#doing the best i can and still not getting the job

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Rio glaring at Billy

Billy: Agatha why is Rio staring at me?

Agatha: She’s just angry

Billy: Why?

Agatha: You’re an abomination because your soul inhabited a new body a few seconds after he died and now she can’t collect you both making her job 10 times harder since she can’t actually kill people to take them and something about upsetting the karmic balance of the universe or something

Billy glancing again at Rio who’s now sharpening her dagger and still glaring back

Rio: I’ll get you one day soon

Billy: But you can’t kill me right?

Rio: No, but I can do the next best thing

Billy: Which is?

Agatha: Don’t ruin her surprise! She gets so giddy when people don’t know what’s about to happen

Rio: I also like the fear in their eyes when it happens

Billy: I thought death was a calm entity

Rio: unless she’s pissed off

Agatha: Which she definitely is, our foreplays been rougher than usual

Billy: Oh god! I don’t need to be here for this I’m going

Rio: You can’t escape me forever

Billy: I can try

Agatha: He’s a fun kid, he deserves a prideful funeral, I’ll start planning it

[ang3lofdivinity]

Because I’m trying to get back into writing more…

Imagine: Daisuke and you on the Tulpar managing to find time to spend together doing something like.. making food for the crew. No matter what your job is, you’re always willing to help him out with baking whenever needed!

“Dai, can you-“ You immediately freeze, looking over at your boyfriend who has made a rather large mess on the counter. He had dropped the batter out of the mixing bowl somehow, enough for it all to pour out as he holds the messy, metallic bowl and spatula in his hands. His expression? Dumbfounded to say the least

You genuinely cannot contain the giggles that escape your throat upon seeing the scene before you.

“Hey!! This isn’t funny!” He immediately pouts, whipping his head around to face you before looking back down at the bowl, using the spatula to scrap whatever remains are within the bowl and slinging them at you, causing you to laugh even harder - tears falling down your cheeks.

The batter had splattered on your clothes, along with your neck. But hey! At least you got a nice laugh out of it.

Quickly, your hands swiftly grab the nearest thing, which just so happens to be an opened sweetener pack, as you launch it towards him, causing him to squeal like a mouse.

This then, continues. For nearly hours as you laugh and cry about your food fight, throwing ingredients at each other as you can’t find a care in the world for the mess you’re creating. Only caring about your boyfriend’s happiness.

Other food items, utensils (non-harming ones), and bowls were thrown. The bowls and utensils clattered as they fell to the ground, nearly causing you both to fall at certain times as you raced around the dining table in the center, trying to avoid getting hit once more.

There’s honestly nothing that can ruin this-

“What are IDIOTS doing???”

Upon hearing Swansea’s voice, you both instantaneously pause, staring over at the old man standing in the doorway.

Without a second to spare, you quickly rush over to Daisuke, who’s practically trembling under Swansea’s gaze.

“You stupid kids! Why would you waste these products!?” He yells, brows furrowed.

You move in front of Daisuke rather protectively, clearing your throat.

“It was my fault, Mr Swansea. I instigated this, and pressured him to join me in.. what I thought was fun. I’m so sorry. We’ll clean this up right away and salvage all that we can.” You bow your head in respect, lips now pursed.

“Just, don’t do it again..” He huffed as he turned on his heel, now leaving as the door slid shut.

It takes you guys a moment before you start giggling ever so slightly.

Imagine: You are sleeping, and then you suddenly hear your door open in the middle of the night. Surprise, it’s Daisuke! And even when trying to tough it out - he eventually can’t find it within him to go back to sleep without company. So he goes to your room to ask if he can sleep with you because being with you makes him feel better.

You groggily manage to raise yourself enough to sit on your bed, eyes blinking slowly as you try to adjust to your surroundings. Yawning, you finally see who’s opened your door.

Daisuke.

“..Sweetheart, it’s still nighttime. Can whatever you have to say wait until morning?..” Your voice is slightly raspy, but you try your best to sound as kind as you can, giving a small smile to the man in the doorway.

“I um.. sorry- I can go.. I didn’t mean to disturb you..” He fumbles over his words, fidgeting with his fingers as he stumbles backwards a bit. Something.. something seems wrong with his tone, however. Like something’s genuinely going wrong. So, that really gave you a wake-up call.

How could you push away your boyfriend in order to get just a bit more sleep tonight when he seems so distressed??

“Wait!-“ You quickly call out, causing him to stop him from leaving once he showed signs of him beginning to leave. You couldn’t let him leave just like that!

He turns to you, a worried look on his face. As if he’d done something wrong. You’ve seen that look before. He makes the same face whenever Swansea calls out his name all of the sudden, making him stiffen up, worrying that’d done something wrong.

But he hasn’t.

He’s just a young adult, like you.

Just trying to live.

Just. Like. You.

“..Come here.” Your voice is softer, sounding much more normal to how you normally sound - yet it still has that tired tinge to it.

He stares at you for a moment, confused about what’s happening before obliging. He slowly enters, the door sliding closed behind him as he awkwardly stands near the side of the bed where you’re resting. Swiftly, you lift up the covers, moving back a bit before patting the free spot on your bed.

“Come on. We can talk about it in the morning if you’re ready then.”

He almost immediately jumps into your arms upon crawling up into bed with you, wrapping his own around you while burying his face away into your shoulder. One of your hands glides up, finding its way into his hair, tangling with strands of it, stroking his hair, massaging his scalp - doing simple things to try and get him to relax a bit more.

Which works.

He’s out once more, arms wrapped around each other.

Imagine: Giving little gifts to each other with small letters of affirmation written on little post it notes. Even if that small gift is just an article of clothing one of you guys borrowed from the other.

‘You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. Keep the good work up, Dai. :)’

- (_____)

Daisuke reads the note attached to a bag of sweetener with a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with this. I mean, he’s been told he’s useless, that he’s just an idiot - but you see through that. You see the effort, the time it takes. Even if it fails, at least he tried to do it.

Quickly he looks around his room for a moment, trying to find the perfect thing to give you.

When he finds it.

.

Upon arriving back to your room from the medic bay, helping Anya with Curly and a few other errands she needed - you’re greeted with the sight of a hoodie somewhat neatly placed on your bed. You furrow your brows, confused for a moment before you approach your bed, now seeing the post-it-note attached to it.

A small grin slowly graces your lips as you tilt your head at the sight, gently taking it off the hoodie.

‘Know that you matter to me! You’re so incredibly awesome, I don’t know how I got to date with someone so cool >:D’

- Daisuke

As your smile grows larger, you realize 2 essential things:

You’re so thankful to have him.

And

He’s the best boyfriend ever. (Even if a bit silly at times).

You love him.

[sharticleaccelerator]

First, know that statements in my above reblog such as 'Clearly women don't care about them.' were rhetorical examples of the things that a young man influenced by conservative ideas might think, and so are not representative of how I think we should discuss the modern sex dynamic. This talk about men, women, and the dynamics between the two often times devolves into "Men (should do) this, women (should do) that, it's men's/women's fault" as if that's not a deluded way of talking about a society-scale problem. If a demographic underperforms in a sector, the sensible approach is to analyze that sector, determine how what may be contributing to the performance differential, then figure the best social change to restructure that sector to be more fair. It can be tempting to want to assign blame, but blame does not exist on this scale. No individual is solely accountable. The idea of holding a demographic accountable (blaming women/men at large) is just absurd. We cannot assign responsibility to a sex to solve a problem—men must participate in women's issues and vice versa. We need each other's efforts and votes.

