, trembling on the brink of violence. 

You felt it in your bones — this was no longer the Moony you knew, the one whose instincts had learned, slowly, to accept your presence. This was the wolf, wild and hunting, ruled only by the raw, ancient hunger that surged beneath his skin.

Before you could move, Padfoot was already there — a blur of dark fur, teeth bared, barking sharp and loud, trying to draw Moony’s attention away. 

He leapt between the wolf and the fox, barking again, circling wide, ears flattened, doing everything to pull him back.

Prongs charged in next, antlers held high, stamping the ground hard, a warning. He swung his head, shifting his weight, ready to block if he had to.

But it was not enough. Moony’s gaze had locked on the fox, and the wolf within him would not be denied. With a sudden, savage snarl, he lunged forward, muscles coiling for the kill.

You moved before you could think.

Leaping from the tree, body light as flame, you raced down the trunk, claws skimming the bark. The ground rushed up beneath you and you bolted across the clearing, small and fast, paws flying over the forest floor. 

You could hear the thundering of Moony’s breath behind you, hear Padfoot barking wildly, trying to stop him, but you had no choice — the fox would never outrun the wolf, but you could reach it first. You could save it. 

You skidded to a stop between them, your small form a flash of red against the dark, and lunged at the fox, driving it away with sharp yips and snapping teeth. The startled animal fled into the undergrowth, vanishing in a streak of russet fur.

But too late.

A snarl split the night, closer than you had thought. You turned just in time to see Moony’s powerful form descending on you, teeth bared, eyes burning with wild hunger.

You tried to leap clear — but claws raked across your side, sharp and brutal, tearing through fur and flesh alike.

A searing pain burst through you, bright and hot, as your body tumbled to the ground. A raw, helpless scream escaped your throat — high and sharp in the voice of the red panda, a sound you could hardly believe was your own.

The world tilted, spun. You barely registered Padfoot’s furious barking as he rushed to your side, circling you protectively.

Prongs moved swiftly, antlers low, stepping between the wolf and where you lay crumpled. With careful, deliberate movements, he began to drive Moony back, forcing him away from you. 

A sharp stamp of hooves, a commanding toss of his head — the stag herded the snarling wolf, inch by inch, back toward the shack.

You lay there, trembling, pain lancing through your side, the scent of blood sharp in the cold air. 

Padfoot pressed close, his body warm and solid against yours, muzzle nuzzling your fur with desperate care, a low, frantic whimper rumbling in his throat.

He nudged at your trembling form with his nose, whining softly as he took in the torn patch of fur along your side. You whimpered faintly, curling slightly from the sharp flare of pain, your small body shivering in the cold. But your gaze, dazed and wide, remained locked on the wolf.

Moony was still tense, teeth bared, hackles high, though Prongs had stepped between you now. The great stag gave a forceful stamp of his hooves, then turned his antlered head and let out a deep, gruff snort — a pointed sound meant for Padfoot alone. An unmistakable command.

The shack. Now.

Padfoot hesitated only for a second, torn between instinct and reason, but the message was clear. 

He stepped closer, nudging at you again, then dipped his head low and with immense care, grasped the scruff of your neck in his jaws — firm but gentle. Jjust enough to hold you, to lift you as a mother might carry her young.

You whimpered again as the movement pulled at your injury, but you allowed it. Trusting him. 

The forest blurred past in streaks of dark and silver as Padfoot bounded toward the shack, his massive paws barely touching the earth, your small body swaying with each stride. 

The door was already ajar from earlier, and he shouldered it open with a grunt, bolting through the familiar rooms until he reached the one where they had all waited before.

He set you down with the gentlest touch, then with a shimmer of movement, transformed. Sirius fell to his knees beside you, bare-chested, hair tousled, eyes wild with panic.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, look at me, Flick, please," he gasped, already tearing off his shirt. The fabric ripped beneath his hands, his fingers shaking as he pressed it to your side. You whimpered beneath the touch, the burning throb of your wound sharp beneath your fur.

