#that 1/16 is really holding out

[wisteriagoesvroom]

seems incredibly unjust that i, chinese woman, have imprinted on a straight white man who drives a car in misshapen circles

[rokurookajima]

the actual funniest part of writing metalbanders in this the year of our lord 2024 is that my partner of five and a half years is…… a musician. a punk/metal/whatever drummer specifically lmao so now i’m like ok … harmonic convergence’s music would all sound like my partner’s deranged bands (like the ones ed plays in not just what he listens to) ✔️ delusions of grandeur ✔️ dress wan like ed for the most part (the jacket… the source for why i know u should never lean ur head on that spiky shoulder) ✔️ i know the exact amount of ANNOYING this type of musician is to be intimately linked with ✔️

[dakusan]

S U R P R I S I N G S K Z O N T O U R — B A C K S T A G E

stray kids ot8 x reader | post-show sweat. backstage chaos. and the person they missed more than sleep.

🌙 synopsis: they’ve been gone for weeks—sweating under stadium lights, screaming into mic stands, hearts beating to the rhythm of a thousand voices. they’ve given everything. every night. to everyone. and then—it’s you. standing in the hallway. soft smile. no warning. no cameras. just you. and suddenly, the lights aren’t the brightest thing in the room anymore. this isn’t just a surprise. it’s home. it’s you.

💌 a/n: welcome to Tender Tuesday™. yes i made sure it's tuesday this time not like last time!!! this was written under the influence of 1 delusional daydream in a dressing room mirror and the mental image of Han Jisung tripping over his own mic pack trying to hug you. p.s. reblog this like you’re the one showing up in their hoodie p.p.s. drink water or bang chan will fly home and force-feed you oranges p.p.p.s. do yourselves a favour and go listen to the song. it’s disgustingly cute. if you somehow haven’t heard it yet—first of all, how dare you. second of all, fix that. also. watch skz react to their own mv for it. it’s unhinged. they are unwell. you will be too. you're welcome ♡

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Your Eyes — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and deafening screams. Chan’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling beneath the drenched tank top clinging to his body, mic still clipped to his jaw. The rest of the boys are collapsing into couches or toweling off, high on adrenaline and crowd energy.

Chan’s scanning the staff in the hallway with that ever-present leader instinct—checking on everyone, nodding at sound techs, offering quick praise to dancers. He turns the corner near the dressing rooms.

And stops. Like, full stop.

Because you’re standing there.

In his hoodie. Holding a bottle of water. Smiling like you belong here. Which you do. But he wasn’t expecting you for another week.

“…No way.”

He blinks twice. Looks behind him, like maybe you’re a mirage conjured by exhaustion. Then his whole face shatters into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Wait—no, wait—no way.”

You laugh, arms opening before he even moves.

And then he runs.

No hesitation. No chill. Just full-speed Chan, sweaty, glowing, chest heaving, launching himself into your arms like gravity gave up on him the second you appeared. His arms lock around your waist instantly, head tucked into your neck, and he just holds you.

Tight. So tight it’s like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You—” his voice cracks, and he laughs into your shoulder, breathless and slightly delirious. “You’re really here.”

You nod, arms around him. “Surprise.”

“Are you kidding?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes wide, glassy. “That was the best surprise of my entire life.”

You brush his hair off his sweaty forehead. “You killed it out there.”

“I missed you out there,” he says, no filter, no hesitation.

And then he kisses you. Hard. Fast. Desperate. Like he doesn’t have time to say everything he feels and this is the only language he has left. When he pulls back, he presses your foreheads together and murmurs, “Don’t leave. Not yet. I need you right here.”

So you stay. In the hallway. Wrapped in each other. As the rest of the world continues spinning—but he’s only looking at you.

Lee Know // 리노

He’s calm. Collected. Leaning against a wall backstage post-show, sipping from a water bottle and nodding along as someone from staff debriefs him on the schedule. Typical Minho—quiet confidence, unreadable eyes, dancer precision. He just performed for 30,000 people and still looks mildly bored.

Until his gaze shifts. And lands on you.

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Just stares. Like you short-circuited his brain. Eyes flicking from your shoes, to your hoodie (his), to your soft little smile like:

No. No no no. That’s not real. She’s not supposed to be here—

Then—

“…You’re kidding.” His voice is flat, but his ears are bright red.

You open your arms casually, like this isn’t the most romantic ambush of his life. He blinks. Slowly. Then glances at the staff member, mutters a distracted, “Sorry, I gotta go fall apart real quick,” and walks straight into you.

No running. No drama. Just quiet urgency. Hands on your waist. Forehead against your shoulder. Breathing you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath the entire tour.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

You smile into his hair. “No you don’t.”

He squeezes you tighter. “I really do.”

You laugh. “Why?”

“Because you showed up looking like that and now I have to pretend I’m fine when I’m actually thinking about skipping every stop on this tour just to drag you home.”

Your heart stutters. And then, softer—

“…I missed you.”

He doesn’t say it loud. Doesn’t need to. It’s in the way he won’t let go. The way his jaw’s clenched and his fingers are shaking slightly. The way he presses a kiss to your neck like it’s instinct. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and for the first time in a while—he actually smiles. That rare, real one. The one he only gives you.

“You could’ve warned me,” he says.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t have been as fun.”

He rolls his eyes. Then leans in, whispers in your ear, voice low and warm: “…You’re not sleeping alone tonight. Not after this.”

And you know. Under all the chill, the deadpan sarcasm, the perfect stage face—he’s shaken. And he’s so happy you’re here.

Changbin // 창빈

He’s pacing.

Shirt stuck to his back. Sweat dripping from his neck. Still riding the post-show high—wired, panting, glowing. He’s halfway through retelling a moment from the encore to a staff member, hands flailing, voice slightly hoarse—

Then he sees you.

And it’s over.

The world tilts. The noise dies. And his eyes go wide—like someone hit the brakes on his heart.

“…No way. NO WAY—”

He stumbles forward like his feet can’t decide whether to walk or run. His arms are already out. You barely get a breath in before he scoops you up into the most chaotic, all-consuming bear hug of your life. Your feet leave the floor. Your lungs get crushed. He spins you in a full circle before collapsing against a wall with you still in his arms.

“You—” he breathes, “I’m gonna cry. I swear. I’m not joking.”

You laugh into his neck. “Cry, then.”

“I might! I literally—what the hell. You were supposed to be in another country! You lied to me!”

You look up at him, grinning. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

He stares at you, eyes shining with disbelief and affection and something deeper that lives in his chest just for you. And then, he kisses your forehead. Slow. Grateful.

“I missed you so much it physically hurt,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

Then, a beat later: “You’re not leaving. You hear me? You’re staying with me ‘til tour’s over. I don’t care what we have to cancel.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for a second, he’s not Changbin from Stray Kids. He’s just Binnie. Yours. Sweaty, shaky, and so, so in love.

Hyunjin // 현진

He’s sitting in front of the dressing room mirror. Still in his stage outfit. Still glowing. Still breathing fast. His head is bowed, fingers twitching over his knees, lost in the afterglow of a stage that nearly tore his heart out.

And then—

He looks up. Sees the door open. And sees you. Standing there. Wearing his hoodie. Eyes glassy with emotion, like you’ve been watching him the whole time.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just stares. And then—his whole body shatters. He’s up. Fast. But not loud. Not running. More like a storm gathering itself—slow, trembling, dangerous in how much it feels.

You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

And he’s in front of you before you can finish the breath. Hands cradling your face. Eyes searching yours like you’re not real.

“You—” he whispers, voice hoarse, “—you came?”

You nod. “I couldn’t stay away.”

And his lips part like he wants to say something profound, poetic, worthy of the art you are to him—but instead, all that comes out is:

“…I missed you.”

Then he pulls you in and hugs you like a drowning man grabbing the surface. One hand fisting your shirt. The other buried in your hair. His body shakes.

You feel his breath hitch once. Then again.

“Jinnie,” you whisper, “are you crying?”

He laughs through it, wet and shaky. “Shut up.”

You hold him tighter.

“You always do this to me,” he murmurs against your ear. “You always show up and make me feel like I’m seventeen again. Like love isn’t terrifying. Like I deserve it.”

You cup his cheeks, wipe the tears from under his eyes with your thumbs.

“Because you do.”

And he kisses you. So softly. Like a secret he wants to keep safe. Like he’s terrified this is a dream he’ll wake up from.

Han // 한

He’s still bouncing. Literally. Post-show adrenaline, sweat-drenched tank top, mic still clipped, rambling to whoever will listen about the crowd’s energy like—

“Bro, when the beat dropped in ‘Topline’? I almost exploded. Did you hear them? They were SCREAMING—”

Then he sees you.

You’re standing near the monitors. Hidden behind a stack of towels and staff gear. You’re just smiling, waiting. No cameras. No dramatic intro. Just you, soft-eyed and glowing in his hoodie.

He stares. And then? Absolutely. Freaking. Explodes.

“NO. WAIT—WHAT. WHAT—?!”

He screams. Actually screams. Everyone turns. Staff flinches. Someone drops a water bottle.

“YOU’RE HERE?!!” His voice cracks mid-yell. “YOU LIED TO ME!! YOU ABSOLUTE—ANGELIC—GENIUS—LIAR!!”

He’s running toward you now, full anime-level sprint, and crashes into you like a human wrecking ball. Arms tight, body buzzing, face buried in your neck like he needs to smell you just to prove this is real.

You’re laughing. “Hi, Ji—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he sobs. “You’re not real. I’m dreaming. I died on stage. This is heaven.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“I’m in love.”

You giggle and hug him tighter. He pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, voice very serious: “Do you realize what you’ve done? You just caused an actual chemical reaction in my body. Like—my heart rate? THROUGH THE ROOF.”

“You okay?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is the most romantic moment of my entire life. I’m gonna need to sit down or I’ll propose by accident.”

You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. He melts. Literally folds in half. “I’m keeping you,” he mumbles. “Like. Forever. Tour wife. This is happening. Don’t fight me.”

Felix // 필릭스

He’s glowing.

Skin glistening, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the encore. There’s glitter on his shoulders and stars in his eyes. He’s still catching his breath, thanking staff one by one with the kind of gentle sincerity only Felix knows how to give.

And then he turns the corner and stops breathing entirely.

Because you’re there. Backstage. In his hoodie. Hands behind your back. Smile blooming like spring.

He freezes. No words. No movement. Just a single, whispered—

“Angel…?”

You nod, eyes already brimming with tears. “Hi, sunshine.”

And that’s it. His body moves before his brain catches up. He walks toward you slow, almost reverently—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. Then suddenly you’re in his arms. Pressed flush to his chest, arms wrapped tight, face buried in your shoulder as he sighs. Not out of relief—out of pure emotional collapse.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers. “Like—so much. Like every night I looked for you and had to pretend I was fine.”

Your hand runs through his hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands like you’re made of porcelain and sunlight.

“You’re real. You’re here. You’re mine.”

And then—he kisses you. Soft. Long. Like he has nothing to rush. Like he’s home. When he pulls back, he giggles through a sniffle.

“Okay. No one tell the others but… this is the best part of tour.”

Seungmin // 승민

He’s standing by the water cooler, towel around his neck, completely sweat-soaked and still glowing with that quiet Seungmin-brand confidence. He’s mid-sip when he spots you—half-hidden behind some gear cases, just… watching him.

For a full three seconds, he doesn’t react. Just blinks. Tilts his head. Tries to process. Then you wave. And he chokes on his water. He coughs. Clears his throat. Wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Then squints like you have some explaining to do.

You walk toward him slowly, smiling like you didn’t just shatter his entire emotional equilibrium.

“You—what? You were—” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“That’s the point,” you say softly.