So thinking about how the education system disadvantages men, you say that men generally hold the positions of power responsible for the structure of the education system, but that is not necessarily true. Women have always represented a greater proportion of teachers (at least since ~1890), but for nearly 8 years now have represented over half of public school principals (no data found for other administration staff). I can't find an official statement about the split in the U.S Department of Education, but independent sources estimate that over half of its employees are women. Women representing a larger proportion of teachers and staff likely accounts for the underperformance of boys in school, as students tend to do better under a teacher of the same sex—it might be tempting to say that means more men should go into education and so it is 'Men's fault', but as stated in my first paragraph such a thought is delusional. Men and women are not distinct factions.

I didn't say that the right wing is the fault of women. I said that the significant amount of vitriol towards men has had a role to play in pushing young men away from leftist politics, and that the pattern of overt hatred towards men in leftist spaces dissuades men who witness it from participating, but I didn't assign that to women. I assigned it to misandrists. It just happens that most misandrists are women.

We can absolutely fault sexist women who are hostile to men only because they're men. We must fault sexist people. You would ask the same of me, who should fault men who are remorseless about how they hurt the women in their lives. You said it yourself, 'someone who will get hate spewed at them, to try and reach out is a lot to ask.' You can't expect men to participate in progressive discussion if that discussion is accepting of open hostility toward them on the basis of their sex.

I'd like to challenge some of the ideas you hold about the ways you think that society advantages men. The gender pay gap is very coarse data, and often used in ways that reflect a poor understanding of what it actually represents. That women have to earn a greater degree to receive the same pay from the same job comes from a misinterpretation of the Department of Labor's data. The Department of Labor's data does not consider position, only sex and education level. I won't say that a pay gap for the same job doesn't exist—I simply don't have the confidence to say—but the reality that men on average value income more than women in choosing a career likely contributes to what the data actually represents—a reflection of pay differentials between the fields of careers that men and women are respectively more likely to pursue. This still is sexist—it has roots in the devaluing of 'women's work'—but if you pursue a particular career, the difference between your pay and the pay of your male peers will be much less than the gender pay gap indicates. That's assuming it exists at all; some places women out-earn men by the same metrics. It's a good point you make about women suffering greater loss of earnings with children, but in the cases where having children—and more so taking upon themselves the greater burden of child-rearing within their relationships—was a choice, I have a hard time rationalizing this as unfair to women who willingly made that choice. In the cases where children aren't a choice, you're right.

Men are not over-represented in higher education. You give that there are some isolated cases where they are, sure; those are exceptions. In the larger picture women are representing a greater percentage of college graduates each year, and have outpaced men in this regard for the last four decades.

Much of what you hear about the ways women are victimized are played up by people who want to be victims because they're drunk on justifying their hate. This isn't for some radical take like 'sexism is fake', just a reminder that solving real problems requires being rooted in reality. All the more reason to block the detached, chronically-online radfems you see. I wish I'd realized I was replying to one, but then I suppose wouldn't have had this dialogue with you. Silver lining.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[cupidhoons]

UPSIDE DOWN KISS — LHS

in which . . . you give the masked hero a kiss — lhs x f! reader ୨୧ spiderman! au wc 1.2k+ ・ w general warnings, reader gets harassed in the beginning + likes n' feedback are greatly appreciated !

A/N 💌 haayyyy cupids >< i'm finally rewriting my old works 😛 i hope u guys are enjoying my writing and activity again because i sure am 🎀 i'll try my best to keep up my activity but i cant promise that bc of school (boooo)

THE RAIN WAS POURING down in icy sheets, seeping through your clothes and clinging to your skin. Every drop sent a shiver through your body, but you barely noticed. Not when your lips were pressed against his. The red mask was pulled up just enough to expose his mouth, hiding the rest of his face and keeping his identity a mystery. But right now, that didn’t matter. Right now, all you cared about was this moment, your kiss with Spider-Man.

This was supposed to be a simple thank you after he'd saved your life—not once, but twice. You’d seen his heroics from afar, sure, but never expected to be on the receiving end of them. The first time was during a late-night convenience store robbery. You’d been in the back aisle, crouching down, heart racing, hoping to avoid the attention of the armed men. But then, Spider-Man had appeared, his voice calm, almost amused, as he talked the robbers down.

“What a bunch of idiots…” Heeseung muttered, walking past where you were hiding. The moment he spotted you, he stopped, extending a hand and offering you a comforting smile beneath his mask.

“It’s safe now, y’know?” he said, his voice gentle yet confident. You took his hand, still in a daze, barely able to stammer out a “Thank you, Spider-Man.” He laughed softly, his tone light.

“It’s no problem, really,” he said with a shrug. “Just doing my job.”

The second time, though—that had been different. More intense. Just minutes ago, you were walking home alone after a late study session, cutting through the back alley to save time. You knew it wasn’t the safest route, but it was faster. That decision nearly got you in serious trouble.

“Hey, you!” a voice called from behind, making you turn in fear. You saw two men approaching, their expressions twisted with something sinister. “Such a pretty girl, aren’t you?” another sneered, stepping closer. You tried to ignore them, quickening your pace, but they were relentless. One grabbed your arm, and the other reached for your purse, their hands cold and unrelenting.

“Get off of me!” you screamed, struggling against their grasp. The night air echoed with your cries until another voice sliced through.

“Didn’t you hear the lady? Get off of her!” Heeseung's voice rang, strong and authoritative. The men froze, their eyes widening before they tried to flee, but they didn’t get far. He shot webs at their wrists and ankles, tangling them in place.

He looked down at you from above, his expression hidden but his presence comforting. “Sorry you had to deal with that,” he said, his voice softer as he checked on you. You giggled, glancing at the two men struggling in their webbed binds before looking up at him through the rain.

“Thank you, Spider-Man!” you called up to him with a smile.

“Of course,” he replied. He sounded like he was smiling, too.

Your heart pounded as you called, “Why don’t you come down here? So I can properly show my gratitude!”

Heeseung hesitated, but before he could overthink it, his hands moved, lowering himself toward you. Suddenly, he was inches away, hanging upside down, his face close enough that you could see the outline of his jaw beneath the mask. Raindrops slid down his suit, mixing with the dim streetlight glow, casting shadows across his face as he looked at you.

You took a breath, stepping closer, feeling your heartbeat thunder in your ears. He was so close, close enough that you could see the faint lines of his lips through the fabric. Tentatively, you reached out, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask, tracing the outline of his jaw.

“May I?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain. You felt his hesitation, the slight tension in his posture. But after a beat, he released a small sigh and nodded, letting your hand rest against his face.

Carefully, you pulled down his mask, just enough to reveal the bridge of his nose and his mouth. The pale skin beneath was a stark contrast to the dark night and bright red of his suit. And then, you leaned in, closing the gap between you.

The kiss was soft at first, almost shy. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, a stark contrast to the chill of the rain. You cupped his face, your hands trembling as you deepened the kiss. He responded, tilting his head slightly, his lips moving with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

But soon, the kiss grew more intense, more passionate. His hands found their way to your waist, steadying you as he leaned closer, his grip firm yet careful. You felt his lips part, and then his tongue slid against yours, exploring. You let out a soft whine, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. Who would’ve thought Spider-Man was such a good kisser?