"You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, love, please just… just stay with me. Don’t transform, not yet." His voice cracked. 

His hands moved frantically, trying to gauge the depth of the injury. He peeled the torn fur back carefully, wincing at the sight of blood, but even through the haze of panic, he could tell it was not life-threatening. 

Painful, yes, but not deep enough to tear muscle. His chest heaved in relief, though his hands never stilled.

"I’m so sorry, I should have— I should’ve been faster, fuck, you’re so bloody brave, Flicker, but gods—" he pressed another kiss to your head, voice breaking.

But beneath the sound of his words, you could hear it. Faint at first, through the thin wall separating this room from the main chamber of the shack.

A low growl, then a sharp, wet crack.

Your ears twitched toward it instinctively, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

Sirius froze too, gaze flickering toward the sound. "Shit… he’s changing back."

The noise swelled. Bones grinding, breaking, shifting. The wolf’s deep snarls unraveling into ragged groans of something less, something fragile. The air seemed to thicken with it, each tortured snap and sob a knife to your chest.

You whimpered again, curling instinctively, ears flattening against your head as the awful sounds of Remus’s transformation clawed at you. 

Even now — after so many full moons — it never got easier to hear. And this time, with the sharp pulse of your own pain thrumming through your body, it seemed even more unbearable.

Sirius noticed. His breath hitched. In a heartbeat, he gathered you gently in his arms, cradling your small form against his bare chest, one hand still holding the torn fabric to your wound.

"Shhh, baby, don’t listen," he whispered, voice trembling with emotion. He cupped one large hand over your ears, shielding you as best he could. Pressed a shaky kiss to your head. His heart thudded beneath you, fast and frantic. "It’s almost over, I promise."

And then, at last, the noises shifted — the snapping and tearing gave way to gasping breaths, then softer, broken sobs. No longer the wolf but human againn.

Sirius let out a long, shaking breath, shoulders slumping in exhausted relief, though his arms remained wrapped tight around you.

"He’s back," he whispered, voice thick with feeling. "Our Moony’s back."

"You can shift back now, darling," Sirius murmured softly, voice close to your ear, fingers brushing with tender insistence over your furred form. "Come on, love. It’s alright. You’re safe."

It took effort, more than you cared to admit. Your body felt heavy, dragged down by the sharp throb of pain lancing through your side. But you breathed, slow and shallow, and let the magic coil and unspool through you. Fur gave way to skin, small trembling limbs reshaping until you lay against the floor in your human form once more, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your arms curled instinctively over your side. The torn fabric of your shirt clung damply to the wound, a jagged slash running across your ribs. It burned, deep and hot, though not mortal. 

Before you could gather the words to speak, a low sound curled through the thin walls — a broken, fragile whimper.

Remus.

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, a desperate pull beneath your ribs. “I need to be with him,” you whispered, voice breaking. “He’s hurting, and I have to—”

Sirius grabbed your face gently but firmly, his eyes wide with panic and urgency. “Listen to me, Y/N,” he urged, voice shaking. “Remus can’t see you hurt right now. I need you to stay here, stay safe. Please

“But Remmy he is—”

"Stay," he said quietly, voice rough with restrained emotion. "Please, sweetheart. You cannot… he cannot see you like this."

The meaning struck deep. Remus, raw and wrecked after the shift, haunted always by the weight of what he became under the moon. The guilt was carved into him already. If he saw you wounded, wounded because of him, it would undo him completely.

You exhaled a trembling breath and nodded, though every part of you longed to be with him.

Sirius gave you one last lingering glance, then rose swiftly and disappeared through the door.

Down below, the main chamber of the shack lay steeped in cool shadows. James knelt at Remus’s side, one arm steadying him as he lay curled upon the worn floorboards, trembling in the aftermath. His skin was pale, clammy with sweat, hair clinging in damp strands, his body racked with exhaustion.