He goes quiet. Eyes flicking over your face, your outfit (one of his shirts, because of course), the little hopeful twitch of your mouth. And something in him just… cracks. “...That’s really mean,” he mutters, eyes glassy. “I could’ve emotionally prepared. Now I look stupid.”

You smile, stepping into his space, hands finding his waist. “You look perfect.”

He scoffs. “Sweaty. Smells like a wet dog.”

“Still perfect.”

And that’s when he lets out the tiniest, tiniest sigh. Like all the fight went out of him. He tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping around your back, his chin resting lightly on your head. “Don’t let go,” he mumbles. “I’m not doing the rest of tour without this. Just so you know.”

You smile into his chest. “Noted.”

Then, softer, a whisper you almost miss:

“...Thanks for coming back to me.”

I.n // 아이엔

He’s doing his post-show ritual—sitting on the dressing room floor with his legs stretched out, sipping his drink, cheeks flushed from dancing and screaming, trying to act cool even though his adrenaline is still going crazy.

He’s giggling at something a member says when the door creaks.

He looks up. And freezes. Because it’s you. Peeking in, eyes soft, fingers curled around the doorframe like you were nervous to interrupt.

“...Hi, baby,” you whisper.

His jaw actually drops. He blinks once, twice, like his brain needs buffering time.

“…You’re joking,” he finally says.

You step inside slowly. “Not a joke.”

You expect him to run. Cry. Scream. But instead—

He just sits there, completely still. Like his soul left his body for a minute. “…You really came?” he asks, voice small.

You kneel in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “Of course I did.”

And that’s when it happens.

His whole body slumps forward and he buries his face in your neck—arms wrapping around your waist in this desperate, trembling hold like he’s afraid to break you. “I missed you,” he says, so quietly it makes your chest ache. “So much. It’s been so hard.”

You stroke his hair. “You’re doing amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

And then? He starts sniffling. “Noooo don’t say that, I’m gonna cry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “I was literally fine five seconds ago. This is so unfair.”

You laugh gently. “Cry, Jeonginnie. It’s okay.”

He pulls back, eyes watery, lips trembling into a smile. “I love you,” he blurts out. “A lot. Just—so much.”

And then he hugs you again. Tighter. Softer. Like now that you’re here, nothing else matters. Like home isn’t a place—it’s you.

[kittyprincessofcats]

ICJ Ruling

Okay, let's get into this.

First of all, I get the frustration at the court not ordering a ceasefire. I was disappointed and frustrated at first too, since a ceasefire was the biggest and most important preliminary measure South Africa was requesting - and of course we just all want this horror to finally end for the people in Gaza. So I get the frustration and disappointment, I really do.

However, I do think this ruling is still a major win for South Africa, Palestine, and international law as a whole and here's why:

The court acknowledged that it has jurisdiction over this case and completely dismissed Israel's request to throw out the case as a whole. It will now determine at the merits stage (that will probably take years) whether Israel is actually commiting genocide.

The court acknowledged that Palestinians are a "distinct national or ethnic group and therefore deserving of protection under the genocide convention". Pull this out next time someone tells you "there's no such thing as Palestinians, they're all just Arabs".

The court acknowledged very unambiguously that "at least some" of Israel's actions being genocidal in nature is "plausible". South Africa has a case, officially. Israel is accused of genocide, in a way the ICJ deems "plausible", officially. This is huge. (And seriously, how freaking satisfying was it to hear all of those genocidal statements by Israeli politicians read out loud and used as justification for this rulling?)

The court might not have ordered a "ceasefire" in those words, but they did order Israel to "immediately end all genocidal acts" (which includes killing and injuring Palestinians) and submit proof that they actually did. How are they going to comply with this ruling without at least severly reducing or changing what they're doing in Gaza?

In fact, this wording might actually be more appropriate for a genocide (vs a war), as author and journalist Ali Abunimah notes on Twitter:

He's completely right. Israel lost today, by overwhelming majority (I mean, 15 to 2? I heard people predict the rulings would be very close, like 9 judges vs 8, but instead we got 15 to 2 (and even 16 to 1 on the humanitarian aid). Holy shit.) The court disimissed almost everything Israel's side of lawyers said, while acknowledging that South Africa's accusations are "plausible".

And this is important especially because of Mr Abunimah's second tweet there^. Because the question is, where do we go from here?

This ruling means that Israel is officially /possibly/ commiting genocide and that should have huge international consequences. The rest of the world now HAS to take these accusations seriously and stop arming and supporting Israel - and if they won't do it on their own, we, the people, have to make them. This is THE moment to rise up all around the world, especially in the countries most supportive of Israel (the US, the UK, Germany): Protest, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and an end of arms deliveries to Israel.

We now have a legal case to back our demands: If Israel is, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" commiting genocide, then all of our governments are, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" guiltly of aiding in genocide. And we need to hold that over their heads and demand better. We need to do that right now and in huge numbers. Most politicians only care about themselves and saving their skin. We have to make them realize that they could be accused of aiding in genocide.

(As a German, I'm thinking of Germany here in particular: After South Africa's hearing, our government dismissed their case as having "no basis" - how are they going to keep saying that now that the ICJ officially thinks otherwise? Over the last months, people here have been arrested at protests for calling what's happening in Gaza a genocide. How are the police supposed to legally keep doing that now that the ICJ has officially deemed this accusation "plausible"? I used to be scared to use the word "genocide" at protests or write it on my protest signs - not anymore, have fun trying to arrest me for that when the ICJ literally has my back on this one 🖕🏻.)

So yeah - don't be defeatist about this, don't let Israel's narrative that they "won" (they didn't) take over. This might not be everything we wanted, but it's still a good result. Don't let what the court didn't say ("ceasefire"), distract you from the very important things that they did say. Let this be your motivation to get loud and active, especially if you live in any country that supports Israel. Put pressure on your governments to not be complicit in genocide, you now officially have the highest international court on your side.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Older"

ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

Part 1:

Part 2: Here

Part 3:

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[writeyouin]

Oo I got something for TFO

If possible would you be open to doing a human s/o with D-16? Like the human came from another planet that was destroyed and they got stranded on Cybertron and somehow managed to end up in Iacon city?

D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 1 of 2

A/N – This is so much longer than I thought it would be. I think it may be the most fun, silly fic I’ve ever written and I am so happy that I got to write it. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE TRANSFORMERS ONE MOVIE IN THE FINAL SEGMENT!

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

It was all Orion’s fault. Everything that was likely to get D-16 in trouble was his fault. It was always, ‘Hey, what if we searched the tunnels for something even more valuable than energon?’ Or ‘You want to come into the archives with me? Of course, I have a permit. It’s not like I would try breaking in… again.’

This time, the line that was sure to get D-16 into trouble was, “Hey bud, don’t tell anyone but I got us a pet!”

D-16 rubbed his helm exasperatedly, “A pet, Pax! Why can’t you just obey the rules for once.”

“Hey, there are no rules against keeping pets,” Orion said excitedly, heading over to his locker to retrieve the creature in question.

“Of course there aren’t! Because no one would be stupid enough to keep one!”

“You just haven’t seen it yet. It’s really cute.”

“I hope your spark eater tears off your face, Pax. I really do,” D-16 deadpanned.

“Not a spark eater,” Orion chuckled, then he began whispering into his locker, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya, little cutie. That’s it, settle down now.”

D-16 shook his head, “You’re gonna get demoted all the way down to the 40th sub-level and when you do, I’m not gonna save your sorry aft. Besides Pax, there isn’t enough energon to go around as is. How’re you gonna feed a pet?”

“That’s the thing,” Orion said eagerly. “It doesn’t fuel up on energon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of thing doesn’t need energon?” D-16 asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he tried to peek over Orion’s shoulder at the so-called ‘pet’ he was trying to grab.

He heard some scrabbling, Orion said some more soothing words and then Orion turned around, holding a creature half his size around the waist in both servos.

“D-16, meet our new pet, Minitronus.”

“Minitronus!” D-16 said excitedly. He knew Orion had only picked the name to foster his attachment and ensure that he kept the creature a secret.

D-16 got close to Orion’s pet, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down. “Whoa, what is it?”

“C’mon D-16. If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.”

“You have no idea, do you.”

“Not a one.”

The creature chittered angrily, pushing at Orion’s servos.

“It looks angry,” D-16 observed.

“It’s just getting used to us. That’s all.”

Orion began stroking at the creature’s head.

“Okay Pax,” D-16 said, resigning himself to Orion’s crazy new pet, as he knew he would from the start. “C’mon then. Tell me all about it. What does it eat? Where’d you find it? And most importantly, how’re we going to keep it a secret?”

“Hey! I said HEY! YOU UP THERE! STOP PETTING ME! I’M NOT AN ANIMAL, YOU BIG DUMB IDIOT!”

The giant metal man smiled at you affectionately, opening his mouth to say something you couldn’t understand. It all sounded like scraping metal and electrical noises and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Ever since the Quintessons had abducted you, your life had been nothing but trouble. You were their prisoner but when they found out your planet had nothing of worth, they decided it would be better to experiment on you. The only consolation was that you could at least understand the Quintessons, who had multiple translator devices on their ship.

You were very fortunate that the Quintessons didn’t view you as a threat since they didn’t bother keeping you in any kind of high-security prison and so you managed to escape before they did anything too terrible. The worst you suffered were a few zaps from a weak cattle prod, probably testing your nervous system.

Yet, having escaped the Quintesson ship, you had landed yourself into deeper trouble. You had found yourself on a living metal planet, and though a few plants grew on the ever-transforming surface, the pocket computer you had stolen from your captors informed you they were poisonous.

Fortunately, you had thought a few things through regarding your escape. You had managed to grab a backpack, stuffing it full of provisions and interesting gadgets. The food was stored in dehydrated cubes so with proper care, it could last you months, maybe even an entire year. The backpack also contained a device to keep you warm, a cube that turned into a forcefield when thrown to the ground, and most importantly one of the translators that had allowed you to understand the Quintessons along with a few other gadgets.

However, despite your planning, things hadn’t gone very well for you. After touching down on the planet, you boarded a train that you hoped would take you to civilisation, and while it did take you to a city underground that was more beautiful and advanced than you could imagine, it was clear that the alien life-forms there had never seen an organic creature before.

The few you tried to talk to initially screamed as if you were vermin and tried to blast, stab, and crush you in succession. As you scrambled for your life, you took a kick to the back, saved by your pack which had broken your much-needed translator.

You ran and hid, keeping out of sight and soon you started feeling like the vermin the metal people viewed you as. You learned quickly to keep out of sight and made your way to where there were fewer bots, spending many quiet hours either sleeping in vents or trying to repair your translator with the limited knowledge you had.

Yet, your luck couldn’t last forever and eventually, you ran into a vent that turned out to be a transportation tunnel to and from the mines. It was there that Mr Big-Red-Idiot-Bot caught you and took you to the charging bays. At first, you thought your luck was turning around and that he was going to take you to someone who would be able to understand you since he was obviously trying to be gentle with you. Then it became clear that he just thought you were some kind of stupid animal in need of care and he adopted you as his pet.

“What are these things?” D-16 asked, gently lifting your top.

You slapped at his servo, swearing at him even though he couldn’t understand you. Orion laughed, “I don’t know, but that’s how it reacted to me too. I think they’re to keep it warm. Either way, it doesn’t like it when you touch them. Oh, and hey, check this out, it does tricks.”

Orion shoved you back into his locker where your bag was. You ran to your pack, hurriedly grabbing your broken translator and showing it to the new grey bot. You had tried repeatedly showing it to Big Red, but he didn’t get what you were trying to do and always just laughed at you.

“What’s it holding?” D-16 asked.