Your fingers threaded through the wet strands of his hair that peeked from under his mask, tugging gently. He responded by pulling you even closer, his grip possessive, almost desperate, as if he wanted to memorize every detail of this moment.

You pulled back slightly, panting, your faces mere inches apart as you caught your breath. He was still upside down, but he held your gaze with an intensity that made your cheeks flush. For a moment, you forgot where you were, the rain, the danger, everything. All that mattered was him, the warmth of his body against yours, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“Thank you,” you whispered, brushing your thumb against his cheek, still dazed.

He gave a small, breathless laugh. “Thank you,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced up at you. “For letting me be your hero.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed as the rain continued to fall around you. Part of you wanted to stay like this forever, hidden from the world in this rainy, dim-lit alley with your masked hero.

But reality seeped in as he pulled his mask back up, his identity once again concealed. “Stay safe, okay?” he murmured, reluctantly stepping back as he prepared to swing away.

Before he could leave, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him in for one last peck on the lips, a brief, tender goodbye that left you both breathless.

“See you around, Spider-Man,” you whispered, watching him grin under his mask before he leapt into the rain-soaked night, disappearing into the city.

And even as he vanished into the shadows, you stood there, heart pounding, knowing that this wouldn't be the last time your paths would cross.

[purinfelix]

clumsy ⭑.ᐟ - franco colapinto

summary: being a mechanic is a tough enough job - but with a driver like franco who can be oh so distracting, sometimes it feels impossible w/c: 1.1k

a/n: woops this was meant to just be a blurb but i fear my franco fics can never be short ....

The chaos of the garage never failed to get your adrenaline pumping and this race weekend was certainly no exception. Ever since becoming a mechanic, you prided yourself on being able to enjoy the thrill of every grand prix up close, without actually ever having to step foot in the car. The only payoff was spending almost the entire race on edge, constantly nervous about when the next pit stop would be and whether you'd be ready - but it was a price you were more than willing to pay.

Intently, you watched one of the several large screens in the garage, chewing your bottom lip nervously. Tapping your foot restlessly you watched the cars go into another lap, keeping your eye on the two royal blue cars that belonged to your team. As they neared the garage you heard the familiar sound of them zipping past, and couldn't help but smile softly to yourself.

"Franco pitting next lap!" Your moment of peace was disrupted as the garage erupted into action, people shouting orders from every direction.

"Get him some hards, we're doing a tyre swap," an engineer next to you hissed with urgency, and your body moved instinctually to do as he said.

You can feel the familiar sensation of your heart beating out of your chest, that thrill that you love so much about your job - but also the immense pressure you feel. It helps a little, being part of a bigger team, but still the responsibility you feel is sometimes overwhelming. You crouch in position, at the front right wheel, gripping onto the tyre through your gloves - waiting.

Soon you hear the whirring noise signalling your next job is here, and sure enough you turn to spot Franco's bright blue car speeding in. Around you the team hurries, yelling out instructions and concerns but through your nerves you can barely hear them.

Before you realise it, he's right in front of you and for some reason his visor is flipped up far enough that you can see his eyes. You're caught off guard by how strangely charming he looks with his cheeks squished up like that - but the minute he winks at you, everything else falls silent. Everything else apart from your heart, which is speeding up even faster than you've ever felt it go before. You feel your cheeks flush quickly as your grip on the tyre in front of you loosens.

A muffled voice screams urgently from above you, bringing you back to reality slowly.

"What?" is all you can let out.

"The tyre! Put on the goddamn tyre!"

"Oh shit." You huff under your breath, finally regaining control of your senses and showing the tyre to the car in front of you. You watch as he speeds off, listening to the groans of the other mechanics around you. Normally your blood would be running cold after such a devastating mistake, but right now there's only one thing on your mind - the amused smile you saw in Franco's eyes as he drove off.

"What the hell was that? You just cost us like three seconds!" You turn to one of your superiors, whose face is contorted in disappointment. All you can do is begin rattling off sorrowful apologies and try your best to come up with a reason for your mistake that isn't three seconds of eye contact with your team's new charming driver.

Ultimately, the three seconds didn't seem to cost you too much - both of your drivers managed to score within points range for the day. Whilst the rest of the garage was busy rushing out to celebrate this fact, you simply lingered, relieved that your mistake would hopefully be forgotten, at least for now.

"Sorry for earlier, you hear a smooth voice from behind you as you're slipping off your gloves - causing you to jump. Spinning around you're once again met with Franco's green eyes, only now you're granted the benefit of the rest of his face too.

"Right, and what exactly are you apologising for?"

"Isn't it obvious? The whole tyre mishap."

"A little bold of you to assume that it had anything to do with you," you huff defensively, beginning to change your mind about wanting to be alone in the garage and beginning the walk out to the paddock.

"Well," he's following after you and as he comes up beside you, you catch a glimpse of the playful smile toying at his lips, "wasn't it because of me?"

"If that's what you want to believe, then sure, whatever floats your ego bud."

"To think a trained mechanic like you could make such a mistake," you feel your hands curl up into balls at the teasing drawl in his voice, "all because of a little eye contact from little ol' me?"

"Right, eye contact, a wink and a smirk."

"Aha!" His sudden jump in volume causes you to stop in your tracks and spin to face him. "So it was my fault after all."

You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being caught out so easily. "Whatever," you mumble, resuming your walk out of the garage.

"Really, I'm flattered," he continues in a dramatic tone, "I didn't think my charms had such a strong effect!"

"Hey watch who you're talking to, remember at the end of the day who's responsible for making sure you can even drive out there." Despite your threatening words, the confident expression on his face doesn't falter even as he lets out a soft chuckle of amusement - which you try not to let get to you, but god it's like the music of angels.

"I really am sorry," he insists, "I didn't mean to make you do that, truly."

"Alright, glad we got that out of the way."

Before you can leave though, you feel him suddenly close the gap between the two of you - his breath hot in your ear. "I guess it just means the flirting will have to stay off-track though, hm?" His voice is like honey, and a lot deeper than the playful tone he was using before.

It stops you right in your tracks, urging your heartbeat higher than it's been all day. As you stand there, desperately searching for a witty quip back or even just words to fill the silence, he just leans back with a smile. He tilts his head, as if signalling for you to follow him, as if urging you to act like he didn't do what he just did, before walking casually out of the garage.

As you finally managed to unstick your feet from their place you reluctantly followed suit - and whilst you were grateful that your earlier mistake had been forgiven, now you were worried about the entirely new challenge you had granted yourself for the upcoming weeks.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added! <3)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Abuse ~ Part 1

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,160ish

Summary: You are a human working at Xavier's School. You are in an abusive relationship with a guy named Josh. Logan wants to do something about it.

Warnings: abuse (mental, physical, emotional), rape, injuries, triggers

Notes: Seriously, do not read if this will trigger you. You are in charge of what you consume. This will be split into 2 parts.

You weren’t a mutant, but you did work at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Charles recruited you to teach the primary-age students. It was unusual for a human to teach at the school, but Charles had heard that you had lost your teaching job due to standing up for a mutant student and believed you were a perfect addition to the school.