"Jamie," Remus rasped, voice barely more than a ghost of sound. "Where… where is Sirius? Where is Dovey?"

James hesitated, throat tight. He could not bring himself to answer, to lie, nor could he bear to speak the truth — but before he could form a single word, the door opened with a rush of footsteps.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sirius said quickly, dropping to his knees, both hands cupping Remus’s face. "Easy, love. You’re alright. It’s over. You made it through."

At the touch, Remus sagged, a broken sound catching in his throat as he leaned toward the familiar comfort. But it was fleeting — the peace shattered by sudden panic blooming sharp and fast.

"Where is she?" he gasped, voice cracking. "Where—where is she?"

He pushed upward, limbs trembling violently beneath him. He barely managed to lift himself before collapsing back into Sirius’s arms, wild eyes darting between them. The terror in his gaze was palpable, raw and jagged.

"Moony, listen—" Sirius tried, voice low, soothing.

But it was too late. Remus caught it. The faintest shift in James’s face — the look of worry, the grief he could not quite mask.

"No," Remus choked, breath hitching sharply. "No. What did I do? Please—tell me—where is she—"

He fought to rise again, muscles screaming, breath breaking in harsh, uneven gasps. His body betrayed him, but still he struggled, frantic.

"Remus," James said urgently, catching him, holding him fast. "You cannot stand. You are barely—"

"She’s hurt," Remus gasped. The words tore from him like broken glass. "She’s hurt—I—I—please—"

The sound of it wrenched at Sirius’s heart. He could scarcely bear the sight of Remus like this, raw with fear, every inch of him consumed by guilt.

"She is safe," Sirius said at last, voice low, steady. "She is alright. I swear it."

But the words did little to quiet the storm in Remus’s eyes, wide and shining with helpless terror. He shook his head, breaths coming faster, shallow and ragged. "I need to see her," he whispered hoarsely. "Please—I need her—"

The door creaked open softly.

You barely paused in the threshold before you were moving, crossing the space in quick, determined steps, heart straining in your chest.

Remus and James looked up in unison — and both froze.

Their eyes fell instantly to your side, where your torn shirt clung crimson to your skin. James’s face paled visibly, mouth parting in alarm, while Remus’s entire body seemed to seize, panic flaring bright and wild across his features.

But before either could speak, you lifted a hand, voice quick and light, trying your best to sound calm. "It’s alright," you said softly, even managing a small smile, "truly — it looks worse than it is. Just a scratch, I promise."

"That is not a scratch," James said at once, voice strained.

Remus, however, looked utterly stricken. His breath hitched, eyes wide, horrified. "I —" he choked, trying to sit upright. "I did that — oh God — what have I done?"

You were at his side before he could fall apart, sinking down gently in front of him, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was clammy beneath your palms, trembling faintly, his eyes bright with tears.

"You didn’t," you whispered, voice soft but firm. You leaned in closer, brushing your thumb along his cheek. 

"It was not you. I—I fell," you said, weaving the lie with care. "A branch caught me on the way down, that is all."

You fixed him with a steady, insistent look before shifting your gaze to James. For a moment, he paused, jaw clenched, but then the unspoken message in your eyes reached him, and he gave a small, knowing nod.

"Remus, love," you whispered softly, leaning in. "It was not you."

Tears glittered in his eyes. He shook his head faintly, breath hitching. "I—I saw—"

"You saw nothing," you said gently, voice warm, steady. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I fell and a  branch caught me. That is all."

You glanced meaningfully at James, who caught on immediately, clearing his throat.

"She is telling the truth," James said with conviction, moving to kneel beside you both. "We saw it. Clumsy thing tried to fly out of a tree."

That earned a soft breath of laughter from you, and even Remus’s lips twitched, though his gaze was still worried.