“Playing with some scrap metal. Isn’t that cute? It has a favourite toy! I think Minitronus might have belonged to someone else once because it has all these adorable toys in there and it can make its own fuel.”

You sighed. Clearly, the grey bot was no better than Big Red, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you. You shook your head and began searching your pack for some tools to repair the translator. Upon seeing you grab a screwdriver, Orion took it from you.

You yelled a few more insults, demanding it back but Orion just teased you, holding it just out of reach.

“Aww does Minitronus want the toy? Do you? Do you? That’s it, reach for the toy. Grab it.” He cooed.

D-16 rolled his eyes, amused by both Orion and his new pet. He snatched the miniature ‘toy’ screwdriver from his friend, handing it back to you. “Don’t tease it, Orion.”

You nodded gratefully at D-16 and he ruffled your hair. This time, you didn’t bother insulting him since he had given you what you wanted.

The work alarm went off overhead and Orion slammed his locker shut just in time for the influx of workers to come through the shared stasis bunker on their way to work. D-16 tried to fight against the crowd to stay by the locker but Orion pulled him into the fray, muttering that it would look suspicious if he wasn’t at work on time.

“But what about- Will it be okay in there?” D-16 whispered as they headed into the lift.

“Sure,” Orion said from the corner of his mouth, trying to be quiet. “It’s been in there for days and it's been fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now be quiet and act normal.”

D-16 smiled and gave a small awkward wave to a bot in front of him who was observing the pair with a raised optical ridge. Over the years, Orion had caused more than his share of trouble so D-16 was used to the scrutinising looks from others, though he always got nervous when they both had something to hide.

You sighed and rested your hands on your hips. It was awful being constantly stuffed in a locker, especially since Big Red didn’t seem to think things through. He shoved you in your new ‘home’ whenever other bots were around or when he went to the lift which you assumed meant he was working. The problem with that was that his species didn’t tire easily and could work a very long time, and with this being what you could only assume was the poorer part of the city, there were always other bots around. You had to get your translator fixed quickly, or else you would spend the rest of your life in the locker. Still, things weren’t all bad. It was warm and safe. You often used your backpack as a pillow, sleeping through the first few hours before getting back to your repair work. You had privacy and a personal collapsable service suite that pulled moisture from the air so you could drink or shower - it even took care of your waste by vaporising it; alien inventions sure were convenient. Besides, now the other bot knew about you too, and perhaps he could help you. Resignedly, you set about keeping to your normal routine and began some light repair work, too awake to rest now. You only wished you knew what you were doing and that you had even the faintest idea on how to fix alien technology; your life depended on it.

Orion and D-16 were the first up and out of the elevator, avoiding the usual crowds by skipping the last few minutes of work with a lame excuse about being called upstairs. Honestly, the pair got into so much trouble they were often called up to meetings with higher-ups for tellings-off, which Orion usually tried to talk his way out of, and so nobody so much as batted an optic when they left.

Upon getting up to their quarters, Orion and D-16 were both relieved to see that the rotation team had already filed out, presumably having taken one of the other lifts to a different mine. Orion ran to his locker and hurled it open.

“Aww, look,” He pulled D-16 close to get a good look at you. “Minitronus is recharging. Hey, do you think it’s dreaming of us? Pets do that, right? Dream of their owners?”

“I mean, if Minitronus is thinking of me, that’s a dream. If it’s you, it’s a nightmare.”

Orion elbowed D-16 in the chassis then reached in to grab you.

D-16 pulled him back, “Whoa hey, don’t wake it.”

“We have to. It’s time for walkies and this is the only time we can get out of here quietly before the others catch up.”

Reluctantly, D-16 let Orion go.

You jolted awake, terrified until you remembered where you were and that you were now the ‘pet’ of an advanced alien. You settled groggily in his arms, wondering what he was going to do with you now.

He proffered you some words that sounded like two lawnmowers smashing together, but by his expression, you could tell he was happy. Then he jostled you, miming something you couldn’t understand until it was too late.

You scowled at Big Red with your arms folded, too insulted to even try yelling as he tugged you along an empty alley on your new wire lead.

This was a new low.

“I don’t think Minitronus likes walkies,” D-16 commented as you dug your heels into the floor, trying to hold your ground.

“Nonsense,” Orion said, trying to be gentle as he pulled at your lead, making you stumble forward, “It’s just not used to it yet.”

D-16 patted his thighs, “C’mon Minitronus. That’s it. Here Minitronus. Minitronus.”

After a few more attempts, you realised that the gentle electrical hum Grey kept repeating must be his name for you. Huh… Well, at least the repetition meant they had a stable language.

You listened again and tried to mimic the sound, making both bots pause to look at you.

“Did it just…?” D-16 asked, pointing at you.

You mimicked the sound again.

“It did,” Orion agreed. He ran over to pick you up, spinning you in his arms, “Who’s a smart Minitronus, huh? Yes, you. You are!”

Although your mimicry had been good, it wasn’t quite enough to convince them that you were sentient. Rather, they were looking at you like a parrot who had picked up a new phrase. Instead of repeating your name, you had managed a babyish mumbling somewhere close, that sounded more like Mini–Tron.”

D-16 beamed and petted your head, quickly coming to love his new pet. Orion was right, it was smart and cute.

“That’s so cool, I wonder if we can teach it more words.”

“I’m definitely teaching it swears,” Orion laughed.

Eventually, the pair headed back to the underground, with Orion heading in first, making sure everyone was recharging, before signalling for D-16 to follow with you.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t put me back in the locker,” You whined as you were placed on the top shelf.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” D-16 begged, listening to you pitchy chittering. He held a digit to his lips, shushing.

“You two will be gone for ages, what between sleeping and working, and it’s dark in there,” You continued, even though he couldn’t understand you.

You only stopped talking when he held you against his chassis, petting your head. You sighed in understanding. He was trying to keep you safe; this was all for your own good.

‘Okay,’ You thought, feeling strangely comforted by Grey’s actions. ‘If this is how it has to be for now… Okay.’

Orion gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to D-16, glad that he had managed to keep your mewls under control.

“Goodnight, Minitronus,” Orion whispered before shutting the door.

“We love you,” D-16 added.

You shook your head after the door shut; life was going to be interesting with those two.

“PAX!” Elita-One shouted, jetpacking up the empty elevator shaft to catch up with Orion and D-16 who had stolen away from work early for the third time that week.

Orion held you behind his back, hiding you just in time before Elita got in his face.

“Captain, what a surprise!” Orion grinned cheekily, already trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. “Me and D-16 were just saying what a great and wonderful leader you-”

“Can it, Pax!” Elita glowered. “I’ve had just about enough of you. It’s bad enough that you’re a troublemaker but now, you’re dragging D-16 down with you and- what’s behind your back?”

“My back? Nothing at all,” Orion shoved you into D-16’s open arms, and he in turn hid you behind his leg, trusting that you wouldn’t run away if he wasn’t holding you.

Elita grabbed hold of Orion, slamming him into the lockers, her eyes narrowing when she didn’t see anything worth hiding. She glared at D-16 who held up his servos in a shrug, gesturing to Pax who was already babbling about how strong she was and how no other Captain had had the strength to throw him so hard.

While Pax created a distraction and Elita-One continued her tirade against him, D-16 shuffled backwards, sneaking you out for your daily walk.

You had grown used to the routine now, learning the building’s alarms that marked the beginning or end of a shift. When it was coming time for Orion or D-16 to take you out, you always hitched on your backpack, just in case you needed anything, though you had long since learned not to work on your translator in front of Big Red, since he kept assuming it was a toy and continually threw it for you to fetch. Honestly, he was doing even more damage to the already broken machine, and it stressed you out constantly whenever you were forced to catch it before it hit the ground.

When you and Grey were alone, you always did repair work at the end of a walk, since he would take you somewhere quiet to rest for a while.

You had been living with the pair for just over two months now and in that time a few things of note had happened.

First, they had entrusted knowledge of you to a few of the others in their ‘platoon’ or whatever the group they worked in was called. This had happened after an incident wherein you had escaped your locker to explore and a silver and blue bot with a passion for dance stumbled into you and squealed. Big Red, and Grey hurried to your rescue and had to explain their ‘pet’ to him.

This led to you being the worst kept secret in the mining facility, though it was bound to happen eventually with so many bots living in close quarters. However, all the mining bots found you sweet enough and they all had a code of honour that meant they kept you secret from anyone with authority like Elita-One or any of the other captains.

Yet, while everyone knew about you and you were generally allowed out of the locker most of the time, it was still only Orion or D-16 who took you out, and they still tried to get out of work a tad early to check on you.

One of the other changes in your life was the delivery of a big bundle of wires as ‘toys.’ That was another word you had learned to mimic since Orion kept bringing you play-things and repeating the Cybertronian equivalent.

This happened after you kept picking up pieces of scrap wire on walks, taking them with you so you could use them in your repair work. At first, Orion and D-16 took them off you, afraid you would hurt yourself somehow, but when you kept collecting them and fought hard to keep the few you had, they assumed it must be a normal nesting behaviour and brought you a great deal more than you needed.

You were delighted with the gifts and hugged both bots for it. Then, after saving the few you needed for your translator, you weaved the extra wires into a new over-shirt. It was uncomfortable, but quite practical since your jumper was wearing away and you needed a new one to keep decent when you were washing your actual shirt.

Another problem to occur was your hair. In your time with the bots, it had grown very long, and much to your bemusement, Orion had tried cutting it. The whole thing had gone disastrously, and you suddenly understood those dogs that got terrible haircuts because they tried to escape their groomers; you could only be thankful that the bald patch was beginning to grow back.

The final change was Grey’s idea. He felt confident that you were well trained since you now responded to your name, paying attention when you were called through the miners’ hab-suite. Because of your actions, he often let you off-lead, which you were immensely grateful for. He rarely put the lead back on you unless he thought something was unsafe, so whenever it went on now, you clambered onto his shoulder, trusting that he would take you home and away from danger quickly.

It wasn’t a perfect life, but things were slowly improving. You could only hope that your lucky streak didn’t break and that you would be able to communicate your needs fully before the year was up.

D-16 sighed, sitting on the side of a tall building overlooking the city with you in his lap. You were content to let him pet you while you toyed with your translator. You went in an almost trance-like state whenever you tinkered with it now, honestly not expecting anything to come of it but needing to work all the same.

He continued speaking in his gentle, rhythmic noises and you hummed as if you understood, pressing a wire down with the flat of your screwdriver.

“- and that’s why I know what we’re doing is important. Even Sentinel says so. Us miners, we’re keeping Cybertron alive,” D-16 said proudly.

“Who’s Sentinel?” You asked absentmindedly.

D-16 screamed, accidentally throwing you off his lap.

“Hey, be careful!” You scolded. “You could have dropped me over the edge.”

You picked up your translator and brushed yourself off.

“Minitronus, you’re talking!” D-16 accused.

“Yeah, well so…are… Oh my God, I did it!” You breathed. Then you punched the air excitedly, “I DID IT!”

“WHAT IS GOING ON? HOW ARE YOU TALKING?!”

“I fixed my translator,” You squealed ecstatically, waving it in front of D-16.

“Your- Your toy?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, practically bouncing on the spot.

“This is impossible. You- You’re our pet!”

“No. Not a pet. Not anymore. I’m (Y/N). Okay, (Y/N),” You repeated your name slowly, trying to get it through to Grey who still looked panicked.

“Primus, this is insane.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’ve got to explain everything to me, right now.”

“Okay, sit down,” You patted the ledge.

D-16 did so, and you jumped back into his lap.

“What’re you doing? You can’t sit there now. You’re not an animal.”