It was no surprise to Charles that you quickly formed a tight bond with many of the students and the staff. And that included the brooding history teacher, Logan. Logan hadn’t given you the warmest welcome, questioning Charles’ decision to bring a human on board, but it didn’t take long for you to wear him down.

Being a teacher sometimes meant working past contract hours, meaning you didn’t return home to your boyfriend. You had a room at the school, next to Logan’s, that you would use on really late nights. But you did your best to get home to your boyfriend every night you reasonably could.

You and your boyfriend, Josh, had been together for four years while you’d been working at the school for a year. The two of you have been living together for three years. Josh was there when you graduated from university and started your first teaching job, cheering you on. But slowly, your cheerleader turned into your worst nightmare. It started with verbal and emotional abuse, always putting you down for every little thing. The physical abuse started when you lost your job. Josh was anti-mutants and thought it was ridiculous for you to stand up for one. He slapped you for the first time that night.

It became a regular routine that if you were home too late for Josh’s liking, you would get a stern beating. At first, you had become an expert at hiding the scratches and bruises. But as the abuse continued, it started to wear you down. Those at the mansion began to notice little things, especially the fact that you weren’t as easily happy and smiley as you once were.

Logan noticed something was up almost as soon as he met you. Your smiles and laughter didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were clearly fooling everyone but not him. The first few weeks of your arrival, Logan tried to observe you. You would try to make small talk with him in the hallways and in the faculty room, but he would simply grunt in response. He listened in on conversations that you had with others, quickly learning that you lived with your boyfriend Josh. He noticed that your heartbeat would quicken in a way he didn’t like when you talked about Josh. It was more fear than love, making him concerned. There was also the fact that no one had ever met the man.

One night, Logan saw you still in your classroom. It was late, but he wasn’t sure you realized it.

“You spendin’ the night?” He asked, leaning against the doorway.

Your eyes snapped to the clock. “Shit,” you muttered. You quickly began stuffing papers into your backpack. “It’s late.”

“Too late for the bus that you usually catch.”

“Shit,” you repeated. 

“Just stay the night. There’s a room next to mine that you’ve barely used.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head. Logan could sense your anxiety rising. “I need to go.”

“Do you think that’s—“

“I can’t stay!”

Your outburst took Logan back. “Okay… then need a ride?”

“No. I—I can walk.”

Logan scoffed. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive, but that doesn’t mean it’s a quick walk.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and headed for you. “Let me take you.”

“Logan, I—“

“No, arguments.” He grabbed your bag and swung it over his shoulder. His brows knitted together as he noticed how you tensed at his movements. “Let’s go.”

~~~

The two of you kept quiet the whole drive to your apartment. Logan could hear your heartbeat get faster and faster the closer the two of you got to your place. Your fingers anxiously tapped against your knees.

“You alright?” Logan asked, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

“Fine,” you squeaked.

“You sure? You seem a bit anxious.”

“Just want to be home.”

Logan nodded. “How’s, uh… how’s Josh?”

“He’s… fine…”

“Good.” Logan pulled over and parked in front of your building. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Logan.” You reached back and grabbed your backpack. “See you in the morning.”

Logan quickly grabbed your wrist before you could slip out of the car. You tensed under his touch. “Let me know if you need me to pick you up in the morning.”

You pressed out a smile. “I’ll be fine. Thanks again.”

You pulled your wrist from his light grip, shut the door, and entered the building. Logan sat there for a moment. There was something wrong, he could tell. But he didn’t know you enough to force it out of you. With a sigh, he drove off.

~~~

Josh had seen Logan drop you off. He was furious, accusing you of cheating. He beat you up and, for the first time, raped you that night. You called in sick the next day.

That was months ago now. You and Logan were now dear friends, and you were careful not to anger Josh like that again. Logan had noticed that you were on edge more than normal, easily spooked, and wearing many layers despite the weather. 

“Somethin’s wrong,” Logan muttered as he entered your classroom.

“What?” You questioned, pulling your gaze from the test that you had been trying to grade for the last ten minutes.

“Somethin’s wrong, and you’re not telling anyone—telling me.”

“I’m fine, Logan. Just tired.”

Logan scoffed. “Then you’ve been tired since you started working here, and it’s been getting worse. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you’re coming to the staff party tomorrow night, right?”

“I can’t. Josh—“

“Bring Josh. We’d all like to meet him.”

“I can’t go.”

“If I have to go, you have to go. You know how much I hate events like these.”

“Then don’t go.”

“There you are!” Ororo exclaimed, coming into the room. “Jean and I are going to go dress shopping in the morning for tomorrow’s party. You want to come?”

“I don’t know—“

“She’d love to,” Logan replied for you.

“Great!” Ororo replied, clapping. “Jean and I will pick you up from your apartment. See you!”

You stood up angrily and began throwing things into your bag. “You don’t know what you’ve done,” your voice was more shaky than your movements. “I need to go.”

“I’ll drive you,” Logan offered.

“No! You’ve done enough!” A stray tear trailed down your cheek.

“Y/N…” Logan reached out quickly to stop your movements, but you flinched away. Logan’s eyes went wide at your reaction.

“I’ve got to go,” you hurried out of the classroom.

It took a moment for Logan to bury the anger threatening to boil over and rush after you. “Y/N!” You winced at his raised voice as you continued out of the mansion and towards the bus stop. “Wait!”

“Leave me alone, Logan!” You shouted after him, trying to stop the tears that wanted to escape.

“Y/N—“ 

His fingers caught your elbow, trying to turn you around. As soon as Logan’s fingers touched you, you were on the ground, trying to scramble away from him. Logan froze yet again, staring down at you with wide eyes. You were now curled in on yourself, sobbing.

“Please,” you cried. “Please don’t hurt me… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’ll go… I’ll do whatever you want…”

Logan dropped to his knees slowly so as not to scare you off. His hands clenched his fists against his legs to stop himself from reaching out for you and to try to prevent his claws from coming out. He was going to kill whoever made you like this, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who that might be. He sat there, waiting for you to calm down. Eventually, you did calm down and were horrified at what had happened. Quickly sitting up, you couldn’t get yourself to look at Logan. You didn't want the pity or the anger or the concern. You grabbed your bag and stood up. Logan rushed to his feet.

“I’ve got to go,” you muttered.

“No,” Logan’s voice wasn’t loud, but the tone was clear. He did not want you to leave.

“Logan… please let me go. You’ll only make it worse.”

“You’re not going back there unless you can promise me that he’s not abusing you.” You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the sobs. “I knew it. You’re not going anywhere near him again.”

“It’s not your choice, Logan… I… I love him, and he loves me. He’s just… going through a rough time right now, and I don’t always make it better.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “You are not going back there.”

“I have to… he’s all I have.” You stepped back, causing Logan to quickly take a couple of steps closer. “Let me go, Logan. Please.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can… you’ve been doing it for a year now. This is no different.”

Your words hit Logan harder than he could have ever imagined. You have been going through this as long as you’ve known each other, perhaps even longer. He grew angry at himself for not trusting his instinct that something was wrong sooner. You could see that Logan was tearing himself apart inside. Hoping that it would distract him enough, you ran off barely making it to the bus on time. 