"I—are you alright?" he whispered. His fingers hovered near your side, hesitant, trembling.

You smiled, catching his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I am alright," you promised, voice light and sure. 

A little glimmer of mischief sparked through you then, and you leaned back slightly. "See for yourself."

Before either of them could protest, you let the shift wash over you — fur rippling into place, form shrinking down until Flicker, small and bright, sat before them.

James groaned dramatically. "Dove—"

But you were already on the move, padding in a slow circle around them, tail flicking playfully, showing them with every bounce of your step that the injury barely hindered you at all.

James laughed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "You are such a menace."

Remus let out a shaky, relieved laugh of his own, shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He opened his arms invitingly.

With an eager chirp, you leapt into his lap, curling against his chest, pressing your little face beneath his chin.

His laughter broke free then — warm and breathless. "Merlin, I love you," he whispered, arms folding protectively around you.

When he shifted slightly and winced, you pulled back in alarm, big eyes blinking up at him.

Remus grinned, eyes twinkling. "What is this? Afraid of hurting me, dove?"

You gave a series of indignant little chirps, tail flicking in protest.

At that moment, Sirius swept in from the doorway, brows lifting at the sight before him. "Well, well," he chuckled, crouching down. "Look who is causing trouble already."

He scooped you up carefully, cradling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your furry head.

"Alright, enough showing off," he murmured fondly. "Come back to us, pretty girl."

At the warmth in his voice, you let the magic ripple once more, shifting back in a blink, now nestled in Sirius’s arms, your bare skin against the warmth of his chest.

Remus and James were beaming at you, eyes bright with love and relief.

"There you are," James teased softly, reaching to brush his knuckles down your cheek. 

You giggled, leaning into his touch as Sirius kissed your temple and Remus gave a soft, shaky laugh, still holding your gaze as though he could hardly believe you were truly alright.

The first pale light of morning was creeping through the thinning trees, brushing the world in soft, misted gold. The forest lay hushed in the aftermath of the night, the sharp edge of the full moon dulled now, fading beneath the slow, blooming light of dawn.

Sirius had an arm wrapped tightly around Remus, supporting most of his weight as they walked. Remus was swaying between steps, utterly spent, head drooping against Sirius’s shoulder, his breath still coming in slow, unsteady pulls. Sirius spoke to him in low, soothing murmurs, each word a tether keeping him grounded, close.

James stayed at your side, and the determined set of his jaw told you there was no use arguing. You tried anyway.

"I can walk, Jamie," you said stubbornly. Your side still throbbed faintly beneath your bandages, but nothing you could not handle.

James gave you a pointed look, one brow arched, hazel eyes dark beneath the stray curls falling into his face. "Not taking any chances with you."

He stooped then, swift and sure, arms sliding beneath your knees and back before you could so much as blink. You squeaked softly as he lifted you against his chest.

"James—"

He cut you off with a quiet look. "You do not get to argue. Not tonight."

You huffed, half exasperated, half endeared, curling instinctively into him as he carried you with maddening ease. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, was a comfort you could not deny.

They walked in pairs, Sirius and Remus behind you, James carrying you just ahead, each step steady and sure. The path wound gently through the soft hush of dawn, the castle spires beginning to rise through the misted distance.

James broke the quiet first, his voice low, for your ears alone.

"When we get back," he murmured, "Sirius and I are going to have a long talk with you."

You stiffened a little in his arms, glancing up at him. His mouth was set, serious now.

"You cannot do that again," he continued, gaze fixed ahead. 

"You cannot throw yourself between Moony and a fox just because you want to help." His tone was quiet but sharp, firm beneath the softness. "That is not how this works."

You opened your mouth to speak, but he hushed you immediately, glancing back to where Remus leaned against Sirius, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Not now," James whispered. "Do not wake him with this. Just listen."

You closed your mouth, gaze dropping.