“Hey,” You pushed against his servo, staying stubbornly in place, “I’m not going back on that ledge, I could fall.” “Fine,” D-16 relented. He went to pet your head again then stopped himself, keeping his servos stiffly by his sides. “As long as you explain yourself, you can sit wherever you want.”

Having told D-16 everything and had him explain a few things in return, things thankfully changed. Initially, things between you and all of the mining bots were awkward, with haunted comments from some of the bots like, ‘It saw me in the wash racks,’ or ‘I can’t believe I tried to rub its belly… No wonder it slapped me. Oh. Oh no.’

Once everyone got used to the idea, your life improved. You were still kept secret since none of the miners knew how the higher-ups would react to an alien species, but with some ingenuity and a few favours exchanged for information about your species and planet, they all came together to transform your locker into a proper living space, complete with all the amenities they could manage to scrape together. They even began forming a plan to try and have you off-planet and en-route somewhere you could survive before your supplies would run out.

After D-16 and Orion were over the weirdness, you still had them take you on your daily excursions, sans the lead since you were no longer their pet. Orion managed to laugh about the whole thing, but D-16 grew to be even more strained around you. However, you didn’t get to ask him about it till you were next alone with him, which was a long time afterwards.

“So… Do you hate me now?” You asked him one day while he walked a few paces ahead of you, keeping an eye out for anyone who he would need to hide you from.

“What?” D-16 sputtered. “I- I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” You smiled easily. “It’s a strange situation.”

D-16 felt his insides squeeze. He had held onto you while you slept. At the time, he thought you were cute. Now though… You were still cute when you slept, but it was a different kind of cute – Softer, somehow.

“I told you everything,” He sighed, defeatedly. “My life, my dreams, my fears.” He shook his head, continuing mournfully, “And you didn’t understand any of it.”

“Not true,” You contradicted, running to stand in front of him.

He watched you warily.

“I might not have known what you were saying, but I did understand you. Your tone, expressions, the sound of your voice. I understood more than you think.”

D-16’s spark pulsed.

“Let’s go home,” He said quickly, turning on his heel and walking away from you.

The two of you had to go where you wouldn’t be alone or things would change again.

D-16 was falling in love with you and he couldn’t let that happen. There were too many unknowns and he had his planet to think about. He was a miner – the life force of his planet. That’s what Sentinel Prime always said, and work came first.

Besides, you weren’t going to be on Cybertron forever. You couldn’t be. Once your supplies ran out, that would be it for you.

D-16 couldn’t get attached. It wasn’t like you were a pet anymore. You didn’t belong to him, even if he wanted you to.

You ran through the destruction of Iacon City, terrified by everything that was happening. Honestly, you had missed most of the events leading up to it, having been stuck in Sentinel’s tower, but you had seen the so-called Prime torture and brand D-16.

Afterwards, you tried to find him or Orion, but you were small and Iacon was big and the city was collapsing around you.

You screamed as you were grabbed seemingly from nowhere and looked up to see D-16, though he looked slightly different thanks to the new infusion of Megatronus’ T-Cog which you hadn’t seen him take from Sentinel’s corpse. Also, there was one other change – his angry red optics, which bore into you.

“D-16,” You shouted, “What’s going on? Where’s Orion?”

“Orion is dead,” He growled. Though he had made a promise that nobody else would be deceived, you needed to hear that lest you side with Orion over him. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. Orion was dead – Dead, and replaced by Optimus Prime. “And my name is Megatron.”

“Orion- Orion’s dead,” You repeated, too shell-shocked to even cry at the moment.

“Yes,” Megatron glossed over your emotions, far too focused on his rage as he transformed around you, keeping you safe inside his alt-mode. “And we’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“To war!”

Yet, even as Megatron burned with hatred and his desire to bring down the corruption that fuelled his planet, he was already reading the intel sent by the disgraced High Guard, informing him of several nearby planets where you would be able to get the organic fuel you required to stay online.

Megatron had lost everything. He was not about to lose his beloved pet too. You were his, and you always would be.

A/N - Hey, I worked really hard on this so please comment, or at the very least reblog. Likes aren't enough anymore guys, they just aren't.

[rotary-supercollider]

Average leverage episode

Victim: please mr. Leverage. They bought my orphanage and they’re going to sell all the orphans I need you to stop them

Nate “Leverage” Leverage: I think we can get you some… leverage

Sophie: I’m going to start a bullshit argument now

Nate: please dont

Sophie: it’s going to last the whole episode

Nate: 🙄women (laughtrack)

Hardison: alright this is our mark Mr. Monopoly. He owns 16 weapons companies and took in 100000 billion million dollars last year. He just got into the orphan business and on the weekends he plays puppy golf.

Parker: whats puppy golf

Hardison: it’s like golf but you use puppies

Elliot: I’ve seen it. (snifffs deeply) not fun

Hardison: this guys ruthless. we’re going to be exploiting his one weakness. He really likes having a lot of money

Sophie: how?

Nate: we go steal an abstract concept

*they steal an abstract concept*

The mark: hello. I was impressed by your ownership of an abstract concept

Sophie: we’ll give you 50 trillion dollars for the orphanage

Mark: Zamn!!!

Sophie: 😏 we got him

*1 day later*

Sophie: here’s the 50 trillion dollars (holds up briefcase full of crimes)

The mark: I don’t want your money any more. I have a new plan. I’m goijng to dress all the orphans in hot dog costumes and start a theme park

Sophie: 😦

Elliot: we’re blown

Nate: Sophie throw the briefcase 💼 in the lake

Mark: whoa!! Thats wet money

Sophie: I can give you 5000 more orphans. Meet me at this unmarked warehouse in 6 hours

Mark: awooga

Hardison: Nate do you have a plan?

Nate: not yet

*Fade to black*

Nate: alright the marks on his way. Hardison what’s your 20

Hardison: I need at least 30 minutes to finish this Lego Taj Mahal

Nate: ok I’ll stall

Nate (playing bit character): I cooka da pizza!! Ohhhh (drops full pan of sauce on the marks head instantly killing him) mamma Mia (walks into the sea)

Parker: guys we have a problem

*6 Bad Men materialize out of thin air*

Elliot: 😒I got this 👊👊👊👊👊👊👊👊👊👊👊🤛🤜🤛🤜✊🩼✊🦶🦵✊🤛🚪🦶✊🦵🤌✊🦶👊🦵✊✊👊🎷👊👊👊

*the Bad Men disintegrate*

Elliot: shit hes here (dives into a trash can)

*the mark reaches the building. There are orphans waving at him from the windows*

Mark: ok I’m here to take the orphans

The police: SIR YOURE COMING WITH US

Mark: what?? This is a completely legal orphan deal

Police: theres no orphans here

*police man grabs an orphan. Hes flat. Flashback to Hardison setting up 5000 cardboard orphan cutouts*

Mark: but what are you arresting me for??

Police man: sir you filled all of city hall with gravy

*flashback to Nate filling city hall with gravy while wearing a T-shirt that says “Im bad businessman”*

Mark: you can’t do this to me!!

Police: (arrests him)

Nate: heh. You could say he got... Leveraged

Parker: i have autism

Everyone: oh my god Parker shut up

[randofics]

Pain and Warmth pt.1

🎶 The Midnight- Vampires

🎶 Deftones- Beauty School (slowed + reverb)

Dante Sparda x F reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, details of menstrual cycle, medication usage, L-word

Link to Dante x F reader Headcannons

16+

18+ if you squint

I finished the entire first season in 2 days, yall! I also get that it's not lore accurate in some aspects, but it's not really supposed to be. It's the director and wrighters interpretation. While I personally have never played the games, I did watch someone play a few years ago, along with watching the other anime adaptation (which I love dearly). Hopefully, I did this adaptation justice in this fic.

----------

As you walked to Dantes, place your cramps were getting serious. You'd have to take some ibuprofen when you got there. You huffed and puffed, trying to breathe through the pain as you finally made it to his doorstep.

You knock without much effort before just opening the door to let yourself in. You force out his name and hear his snoring stop with a snort.

As you pass the threshold into the room, he greets you. "Hey y/n! How's it going..." He trails off when he sees you. You're a bit unsteady on your feet, still panting with droopy eyes and your glasses slipping down your nose.

You cross the room to his side before he gets up, and you set your bag on the desk, pulling out your medicine bag. Taking an ibuprofen from the bottle, you pop it in your mouth and steal his soda from the desk to swallow it down. "Hey, that's my soda!"

"You give him a glare he's never seen on you before that shuts him up." He puts his hands up as he props his feet on the desk behind you again. You look at him analyzing something which he tilts his head at. "What is it?"

Suddenly, you're sitting in his lap, and he freezes as you lay against his chest. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Ibuprofen won't work right away. Need warmth to stem the pain." Your shortened phrasing gives tell of the level of pain you're in. Suddenly, you grab his hand and slip it into the top of your pants, laying it over your abdomen. You sigh when the heat soakes into your skin.

He blushes, looking anywhere but at you. This is all so sudden! Are you in so much pain that you don't even care that it's HIM you're sitting on with HIS hand pressed against your bare skin!? He's freaking out internally. But suddenly, there's a scent in his nose. It's unmistakable yet tinged with something unfamiliar.

"You're bleeding... why are you bleeding!?"

You hiss and growl at him when he jostles you. Giving him an even more intense glare. "Stay still, Dante... or I swear I'll tear you to shreds."

"But why are you bleeding!?"

You sigh, not wanting to keep wasting energy on speaking. "I'm on my menstrual cycle."

"Ok, yeah, I forgot about that. But why do I smell so much?"

"I'm a heavy bleeder. It's normal for me."

"Shouldn't you get checked out for that, though? That doesn't seem normal to me."

"I'll schedule an appointment soon. Quit talking, I need sleep."

-------

By the time you've fallen asleep, Dante is bored out of his mind. He's already counted the cracks in the walls when there's a nock on the door. Enzo comes waltzing in.

"Hey Dante, I've got a..." Dante puts his finger to his lips with wide eyes frantically shushing him. Enzo spots you in his lap and gives Dante a knowing grin.

Dante mouths to him. "It's not like that, dude! She just jumped me!" He tries to free his other hand, but you grab hold of it, keeping it against your skin. A wave of pain hits you and you hiss. Opening your eyes, you look over at Enzo.

"Enzo my bag, please." He rounds the desk, handing you your bag, which you rummage through for another pill. "Soda." He holds it out for you, and you swallow the pill with another sip.

"Thank you, Enzo. Can you do me another favor, please?"

"Oh sure! What do ya need?"

"Call in a Subnautica Subs order for me. Italian bread with lettuce, spinach, provolone, ham, and mayo. You want anything, Dante?"

"Uh yeah, just get me the meat lover's sub."

"Dante can call you later about the job."

"How did you...?"

"Figured that's why you're here. That's usually why."

"Fair enough. See you two lovebirds later!"

You growl, but don't bother wasting your energy in retort. Dante yells after him. "I told you it's not like that!" The door clicks shut behind him.

You let out a groan, bringing his attention back to you. "I need to get up to use the restroom, but I don't wanna." He can hear the pout in your voice, and he lets a chuckle slip.

"You want me to carry you there?

"Please do." The slight bags under your eyes tell him just how drained you are as he frees his hand to scoop you up. You grab your bag on the way by.

He lets you down at the door, and you let out another uncomfortable sound, screwing your face up in a grimace.

"What is it?"

"The floodgates opened, so to speak."

He grimaced, too. "I'll wait out here for you."

"Ok, thanks, Dante."

-------

He pushes off the wall when you finally open the door. "Took a while. You ok?"

"Yeah, I had a lot of blood to clean up." As you walk past, the strong scent hits his nose along with your attempt to cover it with air freshener.