Logan broke out of his guilt spiral too late. He ran after you, but the bus was already down the road. He slowed to a stop, watching as the bus faded in the distance. His anger wanted him to race to your apartment and pull you out of whatever situation might greet you, but he knew it wasn’t the best choice. He needed to talk to someone—to people who cared about you.

~~~

“Thanks for coming,” Logan mumbled, trying to keep himself together. 

Logan’s hands were stuffed into his jeans as he tried to keep his claws in check. He was standing near one of the windows in Charles’ office, having asked him to call everyone there. Jean, Scott, Ororo, Hank, and Charles were all seated around the office, waiting for Logan to speak up.

“Y/N’s being abused,” he came right out and said it.

“What?” / “No!”

Logan immediately noticed Jean and Charles share a look. He stepped forward. “You knew,” he growled. “You both knew.”

“We’d seen things in passing,” Charles sighed. “We both have tried to talk to her about it, but Y/N would brush us off.”

“You let her go home to that hell every day?!”

“It was her choice. She wouldn’t confirm our suspicions and didn’t want any help.”

“There’s only so much we can do if Y/N doesn’t want our help,” Jean added.

“There’s plenty we can do!” Logan countered. “We can go over there and bring her back!”

“It needs to be her choice, Logan,” Ororo said calmly. “We can’t force her into anything. She’s already living that life.”

“I can’t—“ He groaned, slamming his fists down on Charles’ desk. “I can’t sit here and do nothing!”

“That’s not what they’re saying,” Hank spoke up. 

“We make sure she feels safe here,” Charles said. “We make sure she knows that we care.”

“Jean and I are going dress shopping with her in the morning,” Ororo said. “We’ll check on her there.”

“Actually, I just got a message from Y/N,” Jean said. “She’s not coming anymore but said that Josh and she will be at the party.”

“We will not make a big deal out of it,” Charles gave Logan a warning look. “We will welcome Josh and observe the two carefully.”

“That’s not enough,” Logan grumbled before marching out of the room.

~~~

You had wanted to go with Jean and Ororo dress shopping, but Josh told you that it was pointless. That you had plenty of dresses that he had wasted his money on that you could wear on your ugly body. Of course, he said all this after he beat you.

You were extremely nervous as Josh drove the two of you to the mansion. He knew that you taught mutants, only okay with it because it paid well, but the others didn’t know his distain for mutants. You couldn’t let the nerves get to you, or there would be consequences. Josh was already upset that you were “forcing” him to go, but you knew he was trying to stake his claim on you somehow.

Josh didn’t bother to help you out of the car once he parked. He sauntered straight over to the large door and turned back with a scowl.

“Stop being so slow,” he griped. 

When you were close enough, Josh grabbed your hand, gripping it tightly as a warning, before the two of you entered. There were more people invited to this party than you thought. Looking around, you realized there were faculty members, previous graduates, and whoever they chose to bring.

“I thought you said this was a small party,” Josh said through gritted teeth. His nails threatened to draw blood from your hand.

“It’s what I was told,” you responded quietly, trying not to stutter as your anxiety grew. “I didn't know.”

“Stupid bitch.”

The sound of wood splintering made you jump and face the direction of where it came from. Logan was standing near the top of the stairs, hands on the railing that was clearly crushed by his grip. You swallowed nervously as you met his angered gaze. You knew it wasn’t towards you, but it still didn’t ease any of your anxiety.

“Logan,” you called, trying to sound happy. “Come down and meet Josh.”

Logan grunted, stomping down the stairs. Ororo walked in at the perfect time, noticing that Logan’s eyes were set on Josh. As soon as Logan made it down the stairs, Ororo slipped her arm through his and walked up to you and Josh.

“Hello, you must be Josh,” Ororo greeted. “I’m Ororo. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Josh let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side. “I hope all good things,” he responded, pinching your side. “And you’re Logan.”

“I am,” Logan replied, holding out his hand for Josh to take. Josh took it, and Logan quickly tightened his grip. 

Ororo quickly patted Logan’s arm, signaling for him to let go before he did anything more. Josh looked around, silently judging everyone who passed.

“I’ve never been around so many… mutants before,” Josh said, not hiding his disgust.

“Well, this is a school full of them,” Logan retorted.

“Ah! Here you are!” Charles rolled up, interrupting.

You quickly introduced Josh to Charles as Ororo pulled Logan away, promising him a drink.

~~~

Josh would not let you leave his grip the entire night. He was clearly on edge, which wasn’t helping your anxiety one bit. You kept finding Logan staring at the two of you from wherever he was located in the room. Though Logan was never too far. You were too busy thinking about Logan to notice Scott walking by with a drink. You stepped forward, causing Scott to trip and spill his drink all over Josh.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, man!” Scott quickly apologized.

Josh gritted his teeth as he forced a smile. “It’s fine,” he said. He gripped your wrist tightly, making you wince. “We should go.” He began dragging you out of the party. “You stupid bitch,” he reprimanded as soon as the two of you were outside. “You never watch where you’re going.”

“I’m sorry, Josh!” You were already crying. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be. Just wait until we get home.”

“Wait until what, bub?” Logan was suddenly behind the two of you.

“Stay out of this.” Josh pushed you into the back of the car, slamming the door.

“That’s no way to treat a lady.”

“She’s my lady. I decide how she’s treated.”

Logan growled, unable to prevent his claws from slowly pushing out of his fists. You rushed out of the car and placed yourself between Logan and Josh.

“Logan, go back inside,” you urged. “Josh and I are heading home. I’ll be fine.”

“Listen to the lady, wolf,” Josh taunted.

Logan stepped forward, only for you to stop him with a hand to his chest. “Logan,” you called again. His eyes snapped to yours. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t trust him,” he responded, voice tight. 

“Trust me then. I’ll be fine… I’ll call you if I need anything and see you on Monday, alright?” Logan growled. “Alright?”

“Fine,” Logan huffed. He stepped back, scowling at Josh, who simply smirked at him.

“Let’s go,” Josh said, pulling you back to the car. He helped you into the passenger side before driving the two of you off.

~~~

Logan couldn’t sleep that night. Not when Josh could be beating the shit out of you. He didn’t bother to change from the party, opting to pace his room. He was so caught in his head that he jumped when his phone began ringing.

“Y/N?” He answered it.

“L—Lo—Logan…” your trembling voice on the other end had Logan’s feet moving faster than he could think.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He raced down the stairs and towards the garage.

“I need help.”

“I’m coming. I’m on my way. Are you safe?”

“He’s—He’s gone… He left to get more beer…”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t hang up.”

“…Okay.”

Logan’s heart was breaking with each word you said. You sounded so broken, so helpless. He absolutely hated it. Stealing Scott’s car, Logan raced for your apartment. He had to get you out of there before Josh returned. Who knew what that man would do to you if he had found out you had called for help?

Logan was out of the car so quickly that he barely put it in park. He took multiple steps at a time to get to your door.

“Sweetheart? It’s me,” Logan said, knocking and opening the door at the same time.

The apartment was a disaster. Items laid thrown around the room, some of them broken. Logan carefully stepped in, looking around for you. He sniffed, trying to use his senses to follow you. His heart dropped as he smelled blood. He followed the scent over to the bedroom, pushing open the door fully. The room was practically destroyed as well.

“Sweetheart?” Logan whispered, trying not to spook you.

“Logan?” Your broken voice sounded from the corner of the closet. 

Logan was quick to come to you, the movements making you cower further into the corner. He held his hands up, trying to show that he meant no harm. His eyes scanned your naked form, all bloodied and bruised. Logan had to stuff down the anger that was growing for Josh. You needed to be his focus.