James’s voice gentled a little, though the weight of his words remained. "We go as a pack for a reason, dove. We are there to protect him. But we are also there to protect each other. And I swear to Merlin, Sirius and I—and bloody Remus himself—would rather see a fox dead ten times over than see you hurt. Do you understand?"

You swallowed, heart twisting with guilt beneath your ribs. After a beat, you nodded softly against his chest.

"Good." James whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You shook your head with a smirk. "You won’t be dead by twenty-one."

James laughed, a warm sound that held a hint of something more. "I sure hope so," he said, eyes gleaming. "But if you keep getting into trouble like this, I won’t make it."

You smiled softly, brushing your nose against his jaw. "I’m sorry," you whispered. "I promise I won’t give you another heart attack."

"You had better not," he said, though the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, eyes warm now, brushing away the sharpness of before.

Behind you, Sirius’s quiet murmurs carried through the still air, words of comfort for Remus, who remained nestled against him, too worn to do more than breathe slowly, softly, safe in the circle of their love.

The familiar stone halls of the castle greeted you like a sanctuary. The heavy oak doors gave way with a low creak beneath Sirius’s shoulder, James just behind him, still holding you carefully in his arms. 

The corridors were quiet now, blessedly empty, save for the soft shuffle of your little group making its way up through the winding staircases.

Remus was barely conscious, eyes fluttering open for the briefest of moments before slipping shut again. 

Sirius carried him with fierce protectiveness, whispering softly into his hair, words meant only for him, as though he could anchor him through the remnants of pain and exhaustion.

At last, your dorm appeared around the corner. Inside, everything was as you had left it, warm and waiting.

Sirius lowered Remus gently onto the wide bed, tugging the covers up and around him. Remus stirred only faintly, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he curled instinctively into the pillow. His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm now, sleep already pulling him under.

You had barely touched your feet to the floor before Sirius was there, reaching for you, strong arms sliding around your waist, pulling you in without a word. You melted against him at once, your cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“I am so glad you are alright,” Sirius whispered into your hair, voice low and tight with something unspoken. His fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt, holding you close as though to prove to himself that you were here, whole, safe. 

“You scared me tonight. You scared all of us.”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt knotting in your chest. You tilted your face up to meet his eyes. “I am sorry, Siri. I... I did not mean to put anyone at risk. It just— it happened so quickly. I only wanted to help.”

His expression softened at that, though a faint crease lingered in his brow. He kissed your forehead tenderly, breathing you in.

“I know, love. I know you did. But this is not going to happen again. We cannot lose you. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, throat tightening. “I do. I promise.”

Sirius held you for another long moment before finally letting you go with a sigh, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

James had already set about stripping off his boots, tossing them haphazardly beneath the bed. He looked over at the two of you, his smile soft and tired.

“You will be the death of us yet,” James murmured with affection, voice low so as not to disturb Remus, already deep in sleep. “But you handled yourself well tonight.”

You gave him a small smile, warmth blooming in your chest despite the ache of the night. “I was lucky.”

Sirius snorted softly, shaking his head. “Lucky or not, next time you so much as think about leaping between Moony and danger, we will hex you to the bed until the moon has passed.”

You laughed quietly, easing onto the bed beside them, muscles finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. 

James climbed in beside you, tossing an arm lazily over your waist, pulling you close. Sirius settled in next, curling against your other side, one hand resting lightly atop your hip, fingers tracing idle patterns.

Remus lay at the center, soft breaths whispering through parted lips, brow smooth in sleep now, all tension melted away.

You glanced toward him, heart tugging with quiet fondness, with a love that ached in the softest corners of your soul. 

Even if he never learned the truth of that night—how it was his own claws that caused the wound—and even though you had all agreed, silently, to spare him that burden, sometimes a lie was not cruelty. It was mercy, a fragile shield to protect a heart too fragile to bear the weight of guilt it did not need to carry.

And in the end, the four of you had been lucky.

It was, after all, only just a scratch.