A nock on the door catches your attention. You're about to go answer it when Dante joggs past you. "Go sit down. I'll get it." You huff but a small smile cracks through your pained/irritated expression. The delivery guy hands him a bag from the restaurant. Dante hands him a few dollars and closes the door.

When he walks back into the room, he cracks a grin at you sitting in his chair. "Stealing my spot now, huh?"

"Hey, you just said to sit. You didn't specify where."

"Fair enoug.h. Here's yours." He sits against the desk beside you as he unwraps his sub, taking a bite. "Dat ibuwpofin wokin?"

You snort. "Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better now. And don't take such big bites you'll choke on it."

By the time he's finished with his, you're only halfway through yours. "Ya'know you're a real slow eater."

"Yes, I know. I prefer to savor the flavor than scarf it all down at once." You give him a pointed look. "You made a mess of yourself too." You stand boxing him in between you and the desk. "Hold still." You grip his jaw and, with your other hand, wipe the sauce from his mouth licking your thumb clean, and he glanced away.

Dante watches you put your wrapped up sub in the mini fridge. Totally not eyeing your rear before you turn back to him. He sits back in his chair, watching your fingers work circles into the skin of your lower back as your shirt rides up.

You move back over to him, and he thinks you're gonna sit across his lap like before. Instead, you straddle him. "Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing!?"

"Sittin' in your lap again."

"You-you shouldn't be straddling me!"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nuzzle into him. His muscles tense under you as he bites his lip, your body pressing into his. The heat from his lower stomach seeps into your abdomen.

-------

For a while, he just sits there holding his hands up awkwardly, not wanting to touch you without permission. Your voice muffled in his neck, startles him. "You can touch me, ya'know."

"Heh... I didn't want to assume." He gently lays his hands on your back.

As the time ticks by slowly, his hands start to rub circles into your back. When he adds more pressure, you practically melt into him. "A bit lower, please." He does as asked, remembering where you had massaged yourself earlier.

You let out a quiet gasp, gripping the back of his coat collar.

His hands freeze. "You ok?"

"I'm fine, keep going."

Pressing his fingers into your skin again, gently moving in circles. He sets his chin on your shoulder, letting his eyes close as he listens to your breathing.

The little pain left slowly seeps away as his fingers work across your muscles. You hold in any sounds that try to escape as you relax in his embrace.

This is probably the safest place in the world. The halfbreed demon hunter being one of the few things on earth capable of mass destruction should he choose it. And he's got you wrapped up in those demon killing arms with hands that can break bone being used to gently ease the pain in your back.

A wave of arousal washes over you. Those dang hormones surging through your body as you expel your uterine lining. You bite your lip as your mind races. What would it feel like to kiss him? Or have him kiss up your neck, leaving marks in his wake?

What if you kissed his neck right now? Would he be ok with it, or would he hate you for it?

Maybe you could just start slow? Just nuzzle under his chin.

You do just that, taking off your glasses and placing them on the desk behind you. You hook your nose under his jaw, closing your eyes as your breath tickles his neck.

His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your breath on his skin. You pull back just enough for him to see your eyes. They're lidded and glazed over with a familiar look. He turns bright red swallowing hard.

You trail your hands down to his chest, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Getting bashful on me darlin'?" He gives you a nervous grin. Leaning back down, you place a gentle kiss on his neck.

You feel his hands slip down to your hips, and his thumbs press into the sides of your abdomen, making you wince. "Easy big boy, I'm still sore." Suddenly, he moves a hand to your face, making you look at him. In a flash, his lips are on yours. You're stunned for a moment before your eyes slip closed, and you grip the hair at the back of his head.

Your heart races in your chest. You can't believe this is actually happening! The seconds go by before he pulls away, both of you panting for breath. He gives you a calculating look before his lips press into your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other pushing beneath your shirt. You feel the fabric of his gloves scratch against you.

A small sound escapes your throat as his mouth moves across your skin. Tilting your head back for him, you pull his white locks. He sucks on your pulse, likely to leave a mark. Your back arching into him as a moan bubbles up from your throat. His hands move to your thighs, and he picks you up, making you yelp.

"Wh-what are you doing, Dante?"

"Taking you to bed so you can rest some more. Don't worry. We can have a bit more fun before we hit the hay."

This time, you blush. "But I'm still bleeding."

"We aren't gonna do that. Not that I wouldn't be down for it either way..."

You blush like a tomato. Normally, guys gag at the thought of messing around when a woman's on her period. Then again, Dante's used to blood so it wouldn't bother him as much.

-------

He closes the door behind you with his boot and lays you down gently on the bed with your head on the pillow. "Just relax and let me do all the work." You give him a nod. "Good girl." He pulls off his gloves with his teeth and slips the grey Henley over his head.

As he settles in, pushing his face into your neck, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. A pleasured groan rumbles in his throat. You feel his tongue slide across your throat, making you gasp.

His hand gently caresses over your stomach, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. You feel his hand slip under your wasteband and around to your lower back. His fingertips press into your muscles, gently moving in circles to ease their tension. You let out a pleasured sigh, arching your back a bit.

He shifts his weight so his other hand can slip behind your upper back beneath your shirt. You feel your bra pop open, releasing tension in your back and shoulders. You let a content purr escape your lips.

"I bet that feels better, doesn't it?" His voice a low rumble in your ear makes a shiver run up your spine. He can feel the muscles twitch under his fingertips. "Good, that's all I want right, now baby." He presses featherlight kisses all across your neck and lips before moving to your stomach.

More light kisses press into your skin as you relax and enjoy his touch. His teal eyes lock with yours as he pulls down your waistband just to the top of your pubic hair. With his thumbs, he gently presses into your abdomen. "Tell me where it's most tender." He moves his thumbs inward towards the center of your abdomen.

When they graze over your ovaries and uterus, you feel a twinge of pain. "Right there, huh? Alright, I'll be gentle. Tell me if it hurts." He presses in and moves in circles only to stop when you tet out a hiss in pain. "Too much?" You mumble to him. "Ok, I won't do that again. You're just way too sore there, baby."

You sit up and move to the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking these pants off. The waistband is putting pressure on my abdomen. I also gotta take off this bra."

"Thought you were leaving for a second."

"Not after that massage you gave me."

He pouts with a hand over his heart. "Is that all I am to you!?"

Shucking off your pants, you scoot closer to him. With a hand on his jaw, you place your forehead against his. When you lock eyes with him, you smile. "I love you, Dante." His eyes widen, mouth agape.

"You-you love me?"

"Yes, honey, I love you."

He lets out a breathy chuckle of disbelief as he processes the revelation. His cocky facade cracking as overwhelming emotions burst forth. Tears glint in his eyes as he gives you the happiest smile you've ever seen on him, holding your face in his hands.

"I-I love you too! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Tears of your own drip down your cheeks as you pepper his face with kisses. You lock lips again in a kiss full of emotion and genuine love for each other.

When you pull away to breathe, he hugs you tight, and you slip your arms around him in turn. He lets go sliding one hand down your arm to hold yours while the other wipes away his tears. You both sniffle, and you can't help the yawn that overtakes you.

"Getting sleepy again?" You nod and turn your attention back to the bra you need to remove. Dante watches as you pull it from your shirt like a magic trick. "You gotta show me how you do that trick with your bra sometime."

You roll your eyes. Always so romantic. A chuckle tumbles from your mouth. He grins and lays down on the bed. "Here lay down on me, I'll massage you some more."

"I don't want to leak on you, though. Or the sheets."

"In my line of work, I get blood on stuff all the time. Trust me, it's not that big a deal if it does happen. Im practically an expert at cleaning bloodtains at this point." His reassurance soothes your worries, and you straddle him again, laying against him with your hands on his bare chest and your ear over his heart.

You notice right away that it's beating a bit fast, he's nervous. His hands land on your back, and he pulls up your shirt to reach your skin. The firm circle motion of his fingers, making your muscles relax against him. Sleep begins to weigh your eyelids down as the soothing and strong beating of his heart lulls you to sleep.

Within minutes, your breathing slows, and you're completely relaxed against him. He pulls the blanket over the both of you as he begins to feel sleepy himself. "I'm the luckiest man on Earth to have a woman like you."

With his arms wrapped protectively around you, his eyes slip closed, and for the first time in a while, he has a great night's sleep.

[novy2sirius]

numerstrology notes.

₊˚⊹ some astrologers believe astrology and numerology cannot collide but personally i have found the degrees in astrology to accurately align with numerology — tw: killing/murder

the most common beauty degrees are 1º, 2º, 5º, 9º, 14º, 18º, 23º, 25°, and 27º placed in the sun, moon, ascendant, venus, and neptune. people with these degrees in these placements will get told they’re beautiful a lot by people and will be seen as very beautiful to society

having the sun, venus, or jupiter at 8°/13°/24°/28° can indicate gaining wealth at some point in your lifetime as these are numbers associated with wealth and money

you’ll often find that successful actors have prominent 5°/9°/14°/18°/23°/27° in their chart. usually the ascendant, moon, mars, midheaven, or neptune

your midheaven at 7°/9° is an indication of being known by the public for your intelligence since 7 is the number of intelligence and 9 is the number of the mind. albert einstein has this placement

mercury at 4°/13°/22° can indicate that you had a very challenging childhood and were often misunderstood by a lot of people. you may have been very insecure as a child as well

people with saturn at 6°/15°/24° often have a toxic family or a toxic family member that they end up having to cut out of their life when they’re older so they can be happier

having both the degrees 1° and 11° in your big 3 can be challenging especially placed in the sun and ascendant. it can mean you struggle a lot finding out who you are and what path you want to take in life more so than other people

people with mars at 7°/16°/25° are often a part of the lgbtq+ community because these numbers are most prone to being a part of the community and mars is associated with our sexuality

people with pluto at 9°/18°/27° have the ability to do really well with crypto and make a lot of money from it. pluto and 9 in numerology are both associated with extremes

having your mars at 1° can mean you attract a lot of enemies and jealous people. these people tend to get hated on for absolutely no good reason. mars represents enemies and 1 is a number that can be associated with jealousy in numerology

don’t become enemies with someone that has their pluto at 1°/10°. you will regret it. they’re quite vengeful and hold grudges when someone hurts them. pluto represents things like revenge and 1 is the number of aggression/grudges

people with venus at 7°/16°/25° do not like dating dumb dumbs. if you want to keep them you need to have brains. ditziness drives them crazy. they are most attracted to smart people and people that can teach them a lot. the only reason they would stay with someone long term who was dumb is for good sex

people with multiple 11°/29° placements usually hang out with people older than them. they’re old souls and often mature very quickly from a younger age than most. they’re the type to say their first word at 3 months old and be potty trained by 1 years old

it’s rare to find someone with jupiter at 5°/14°/23° that’s not entertaining. jupiter is associated with abundance and 5 in numerology represents entertainment

22 degrees can actually be associated with killing. i know this is controversial and astrologers try not to discuss things like this but in numerology 22 is associated with destruction so often it represents things like violent tendencies. 4 in general can be a more violent number. i have found a lot of people who have either been murdered or murdered someone else have this degree but don’t worry because obviously majority of people with this degree have been fine. it just means the people who DO/HAVE will often have this degree. 24 is another one that’s common

on a more positive note 22° can be great for becoming an author. especially when placed in the midheaven, mercury, or in jupiter

[holyblonded]

vroom vroom | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, mapi leon x teen!reader, lucy bronze x teen!reader

summary: alexia, lucy, and mapi are tasked with teaching you how to drive

warnings: near death experience in a car, idk about spain’s driving laws but in most states in the US, you get your permit at 15 1/2 and then hold your permit for 9 months and be at least 16 and 3 months before you get you license so this is what it’s based on

notes: in my mind, both keira and lucy are still with barca 🧘🏾‍♀️

“You cannot be serious right now,” you said, staring in disbelief as Alexia secured the bicycle helmet onto her head, adjusting the straps with absolute precision.