“You came…” you rasped, almost like you didn’t believe he would.

Just when Logan thought his heart couldn’t break anymore, it did. “Of course I did. We need to get you out of here before he comes back.” He quickly slipped his jacket off and held it out to you. “Put this on.” You shakily took it, slipped into it, and zipped it up. “I’m going to carry you out of here, alright?”

“Okay…”

Closing your eyes, you bit back a wince as Logan carefully picked you up. He kept you close as he hurried down the stairs. He gently set you in the car, making sure you were buckled in before driving off. Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove you to the mansion.

You were still trembling when Logan pulled up to the mansion and carried you inside. Charles had warned the others of what had happened and ensured that Jean and Hank were already in the lab, ready and waiting. Logan set you down on the bed. Before he could fully pull away, you reached out and clutched onto his arm, fingers digging into his flesh.

“Don’t—“ you croaked. “Please, don’t leave…”

“Not planning on it, sweetheart,” he replied. “Just need a chair, and I’ll be right back.”

~~~

“She has a few broken ribs from tonight as well as various fractures,” Hank explained. You were on the other side of the lab, asleep, with Scott, Charles, Jean, Ororo, and Logan listening to Hank on the other. “Jean and I have stitched up the cuts and bandaged whatever needed. She has bruises of various ages that we have to watch, but we put ointment on them. Y/N will need a lot of rest and patience.”

“Has she said anything?” Ororo wondered.

Jean shook her head. “Not since requesting Logan to stay,” she responded. 

“That is to be expected,” Charles added. “She has spent years living in a traumatic environment. It will not be easy to break out of the habits and mindset she created to survive. She needs our care and patience the most, and we must respect her boundaries as she asks for them.”

“Jean and I are willing to split her classes so that she can take all the time she needs,” Ororo said.

Logan’s eyes were locked on you, waiting for you to wake. You had requested that he not leave your side, so he needed to make sure he was right there when you woke.

“I’ve already contacted a well-known therapist and asked them to stay with us for a while,” Charles informed. “I believe that it could help us all process whatever we need to.” He looked at Logan, who he knew was taking the blame on himself. “We should let her rest.”

“I’m not leaving her side,” Logan vowed.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~~~

The world felt heavy as you began to wake. But it was different, heavier than what had weighed you down the past four years. Like you were more on your own than you ever were before. It took you a moment to realize that you were in the lab under the mansion. Looking around, your eyes eventually stayed on Logan. He was in a chair next to you, passed out. His head had fallen against his shoulder with his feet perched up at the end of your bed. Logan’s position didn’t look that comfortable, but you were grateful that he hadn’t left your side.

“Logan,” you tried to wake the sleeping man beside you. “Logan.”

Logan suddenly snapped away. His feet fell off the bed, landing harshly on the ground. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” He was looking around like he needed to protect you.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a light laugh. “You just looked uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand down his face, trying to wipe the rest of the sleep from his eyes. “The chair’s not that comfortable. But I’d do it again.”

“You can go to your room, Logan. I’m fine… I think.”

Logan shook his head and moved his chair closer. “Not very convincing, darlin’. Also, you asked me to stay, so I’m staying.”

“Why? I’m… weak, and I’m terrible, and I’m stupid—“

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. None of that.”

“Why?” Tears streamed down your face. “It’s true.”

“None of it is true. It lies that—that Josh told you.” Watching for your reaction carefully, Logan took your hands in his. “You are better than him, sweetheart. You are better than what he made you believe you are. Trust me.”

“I… I don’t know how… to trust you… to trust myself.”

“You’ll learn.” 

“I… I don’t deserve your help.” You pulled your hands from his grip and looked away.

He sighed, carefully moving to sit on the edge of your bed. “Sweetheart, look at me.” It was such a gentle demand, but your head snapped to follow it. Logan immediately looked remorseful, realizing that he had caused you to do. The tears were still falling down your cheeks, causing his heart to sink. “Y/N, you deserve help. You know it, that’s why you called me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have—“

“Yes, you should have. And you should have done it sooner… Y/N… I…” He groaned, clenching his jaw and looking away. He needed to keep his emotions in check. You were what was important here, not him. “You could have died… Hank said that you could have internally bled out if the hits had been a bit different. I can’t—I won’t let that happen. You are worth more than some… some dick who thinks owns you.”

“I’m not—“

“Yes. You. Are. And we—I will spend as long as it takes to get you to believe that.”

“That might be a long time…”

“Good thing I have forever.”

Part 2 >

[justwinginglife]

No One But You

Food for the @pixelcafe-network

Sylus lay in a pool of his own blood, clutching the gunshot wound you had carved into his heart, muttering about betrayal and deceit in his final moments.

You rolled your eyes.

“Yesterday’s death was a hell of a lot more creative, Sylus.”

He sat up straight, scoffing. “Can’t help if the source material is unoriginal to start with. The best you could do was a gunshot wound today? Really?”

“That’s because I wasn’t trying to kill you, stupid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what do you call plowing a bullet through my chest?”

You crossed your arms. “I call that trying to shut you up. Although, I suppose that didn’t work so well either, because then you prattled on about what a traitor I was and how you never saw this coming. Which, in my humble opinion, was laying it on too thick. You always see everything coming, don’t act like a victim.”

He chuckled and with a snap of his fingers, any trace of his blood or his wound had vanished. “What can I say, I like theatrics.”

“And I like my bosses to be less dramatic and less alive.” 

He stood to meet your gaze, tsking at you as he tucked a finger under your chin. “Now, now, kitten. We’ve been having such a grand time together the last few months.”

You waved his hand away but he caught your wrist. You knew once he had you in his grasp, you weren’t getting out until he chose to let you go so you stopped resisting. He smirked, pleased at your submission.  

Sighing, you grumbled, “Sy- you’ve got a 1 o clock meeting and I’ve yet to thoroughly vet them, so eventually you’ll have to let me go.”

He yanked you closer to him. “I highly doubt my favorite assassin would forget to vet anybody. I’m sure you already had him in your sights long before I made the meeting, am I correct?”

You met his brazen gaze with a fierce look of your own. “I suppose now that you know all my secrets, I really will have to kill you.”

He chuckled and kissed your knuckles. “Looking forward to it.”

Asshole.

He knew that you knew you couldn’t kill him if you tried, because you’d already tried. Many, many times. 

You’d met him months back when you’d attempted to snipe him from a rooftop. You were the best in the assassination business, but something about this cheeky bastard who had the nerve to grin into your oculars right as you pulled the trigger had you feeling like an amateur again. And when he materialized beside you right after you’d supposedly shot him, offering employment rather than retaliation, you knew he wasn’t taking you seriously at all. How could the head of Onychinus allow an assassin to walk right into his headquarters, to eat and drink beside him, to sleep in the room next door, knowing he had a hefty bounty on his head that she intended to collect, and not bat an eye? He was some other beast entirely and you weren’t sure how to react.

Of course it made you feel valued to know that he only entrusted his most important missions to you -he’d say something along the lines of “there’s no one else who can do the job but you” and you’d roll your eyes but oblige him- but he must’ve still thought you were somewhat incompetent if he willingly allowed you to take a shot at trying to kill him everyday. And then there was the matter of his obvious flirting. 

The way he always had your favorite wine laid out for you after a mission -you weren’t sure who he’d tortured for this information- or the way he always made sure to take you on missions with him that involved dressing up so he could admire your figure -not like he wasn’t already admiring it on a daily basis in your usual getup- or even the way he purred his little pet names in your ear, pet names that he didn’t seem to give to anyone else but you. 

Some small part of you even wondered if maybe he loved you. But the rest of you knew that he probably didn’t even know what love was. The rest of you knew that he was probably toying with you. But what was he waiting for? For you to no longer be useful? For you to fall for him? For you to give up on killing him? What did he want? 

The man had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen but you would never know what was going on behind them. 

And it killed you to admit that he was beautiful. Rule number one of assassination was to not get attached to your target, but here you were, toasting him over dinner every night, admiring the curve of his lips, admiring the broadness of his shoulders, admiring the way his fingers held a wine glass, like you hadn’t spent decades training to be the monster you were known to be, like you were just some school girl hanging onto some jock’s every word. 

He probably knew it too.

He liked to tease you; it was like his own personal form of entertainment. 

He liked to intertwine his fingers in between yours like you hadn’t just used those very same fingers to try and strangle him only moments before. He liked to tuck your hair behind your ear, pinch your sides, pin down your wrists, tilt up your chin, anything so he could touch you. He liked to murmur your name, your real name, the name you hadn’t been called in years, the name you weren’t sure how he’d uncovered, over and over like a prayer, until you had to excuse yourself from dinner because you weren’t used to the gentleness in his voice. And then he liked to repeat the cycle over and over again, until you weren’t sure how you felt anymore, until you weren’t sure who you were anymore. 

“Bastard.” You muttered under your breath.

“Trying to hurt my feelings?” Sylus snaked his arms around your waist. 

“It was never my intention to hurt you, dear Sylus, only kill you.” You responded innocently.

He chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. “That’s my girl.”

God, he couldn’t keep saying this shit to you.

“Not your girl, Sy.” You retorted, shaking him off of you.

“And why not? You could be.” His eyes gleamed mischievously.

In an instant you had a knife pinned to his throat. “Because of this. Because you’re nothing more to me than a target and I’m nothing more to you than a toy.”

He leaned in closer to you, allowing the metal to pierce his skin, drawing blood. “Well if it makes you feel better, there’s no one I’d rather have kill me  but you.”

You laughed at that, withdrawing your knife. “Should I feel honored? And how does one even respond to that- there’s no one I’d rather have toy with me but you? God, work on your lines Sylus, you’re so cliche. You have a 2 o clock meeting, so get to it.” You shoved him off of you.

Grinning, he sauntered off to his next meeting with you guarding his back like you always did. And when his 2 o clock tried to kill him, he kept that same stupid grin on his face as he watched you pin the man underneath you in a matter of seconds, cuffing his hands together so tightly they bruised. 

“Is it appropriate to say I’m feeling jealous right now, kitten?” He chuckled.

You scoffed. “No, Sylus, it is not.”

“And what if I said there’s no one I’d rather have pin me down than you?”

“Still not appropriate.”

The man underneath you groaned. “If you two are going to keep flirting or bickering or whatever this is, could you kill me already?”

You smacked his head with the butt of your gun. “Shut up, we’re trying to talk here.” 

“Feisty. I love it when you talk like that, kitten.” Sylus ran his hand through your hair, the way he always did, admiring the way the strands felt in between his fingers. 

“Funny, I love when you stop talking, Sy.”

The man squirmed beneath you again. “I’m serious, please just kill me already.”

“I said shut up, my god.” You tightened his cuffs. 

But this time the man was annoyed. “He’s toying with you, you’re toying with him, we get it already. A man like Sylus is never gonna truly love you so can you please quit flirting an ki-” 

You shot him in the head. “Did I not say to shut up?”

You had intended to keep him alive for information, but you had to admit his comment hit a little too close to home. You already knew Sylus was never going to love you, but was it that obvious to a random bystander? The thought pissed you off.

Sylus sighed. “And now I’m going to have to get the carpet cleaners in here.”

“You really should keep the company of quieter people.”

“And you should know when a man is baiting you.”

You scoffed, standing to leave. “And what’s that supposed to mean? I know when I’m being played, you do it all the time.”

“You’re so gullible sometimes, kitten. You’d really believe what a random hitman says?” He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you closer, and tucked one hand underneath your chin, drawing your gaze to him. 

“I don’t believe what anyone says.”

“Yet you’d kill him for saying I could never love you? Interesting way of showing you don’t believe him.”

You glared at him, anger flaring in your gut. You attempted to wrench yourself away from him but he only pulled you tighter against him. “Sylus, let go already. Enough of this. I’m tired.” You snapped.

“Haven’t I already told you? There’s no one else for me but you.”

“Sylus, quit saying shit like that.” 

“Right, you don’t like when I talk. Well then, how about this?” In a matter of seconds, his lips had found their way to yours, molding his passion and persistence into you. 

You bit his lip in annoyance but it only fueled him more.

He chuckled against your mouth and claimed your tongue with his. His hands rested on the small of your back, possessively holding you in place against him. After properly swallowing down your moans and devouring all your desire, he finally pulled away to allow you some breath.

“Fine.” You whispered, still dizzy from his kiss. 

He smirked, nuzzling up against your ear, as he murmured, “Fine what?”

“Fine. There’s no one else for me but you. Happy?”

“Immensely.” 

He kissed you again and didn’t stop kissing you all night.

Taglist: @tbaluver

[the-dormant-ocean]

Dean gets hexed causing him to have no inhibitions. It brings to light his obsession with Sam and it gets weird really fast.

Sam wakes up in the middle of the night and almost dies of a heart attack. Dean is in his room, sitting on his bed and lovingly watching him sleep. "It’s just me, Sammy. Go back to sleep. " "No! What is wrong with you???"

Sam is back from his run and tells Dean he's going to take a shower. "I'm coming with." "Coming with me where???" "To the shower." "You're also going to take a shower?" "Yeah, with you. Are you alright?" "With me???? You want to shower together???" "Yeah, why?" "WHY???"

They are reminiscing about the past, and suddenly, Dean brings up a surgery Sam had to get after he got hurt during a hunt. "Some stranger had his hands inside you and fastened your bones in place with metal rods! I never got to do that! I've reset bones at best and it still drives me insane to this day! It's just not fair!" Sam just stares at him, weirded the fuck out, because how the fuck are you jealous of a surgeon who was just doing his job???

Dean is just drinking beer, and suddenly, he just starts saying the wildest shit like it's absolutely normal. "You know I've always wanted you to mouth-to-mouth feed me bee-" "STOP! PLEASE I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" " Here, come in this jar so I can use your load as creamer in my coffee as a substi-" "DEAN WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Sam's voicemails to Rowena are escalating in urgency because shit he knew that Dean was way more codependent than him but he did not know it was this bad. After the hex is lifted, Dean barely leaves his room for a week because he's dying of embarrassment. How is Dean supposed to explain away the things he said to his brother?

[minolikeswords]

Poly!Boothill x afab Reader x Argenti- sfw and nsfw headcanons <33

tags: @mr-self-destructxx

cw: multiple positions, boothill and argenti are adorable, poly relationship, praises, degradation, ropes, lots of fluff, DP, DP + 1 hole, manhandling, soft dom argenti, hard dom boothill, dacryphilia, creampie, blow jobs, facials, face fucking, paizuri, cunnilingus, cum play??? argenti really likes tits! Let me know if I missed anything <333