“As a heart attack,” Alexia replied, now moving to put on elbow pads.

You turned to Olga, who was sprawled out on the couch, highly amused by the unfolding situation. “Tell her she’s being ridiculous.”

Olga smirked, barely holding back her laughter. “Amor, you are being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously safe,” Alexia corrected, tapping the side of her helmet with confidence.

Your jaw dropped. “Ale, you’re teaching me how to drive. A car. Not a bike, not a scooter, a car. Why are you dressed like you’re about to enter a roller derby?”

Alexia crossed her arms. “Because the last time I let you sit behind the wheel, you nearly drove us into a bush. I like my life, and I intend to keep it intact.”

“That bush came out of nowhere!” you defended yourself, exasperated.

Olga snorted. “Bushes don’t move, Estrellita.”

You shot her a glare before turning back to Alexia. “Fine. If you’re going to be like this, then I get to wear my own safety gear.”

Alexia nodded approvingly. “Good. I have an extra helmet in the trunk.”

“That is not what I meant!” you groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

Olga was shaking with laughter at this point, wiping her eyes. “You should’ve just taken the lesson, Estrellita. Now you’re both going to look like two children trying to qualify for their go-kart licenses.”

Alexia smirked. “Better safe than sorry.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I refuse to be seen in public with you like this.”

“Too bad,” Alexia said, grabbing the car keys and motioning for you to follow. “Because we’re going. And if you complain, I will make you wear knee pads too.”

You groaned, dragging your feet toward the door.

“Have fun, kids!” Olga called after you, still giggling.

“You have got to be shitting me!” you exclaimed, freezing in place as you climbed into the driver’s seat, only to be met with Mapi and Lucy sitting smugly in the back.

Both were decked out in full protective gear—helmets securely fastened, elbow and knee pads strapped on like they were about to be thrown into a demolition derby rather than a driving lesson.

“Why are the two of you here? And the helmets? Really?” You gestured wildly, turning to Alexia, who was climbing into the passenger seat like she was about to endure the worst experience of her life.

“Because I can’t do this alone anymore,” Alexia muttered, rubbing her temples like she was already regretting her choices.

“The helmets and guards are for our protection,” Mapi chimed in, adjusting the straps on her helmet until they were practically cutting off circulation. “Last time I took you driving, you nearly hit a mailman.”

“In my defense, he came out of nowhere,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“It was his job to be there! That’s why it’s called mail delivery. You don’t deliver it from the sky!”

Lucy snorted, reaching for her seatbelt. “Yeah, Ale called us in for backup after she told us about the bush incident.”

You groaned, slumping against the wheel. “The bush was literally in the way!”

“The bush was on the sidewalk, Estrelleta,” Alexia deadpanned.

“Okay, whatever. Everybody buckle up,” you muttered, pressing the button to start the car.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been buckled since the moment I sat down,” Mapi said, yanking the belt so tight that it looked like it might fuse with her body.

“Same,” Lucy agreed, giving her helmet a few extra taps. “You can never be too careful.”

Alexia sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose. “Alright, let’s go over the basics again before we even think about moving.”

“I know the basics,” you huffed.

“Oh, do you?” Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me, where’s the brake?”

You pressed your lips together, staring at the pedals. “Uh, the left one?”

Alexia inhaled sharply, her grip on the passenger-side handle tightening.

Lucy whispered to Mapi, “We are so gonna die.”

“You’ll be fine,” you waved them off. “Alright, here we go!”

And with that, you slammed your foot down.

The car jerked forward like it had just been launched out of a slingshot, sending Mapi and Lucy flying back into their seats with strangled yelps.

“ESTRELLETA!” Alexia screeched, bracing herself against the dashboard.

“BRAKE, BRAKE, BRAKE!” Mapi yelled, gripping the back of Alexia’s seat for dear life.

“I am braking!” you argued.

“No! You’re accelerating!” Lucy shrieked, hands gripping the ceiling as if that would help.

You let out a panicked scream, slamming your foot down on something—thankfully, this time, it was actually the brake.

Everyone lurched forward with a collective oof, and for a moment, there was complete and utter silence in the car.

Alexia, breathing heavily, turned her head very slowly to look at you.

“What,” she said, voice eerily calm, “was that?”

You gave her a sheepish smile. “A test?”

Lucy let out a weak laugh from the back. “Yeah, well, I just saw my entire life flash before my eyes, so that’s fun.”

“I think I had an out-of-body experience,” Mapi muttered, still clutching Alexia’s seat. “I literally saw myself floating above the car.”

“Okay, okay, let’s try again,” you said, clearing your throat.

“God help us,” Alexia mumbled under her breath.

This time, you actually listened to Alexia’s instructions (mostly). The car started smoothly, and for a few blissful minutes, it almost seemed like things were going well.

Until you had to make a turn.

“Turn slowly, slowly—” Alexia started, but it was too late.

You turned the wheel way too fast, sending the car swerving violently.

“SLOWLY, I SAID SLOWLY!” Alexia yelled, grabbing onto the handle above her door.

“WHY IS THIS THING SO SENSITIVE?!” you shrieked back, trying to straighten out.

Lucy and Mapi were screaming in the back.

“ESTRELLITA, I SWEAR TO GOD—” Mapi howled.

“I WANT TO GO HOME!” Lucy shouted.

Somehow, miraculously, you managed to get the car straightened out again. Everyone sat there, breathing heavily.

Alexia had her face buried in her hands.

Mapi looked like she might be reconsidering her entire life.

Lucy was muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

Then, you approached a stop sign.

Alexia exhaled, nodding. “Alright. Good, now—”

But instead of gently stopping, you slammed the brake, sending everyone lurching forward again.

“I SAID GENTLE!” Alexia yelled.

“My bad!” you huffed.

“I HAVE WHIPLASH,” Mapi announced dramatically, rubbing her neck.

“Oh my God, I think my soul left my body again,” Lucy muttered, eyes wide.

And then, finally, you parked.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling in satisfaction. “I think that went well.”

Alexia turned her head slowly, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

Mapi and Lucy were both still gripping their seats like they were waiting for the final impact.

“Well?” Alexia repeated, voice dangerously high-pitched.

You grinned. “Yeah! Nobody died, right?”

Alexia blinked. Then she turned to Lucy and Mapi.

“I need strong alcohol,” she announced.

“Agreed,” Mapi and Lucy said in unison.

You pouted. “That’s rude.”

Alexia pointed at you. “You are never driving without supervision.”

“I don’t think my heart can handle another lesson,” Lucy admitted.

“I know mine can’t,” Mapi added, pulling off her helmet with shaky hands.

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad!” you protested.

Alexia just gave you a look. “Get out of the driver’s seat before I have an aneurysm.”

With a dramatic sigh, you unbuckled and slid out of the car. “Such little faith.”

As you walked off, Mapi turned to Lucy and muttered, “Next time, we bring airbags.”

Lucy nodded, still dazed. “And a priest.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Babylon The Great Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, self-harm and suicidal ideation, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Series Summary

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood Chapter 2 - Under My Skin Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me Chapter 5 - If You Let Me Chapter 6 - All The Noise Chapter 7 - Something I Can See Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart Chapter 9 - Does The Feeling Haunt You Chapter 10 - Look and See Chapter 11 - You Might Drown Chapter 12 - Watch You Work The Room Chapter 13 - You'll Have to Believe It Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever Chapter 15 - Before It Falls Apart Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It Chapter 17 - You Come Back Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New Chapter 20 - Wait for Me Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue Chapter 23 - You've Been Waiting to Break Chapter 24 - Just Hold On (6/12)

Pslams (In-Series Bonus Chapters)

Can You Hear Me - You sit on the roof of your car. Takes place a month after Chapter 15. I'll Keep On Waiting - Dean watches you, and Jo shares some thoughts. Takes place after Chapter 19. So Go On - Sam Chapter! Takes place after Chapter 20. Spinning Around - You, Dean, and allegedly Sam go to the movies. Takes place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20.

Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)

Meme Art by @dammbi Dean Art by @dammbi Memes 1, and 2, by @dammbi Soul Art by @youdontknowe Princess Art by @youdontknowe Language Art by @imnotmentallyst4ble Princess Moodboard by @deans-yn Playlist by @imnotmentallyst4ble Series Moodboard by @dammbi Journal Spread by @imnotmentallyst4ble

[zerocoded]

AND THE BACK STRIKES AGAIN 🎇, i swear infold put their money on this one and they are not going to let it go to waste.

this scenes on the trailer of his 5-star memory made me cackle i won’t lie.

BAHHHAHAAHHA MC JUMPING HIM IS SO REAL #queen

like gurl CHILL, HE IS NOT GOING ANYWHERE! (i think).

give me a man grunting and yearning and i’ll give you all my money.

LOOK AT HIS EYES, GUYS! again, the desperation it’s what gets me every time. caleb, come home already and i’ll treat you right.

the fear of hurting mc? the glint of pain and desire? the need for skinship? oh he got us good.

oh to be manhandled like this… the grip, the desperation. man really is straightforward about how much he wants you.

“i can’t even feel you anymore” 🥹 MY SHAYLA! NO! give me your other hand baby, i’ll hold them both for you.

i really can picture him wanting to change sides of the bed when sleeping because 1. he is afraid to hurt you with his mechanical arm and 2. so he can feel you more.

and the crowd went… naked? YOU WHORE! PUT SOME CLOTHES ON.

📸 CALEB’S ABS APPRECIATION POST. yep, this is it.

he really doesn’t like too much clothing, y’all. he’s the type to sleep naked or just with some boxers on.

and what about infold make this game +16 AT LEAST?!

anyways, look how pretty they are staring at us. THEY LOOKED AT ME FIRST I SWEAR.

not him being all on his feelings about not being able to touch us ☹️

i feel this teaser changed some things about him? like the fact that he admits he feels pain when repairing the prothetic? ☹️

also the jawline? just had to mention it, sorry.

guys im starting to freak out because this fic i wrote is really similar to everything they put out of him so far. i wrote it as a JOKE, i don’t want that pain being cannon. infold, GET OUT OF HERE. anyways, live laugh love caleb. it’s two in the morning and i just had to put this out, sorry.

[riinawriter]

20 Dialogue Prompts to Spark Your Next Scene

Whether you’re writing fanfiction, crafting your original story, or just daydreaming about your favorite characters, dialogue can be the heartbeat of a scene. These prompts are filled with tension, yearning, angst, and banter—perfect for bringing your characters to life or spiraling into a new obsession.

Use them as inspiration for drabbles, moodboards, roleplays, or that one WIP you keep rewriting at 2 a.m.

1. “You promised you’d never leave. So why does this feel like goodbye?”

2. “Don’t look at me like that. Like I matter.”

3. “You were never supposed to mean this much.”

4. “Well, if we’re both going to hell, we might as well hold hands on the way down.”

5. “Do you ever think about what we could’ve been?”

6. “This is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me, you idiot.”

7. “You lied to protect me. But it still hurts.”

8. “Can you just… stay? You don’t have to talk. Just—stay.”

9. “I hate how good you look in my clothes.”

10. “I brought snacks, bad decisions, and zero self-control.”

11. “You’re bleeding.” “It’s not my blood.”

12. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

13. “Oh my god, we’re not actually enemies. You know that, right?”

14. “I don’t need a hero. I need you.”

15. “If we die, I’m blaming you.”

16. “Stop pretending you don’t care. You always cared.”

17. “I think I started falling for you the moment you insulted me.”

18. “You make it really hard to hate you, you know that?”

19. “We’re not just friends. Don’t lie to yourself.”

20. “Say it again.” “Say what?” “That you love me.”

Check out a full collection of articles explaining everything about writing from having an idea to publishing your book and even after. FIND HERE

[orangeblossomsintheair]

TEENAGE DIRTBAG | CS55

this was for a request that i lost !! teenage dirtbag carlos is canon in my heart

carlos knows exactly how much you love his teenage photos.

every time you stumble upon one, you can’t help but coo over his younger self, especially the ones where he’s rocking his piercings, a small silver hoop on his nose and both ears pierced with black studs.

you always gush about how he looked so cool and edgy back then, teasing him about how he could've been mistaken for a rebellious rockstar.

carlos always chuckles at your enthusiasm, slightly embarrassed but secretly pleased that you adore even his more experimental teenage phase.

"you looked so badass," you'd say, running your fingers over his ear and pretending to look for the long-gone piercings.

it’s a random day in january when he catches you sitting cross-legged on the couch, his photo album open in your lap. “here we go again,” he sighs playfully. “how many times are you going to look at those?”

you glance up with a mischievous grin. “until my eyes burn a hole through it,” you reply, holding up a photo of teenage carlos giving a smoldering look to the camera, a sight that has become painfully familiar again these days. “look at you! a total heartthrob. why did you ever take the piercings out?”

carlos chuckles, dropping onto the couch beside you. “because I didn’t want people thinking I was in a boyband instead of formula 1,” he teases, leaning over to grab the album from you.

“but you could’ve been in a boyband,” you argue, tugging it back. “or a rockstar! I mean, look at this one-” you point to a photo of him with tousled hair and an almost-too-cool-for-school expression. “you’re telling me teenage carlos wasn’t stealing hearts left and right?”

he smirks, pretending to think. “maybe a few,” he admits with a wink. “but i think i like the fact that i’m stealing yours now even more.”

you roll your eyes, laughing as he leans in to kiss your cheek. “nice save,” you mutter, still grinning.

carlos glances down at the album and shakes his head fondly. “you really like those photos, huh?”

“like? i’m obsessed,” you declare, holding up another one. “you were so cool.”

“you think so?” carlos raises a brow, smirking. “you should’ve seen me trying to convince my dad to let me get those piercings. that wasn’t so cool.”

“oh, really? do tell,” you say, settling in closer, your eyes alight with curiosity.

he chuckles, leaning back as if replaying the memory in his mind. “I was.. 16? 17? I’d just gotten my ears done, and i was feeling pretty invincible, you know? like i was zayn malik. so i went to my dad and told him i wanted a nose piercing.”

carlos laughs. “he looks at me like i’ve lost my mind. he goes to say, ‘carlos, if you put another hole in your body, you’d better find a way to plug it up before you come back into this house.’ and ‘are you trying to scare off sponsors?”

he shrugs. “i told him it was staying. and it did, for a year. then i got tired of cleaning it all the time and took it out before a big karting event.”

“a year?!” you gasp, staring at him in disbelief. “you had a nose piercing for a year and never thought to keep it for the memories?”

“i have the photos, don’t i?” he counters, gesturing to the album.

you sigh dramatically, all wistful and dreamy. “i wish i’d known teenage you. i would’ve been all over that.”

he tilts his head, giving you a sly look. “would you, though? i wasn’t exactly charming back then.”

“you’re not exactly charming now,” you tease back, earning a playful shove.

there’s a short silence filled with you flipping the pages of the album, broken only when you blurt out. “you should bring the piercings back. just for me.”

“not happening,” he says almost immediately, laughing, shaking his head.

“why not?” you whine. “you’d look so good!”

“because i’m not 16 anymore. the piercings were a phase,” he says.

“lame,” you mutter, pouting

“but maybe… if you keep being this cute about it, i’ll wear a fake one and we can pretend.”

you gasp dramatically. “deal.”

“dios mío,” carlos groans, though the way he’s smiling tells you he doesn’t mind at all.

[salemrph]

"A Hunter's Christmas Hustle" Sylus x MC

Summary: With Christmas around the corner, you’re on a mission to find the perfect gift for everyone, that's included Sylus, a famously tricky person to shop for. You asked for help but can the twins really help you? Sometimes the effort is the best part of the holiday magic.

Character: MC x Sylus

Genre: holiday comedy, slice-of-life, fluff | Pet names : Kitten, Sweetie, Miss Hunter.

| Word count: 3.916 | Reading Time: 16 min | AO3

A/N: Since this is the first Christmas of Love and Deepspace, at least for me, I'm looking forward for a special Event and have a cute moment between Sylus and MC.

Second part🌲: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-mas morning

You lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It still feels a bit strange staying at Sylus’ place on your days off. Well, it was mostly his doing— he’d insist or come up with some random excuse or side mission to make you stay. So, at the end you agree to come visit him without needing to drag you in dirty business. It's cozy here, even if you’re not quite used to it yet.

Like always you scroll through your phone, noticing you getting a lot of Christmas ads. You squint at the screen, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the holiday promotions. Suddenly, you glance at the date on your phone. Fuck! Christmas is in 1 week. And you haven’t prepared anything. Weren’t there also a Party coming up with the team? No, no, no! You go trough the calendar. There is it: 24 of December. Christmas Party with Team.

You need to go shopping, ordering stuff now would only arrive too late. 

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, trying to make a mental checklist. “I need a present for Tera, flowers for Grandma’s and Clab’s graves...” You pause, feeling a bit emotional at that thought. You take a deep breath and continue, making a list out loud.

“Then there’s Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel…” Your head starts spinning as you realize just how much you have to do. 

How could you forget? Have you really been that busy lately? It’s not like the whole city isn’t decked out in lights, giant Christmas ads, and festive music playing in every store. 

You realize with a sigh that maybe you’ve been spending way too much time in the N109 Zone, far from the holiday cheer.

“What can I get for the twins...?” you mumble to yourself. Luke and Kieran can be annoying sometimes, but you do like them. Why not bring them a small gift? Then again, you hesitate. If you get something for the twins, Sylus will definitely bother you about it until the end of your days, asking why he didn’t get anything. You're starting to sweat. Maybe he locks you up again in the basement, just for fun. Or worse, he could show up at the Hunters' Association and declare that you are his lover or something. A shiver runs down your spine. This man can be terrifying. 

You know very well how to please your friends and colleagues but Sylus… What do you bring to the man that has everything? 

“Why is he even so fucking rich?” you mutter under your breath, looking around the guest room. The guest room of course has the style of the rest of the mansion. Black. You roll your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and admiration. You flop back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers. You need something unique, something meaningful... but what could that be? 

You scroll through your phone frantically, searching for bundles, deals, and last-minute gift ideas. In just an hour, you’ve managed to check off most of your list.

Tera: A relaxing spa voucher—she could use a break.

Zayne: A pack of his favorite macarons, winter edition—he’ll love them.

Xavier: A cozy new sweater—you’ve told him a million times not to fall asleep everywhere. You sigh, picturing him dozing off on some random spot.

Rafayel: A unique shell you found on a mission weeks ago. You haven’t had a chance to give it to him yet, but now’s the perfect time.

Flowers: Ordered, check.

You tap your phone, thinking about the twins, Luke and Kieran. What would they like? You decide on some kind of gadget or toy—they’re like two overgrown kids sometimes, and they’ll appreciate anything they can mess around with.

Another hour passes, and you’re still glued to your phone, opening and closing tabs like a mad person. Your brain is starting to fog up from the overload of gift ideas.

“No... no... lame... oh god, definitely not.” You swipe through a blog about gifts for wealthy people and somehow end up on a page titled “Top 10 Gifts for Your Rich Boyfriend.” Your cheeks go bright red as you skim the list: sexy underwear, romantic getaways, candlelit dinners...

“NO!” You throw your phone onto the bed like it’s on fire, covering your face with your hands. What am I even doing?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Maybe you could ask Luke and Kieran for help. They’re close to Sylus and probably know more about his preferences than you do. Plus, he did say you could “use” them whenever you wanted. Why not use them as counselors and pack mules?

Since you don`t want Sylus sniffing around you, you think about a small lie. Or maybe just ask without giving information. The same way he always does 

...

"I need Luke & Kieran for an important mission, can you borrow me them?"

Sylus looks up from his desk, his red eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he regards you. 

"Mission? What are you planning, kitten?" Sylus raises an eyebrow at your words.

"Nothing… jus- they will come back in one piece."

He studies you for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He seems to be enjoying your vague and cryptic request, and he's clearly intrigued by what you might be up to. 

"…Alright. You can take them for whatever this 'important mission' is. But they better come back in one piece, or I'm holding you responsible, sweetie. And you don't want to pay the price...“ he snaps his fingers. Both appear immediately. As if they had been hiding in the office. 

"Luke, Kieran, the kitten needs you for a... mission. Do as they say. I expect impeccable work."

"Yes, boss!“ They say in unison.

"Let’s go, guys." I lead them out of the office. "See you, Sylus!"

That was easy. Maybe to easy.

He laughs after the door closes. Wondering how you're going to surprise him this time. He's learned to just go with the flow even though he might have the answer to your little secrets. He just smiled, turning back to focus on his paperwork.

“What are we going to do, miss?” Luke asks with a mischievous grin.

You roll your eyes. “I told you, just call me by my name.”

“Are we blowing something up?” Kieran blurts out, making an exaggerated explosion noise with his mouth.

“Or… cleaning up a messy murder scene?” Luke chimes in, smirking.

“Maybe torture someone!” Kieran’s eyes light up, clearly getting way too excited at the thought.

You sigh, regretting this decision already. They’re like two hyperactive hamsters—deadly, but still hamsters.

“No, no, and no!” you say firmly, waving your hands for emphasis.

“Uuuhhh...” They groan in unison, visibly disappointed.

“We have a better mission,” you declare, crossing your arms. “Change into something decent. We’re heading back to Lincoln City.”

Finally, you’ve arrived in the city. It’s strange seeing them without their usual uniforms and masks. Dressed in casual clothes, they look more like model college boys than the deadly assassins they actually are. Most of the girls passing by can’t help but glance their way, clearly debating whether they should approach the handsome twin brothers.

You snort to yourself. Probably they would’ve attracted less attention in their usual assassin gear.

You’re standing in the middle of the bustling shopping district, the holiday decorations casting a festive glow around you. Luke and Kieran are busy taking in the sights, clearly amused by the sudden change of scenery. You clear your throat to get their attention.

“Alright, listen up,” you say, trying to sound authoritative. “The mission is...” They lean in, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Shopping” you declare.

“Shopping?” they repeat in unison, voices filled with disbelief.

Luke looks like he’s trying not to laugh, while Kieran’s expression twists into mock horror.

“Wait, wait,” Kieran says, holding up a hand. “You dragged us all the way out here... for shopping?”

“Yes, and you’re going to help me,” you reply.

Luke smirks, giving you a playful nudge. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to spend time with us, Miss?”

You shoot him a glare. “Call me by my name, Luke.”

“Right, right,” he says, grinning.

“I actually need your help for...” you trail off, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. “Christmas is around the corner, and I wanted to buy Sylus something. I’m not sure what it should be, so...” 

Before you can finish, Luke and Kieran burst into giggle. They exchange a quick, knowing glance, clearly delighted by your admission.

“Oh, so you want to buy our boss a present, huh? That’s pretty cute” Luke teases, smirking.

Kieran nudges him with his elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “And you’re asking us for help? Luke, maybe she does have a soft spot for boss after all.”

You feel your cheeks flush, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Are you two going to help me or not?”

Luke straightens up, placing a hand on his chest with a mock-serious expression. “If you’re serious about buying a gift for the boss, then you’ve definitely come to the right place. We don’t call ourselves his right-hand men for nothing.”

You exhale, feeling a bit relieved now that they seem genuinely eager to help. “I want something special. Something he wouldn’t expect, but that he’d actually like.”

Kieran tilts his head, pretending to think deeply. “Something unexpected, huh? Well, that’s tricky. Sylus pretty much has everything.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you say, feeling a bit helpless. “I was thinking about getting him some records, but he already has so many...”

Luke and Kieran nod in agreement, their expressions thoughtful. 

“It’s a good start. He does love his music. But you don’t want to give him something he already has, right?” Luke asked. 

“How about something more personal?” Kieran suggests, tapping his chin. “Something that shows you put a lot of thought into it. A gift only you could give him.”

You bite your lip, considering it. “Personal... but how?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” Luke says, shrugging. “The boss isn’t as complicated as he looks. He’d appreciate anything that comes from you.”

Kieran gives a playful smirk. “You could just wrap yourself up with a bow, and he’d be over the moon.”

“Kieran!” you gasp, your cheeks turning red as you lightly smack his arm. He laughs, dodging away with a wink. 

Luke chuckles but gives you a more genuine smile. “He’s joking—mostly. But seriously, boss isn’t the kind of guy who cares about expensive gifts. He’d value something that reminds him of you, or a shared memory.”

You pause, mulling it over.

Kieran nudges Luke, a sudden spark lighting up his eyes. “Hey, what about that old record shop on the Avenue? They’ve got vintage records you can’t find anywhere else. You could look for a rare one, maybe something with a story behind it.”

Luke nods, his eyes brightening as well. “Yeah, and you could pair it with a handwritten note. Tell him why you picked it. He’d love that.”

You smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “That’s... actually a great idea. Thanks, you two.”

Kieran gives you a thumbs-up. “No problem, but you owe us for this.”

Luke grins. “Yeah, and don’t forget to give us the credit when he’s showering you with kisses later.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine, fine. Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

The twins laugh, and the three of you set off down the busy shopping street, feeling a new wave of excitement. Maybe this gift hunt wasn’t going to be so impossible after all.

In the end, you managed to buy everything for your friends—even for Captain Jenna, who isn’t exactly easy to shop for. But as you wandered through the record store, flipping through album after album, nothing stood out. Everything felt generic, impersonal. And you know Sylus well enough to realize that giving him something half-hearted would just fuel his endless teasing for weeks. 

By the end of the day, the twins delivered you at home after treating them for dinner. You're tired and leave all your bags in the living room of your apartment. You throw yourself down on the couch and take out your phone. Maybe you were overthinking this. A nice accessory or a bottle of whiskey could work—he has a taste for the finer things, after all. It wouldn’t be anything cheap, either; you can afford something like that with your Hunter salary.

The day passes, only 2 days for Christmas and you still have nothing. 

Desperate for ideas, you even tried bringing it up with Tera over lunch. That turned into a chaotic disaster, though. It was exhausting dodging her barrage of questions:

“Who’s the gift for? Why are you even so worried? Wait, do you have a new boyfriend? I demand to meet him!”

You had to laugh it off, making up half-baked excuses until she finally dropped it—though you could tell she didn’t believe you.

And then there was Sylus himself. Yesterday, he sent you an invitation to a Christmas dinner. You wanted to say yes, but you had already committed to the Hunters’ Association Christmas party that same night. You tried to decline, but after some back-and-forth, you reluctantly agreed to meet him afterward.

Now, sitting alone on the couch, you can’t help but replay that conversation in your mind. The way his voice softened when you said you couldn’t make it, the slight pause before he insisted on seeing you later anyway—it made your chest tighten. He sounded almost... disappointed. And that’s what makes you want to find something truly meaningful, something that will show him how much he means to you without you having to say it out loud.

You look at your reflection in the darkened screen of your phone, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation. You’re running out of time. If you’re going to surprise him with something from the heart, you need to figure it out now.

With a new sense of determination, you push yourself off the couch and grab your coat. Maybe you won’t find the perfect gift sitting around here. It’s time to get back out there and keep looking, because if there’s one person you want to make smile this Christmas, it’s Sylus. But be honest, you´re not going to admit that. Not yet. 

...

It’s Christmas! The party with your unit is small but cozy. The space is filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights, the scent of spiced wine, and the sound of laughter echoing off the walls. You drink, you eat, and you feel a rare sense of contentment as you watch everyone enjoying the night. It’s moments like these that remind you why you love this chaotic, ragtag team.

The gifts you bought last minute seem to have gone over well. Captain Jenna grinned when she unwrapped the sleek new knife you picked out for her—a practical gift, just like she’d like it. Xavier looked genuinely pleased with the soft, oversized sweater you chose, already pulling it on and joking about how he wouldn’t fall asleep everywhere now. Tera hugged you tight, eyes sparkling as she held up the spa voucher. “You really do know me,” she said with a teasing smile.

Earlier in the morning, you made a quick stop by the hospital to drop off the bag of special winter-edition macarons for Zayne. And you place the flower on the graveyard. Pray for them and wishing that you could spent one more day with them.

You glance at your watch. It’s getting late, and you promised Sylus you’d meet him after this. You take a deep breath, excusing yourself quietly from the party. Tera shoots you a knowing look as you head for the door, but she doesn’t say anything—just gives you a little wave, as if to say, good luck. 

You pull your coat tighter around yourself, clutching the gift in your hand as you start walking. There’s a mixture of excitement and fear bubbling up inside you.

Suddenly your watch vibrates urgently and flashes a warning: MetaFlux Fluctuation Detected. Your heart skips a beat. A Wanderer? Now?! You glance around, scanning the quiet street for any signs of danger. The distant sound of a woman’s scream breaks the silence, and without hesitation, you sprint in the direction of the noise, already reaching for your weapon. 

The first Wanderer lunges out from the shadows, its distorted form shifting and writhing in the dim light. You don’t waste a second. One precise shot, and it disintegrates into a cloud of shimmering dust.

„My child! Where is he?“ the woman cries out, panic in her voice. You look around fast, this is not over. 

„Mom!! Help!“ You hear the voice of the kid nearby and run over. You bolt towards the sound, pushing your legs harder. You reach the boy just in time, shielding him with your body as another Wanderer lunges forward. The creature’s claws slice through the air, narrowly missing you. You fire three quick shots, each one hitting its mark. The Wanderer lets out a guttural screech before it vanishes into thin air, dissolving into the night.

"Are you okay?“ you ask, your voice softer now, concerned. The boy nodded. His mother rushes over, wrapping her arms around him and thanking you over and over, her voice thick with emotion.

The mother and child thank you from the bottom of their hearts before leaving. You tell them to please stop by the hospital, just in case. You wave goodbye to the boy. Sigh. What a night!

"Where's my bag?" you mutter, scanning the area. You spot it lying on the ground, right where you dropped it before sprinting into action. Relief floods through you—until you notice the dark, wet stain spreading across the fabric. 

"No, no, no! Please no," you whisper, crouching down and unzipping the bag with trembling hands. The bottle of whiskey you were hunting down the last two days. Is shattered in thousand pieces.

Your heart sinks. This wasn’t just any whiskey—it was a rare, vintage bottle from a small distillery he’d mentioned once, in passing, when he thought you weren’t listening.

„Fuck!" 

You stand up, clutching the soaked bag, and check the time on your watch.

22:30.

You’re supposed to meet Sylus in half an hour, and you’re still a good fifteen minutes away from his place. Panic bubbles up inside you. Maybe you can find a late-night shop that carries something similar. Maybe there’s still a chance to fix this.

"I can make it," you say aloud, more to convince yourself than anything.

…

You finally arrive at the meeting point—a lookout near the water. It’s the same place where you spent last winter with him, watching the fireworks together.

“Kitten, you told me you were at a party, not a battlefield. What happened?”

“Eh?”

You’ve been running around for the last 30 minutes trying to find that stupid bottle and make it on time to meet Sylus. A little embarrassed, you attempt to fix your clothes and smooth your hair. Your cheeks are flushed from the effort. Sylus stands there in his black coat, looking amazing as always. Your heart beats hard in your chest. He watches you, trying to piece together what happened, and then a smile tugs at his lips.

“Even on days like this, you don’t get a break, Miss Hunter?” He runs his hand gently across your face. You flinch slightly, wincing in pain. “You’ve got a small cut. So... are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing, just a Wanderer. It will heal,” you say with a shrug. He sighs softly.

“Careless as usual.” He pulls a small band-aid from his pocket. “Stay still.”

“Why do you have something like that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It so happens that I have a kitten who never pays attention to their injuries,” he teases.

You make an exaggerated offended grimace, but inside, it feels like a small gesture of affection. He places the band-aid gently over the cut.

“I’ll consider this your Christmas gift,” you joke.

He laughs. “Oh no, sweetie, that wouldn’t be enough. But I’m impressed with your minimalist idea of happiness.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“You didn’t have...”

“Open it up. And thank me later.”

You take the envelope cautiously, slowly peeling it open. Could it explode? You shake your head at the silly thought. When you finally look inside, your eyes widen, and you let out a soft squeal of excitement.

“Are you for real? This tickets has been sold out for months. How did you…?”

“I have my ways, sweetie,” he replies with a smug smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuinely touched.

“It’s always a pleasure making you happy.”

But your excitement fades quickly as the realization sinks in. He’s managed to make you immensely happy again, while you stand here empty-handed. You have been looking for the perfect gift and you have screwed up at the last minute. On top, you haven't found a replacement for the bottle. 

"I wanted to give you something too for Christmas...“ you started. Closing the envelope and putting it in your pocket. "but... it broke while I was protecting a kid from a Wanderer.“ You look down at your feet, feeling small and pathetic, your shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sylus gently lifts your chin with a finger, guiding your gaze back to him. He smiles, that soft, understanding smile that always makes you feel seen. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a warm embrace. The chill of winter seems to disappear in his hold, replaced by the comforting heat of his body.

“The best gift is having you by my side, kitten.” he whispers into your ear, his voice low and sincere.

You feel your heart beating faster.

"Actions speak louder than words"

You agree with Sylus that both would be more honest with each other. Maybe now is the time to show him just how important he is to you. You spent so much time looking for something to buy that you forgot that the simplest gifts are often the most meaningful, especially when they come straight from the heart.

"Sylus… I actually have something else."

"Oh, is that so?“ 

„Can... I borrow your face?" He loosens his grip slightly and steps back, taking your hands in his, warming them up. He looks at you, amused and curious, and leans down.

"Close your eyes..." you whisper. He doesn’t say anything but does as you ask, his smile softening as he relaxes his face. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart race, each beat echoing louder in your chest.

The world falls silent for a moment—it's just the two of you, suspended in time. The anticipation tingles through you as you lean closer, closing the distance between you.

You press your lips gently against his cheek, and the warmth of his skin against your lips is electric. It’s a simple kiss, but it carries all the unspoken words you couldn’t say out loud. A silent confession. You linger there for just a heartbeat longer, feeling him inhale sharply, as if caught off guard by the intimacy of it. As you pull back, the first snowflakes begin to fall, drifting slowly from the sky. The soft touch of snow melts against your skin, but Sylus holds you close, not letting the moment slip away.

„Now... that’s a present only you could have given me." He gives you the most tender smile. "Thank you."

He looks like he wants to say something else but remains silent. Instead, he pulls you into a deeper embrace, burying his face in your hair as the snow continues to fall softly around you. You’re more than fine with that. No, you’re happy—grateful for this sweet moment.

You realize you’re a step closer to falling for him completely, accepting that the connection between you two is stronger than you ever imagined.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

“Merry Christmas, kitten.”

Second part🌲: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-mas morning