Mino’s notes: going feral I love these two sm

© minolikeswords do not translate, copy, or repost my work to other platforms.

Minors do NOT interact or you will be blocked!!!! Nsfw under the cut <3

Sfw!

- Boothill loves to cuddle. Because he’s a cyborg his metal body cannot perceive touch the same way skin can, but he does feel warmth and pressure from another body. He loves having you and Argenti lying in his arms or on his chest.

- They both enjoy physical affection a lot, but Argenti is more subtle about it. Due to their respective jobs, often times you’re all in an ldr with one another, so when you are together they try their best to make the most of it. Argenti loves sitting next to you and have some part of your body touching his, and Boothill is clingy as ever, head resting on one of your laps as he cleans his revolver or plans out his next big heist from the IPC.

- Argenti likes washing yours and Boothill’s hair! Whether you have long or short hair he takes meticulous care of it in the shower, brushing his hands through them and rubbing your scalp so good you think you’re going to fall asleep.

- Boothill loves to sing you both to sleep. It doesn’t happen all that often because sometimes picking up a guitar can be particularly challenging after what happened to his daughter, but he loves how happy it makes you both.

- Argenti adores telling people about you and Boothill. Any and every excuse he gets, he’ll take to admire you both <333 he also enjoys gift giving and showing you he loves you through his actions, and loves picking up trinkets for you and Boothill during his travels.

- Boothill is a sweet talker! He adores showering you both in praises and affection, grabbing your face in his metal fingers and pressing his nose against yours as he tells you how good you are to him, kissing up against your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

- As much as I like to think they’d enjoy celebrating any relationship milestone outside, truth be told I think both of them would prefer something quieter in your house spending quality time together. Argenti cooking and preparing dinner, Boothill helping you around the house as you prepare for a cozy night together <3

- Boothill enjoys PDA, he loves showing you and Argenti off every chance he gets, he calls you both his lovers when addressing you guys. Argenti is more subtle with it, but he still likes holding your hands and praising you in public in a way that makes it known you guys are involved.

NSFW!

- Sex with them is never boring, they both make sure of it. Even when they’re being slow or gentle, they take pride in being so thorough your legs are wobbling afterwards and your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure.

- Boothill loves giving head, have you seen his tongue? He eats pussy like he’s a starved man, making Argenti hold you down while he sucks on your clit until you’re coming undone on his face. He’ll take his time with it too, especially if you’re too demanding, letting Argenti play with your tits while he teases your clit and slows down or stops right as you’re about to cum.

- Loves having you lay on your back while Argenti fucks your tits and Boothill uses your mouth. Soft grunts leaving Argenti as he silently admires your face as Boothill fucks your throat, a metal hand gripping your cheek to keep you in place as you drool all over his cock.

- On the subject of tits, Argenti also loves giving you facials during titjobs. He’ll pull out from between your tits just to cum all over your face, he really likes it when you stick your tongue out and look up at him when he’s doing so. He’ll take his time praising you after.

- As much as he loves talking about you both and admiring you, Argenti is quieter during sex. He prefers to focus on your pleasure. He loves watching your reactions, what makes you whimper and cry out for more, occasionally he’ll praise you but it’s not often. Boothill however? It’s a surprise if that man isn’t talking. If his mouth isn’t spewing out the filthiest and dirtiest string of words just to make you squirm and blush with need, then he’s praising you so well the tips of your ears are pink.

- Boothill likes getting risky with the ropes. Especially during sex with him when Argenti isn’t involved, he likes tying you up keeping your legs spread while he fucks you. He loves how embarrassed you get and how desperately you pull against the ropes, begging to touch him and trying to pull away.

- They enjoy leaving bruises on you and each-other. Argenti’s aren’t as noticeable as Boothill’s, who’s metal fingers leave marks all over your body and his sharp teeth marking up both your throat and back, and also Argenti’s. Argenti really enjoys leaving hickeys around your tits, collarbones and thighs. For Boothill, since his only none metal parts are his neck and face, Argenti likes to leave a hickey or two there, they’re usually smaller and they fade quick but Boothill loves showing them off.

- Argenti likes double penetrating one of your holes with both his and Boothill’s cock. He thinks you look so pretty when your eyes go rolling back and you grip onto one of them, whimpering and whining and begging for more. He loves taking care of you and making you feel good <3

- Boothill is embarrassingly into watching Argenti creampie you. His own cock doesn’t produce sperm anymore, but shoots out lubricant, and as helpful as that is, he also just really loves watching you get filled up with cum, especially when it leaks out of your sensitive pussy. Sometimes he’ll get right between your legs and lick Argenti’s cum right out of you.

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Found-Family headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 4: (because they all deserved more time with each other)

(warning: drinking)

(part 3, here) - (part 2, here) - (part 1, here)

Everyone loves to give Señor Scratchy treats, even when Agatha insists they shouldn't.

Señor Scratchy especially loves Billy, Lilia and Sharon. He does likes to cuddle everyone, though. Except Jen, who he's always trying to bite, (???) because he wouldn't be Agatha's familiar if he didn't.

One day Jen jokes that she will turn him into a purse if he rages against her again—and everyone defensively yells at her at the same time. “Okay! Okay! Jeez! I was joking!”

Sharon cuts fruit for everyone every time they hang out together and forces them to eat it before doing anything else.

Jen usually pays for everything. It's the price of her constantly bragging about her, “real job.”

Agatha always teases her about it. One time, Lilia felt bad—and so she “went to the bathroom” and payed for everyone herself.

Billy himself got his first bad alcohol experience at age seventeen at his first big teen party, which Eddie took him to.

He got very fucking wasted very quickly because turns out he's not great at holding his alcohol. So—he begged Eddie not to call his parents, because, “they've bEeN through enOUGH I'M A HORRIBLE SON AND NOT EVEN reALLY THeirS--”

So, Eddie sighed and called Agatha to get him instead. And yes, your girl did drive ALL the way to Eastview—and spent the whole night sleepless, sobering him up to save him from the hungover. She was just glaring at Rio all night long, telling her to go make coffee and no funny business, while holding his head over the toilet. She was surprisingly gentle and comforting during the experience—because she does have her moments—like when Lilia had her traumatic hallucination in Jen's trial and Agatha gently went, “okay” instead of mocking her. That's the vibe.

BUT he still got the scolding of his life the next day. The whole neighbourhood heard Agatha yelling.

During the argument Agatha yelled that, “I'm not your mother!” and he shot back, “I know that, do YOU know that??” Which caused her to avoid him for a few days.

Later, Rio told him how much it actually affected her and why—and Billy felt really bad about it. On mother's day, he gave Agatha a gift basket of stuff he made himself, (with his bio-mom's help.) Agatha said it was tacky and unnecessary—but she actually teared up a bit. She opened the window and yelled at Wanda's abandoned lot to make an insensitive joke about how, “suck it, Wanda, you rank last in the mom list—” as to not show too much vulnerability. But Billy is used to her by now—and he knows that she appreciated it.

Alice always feels sad on mother's day. She visits her mother's grave site and tells her how bad her life is. This year, Billy went with her. And for thr first time, Alice only had goof things to tell her. About how she broke the curse—and she can finally do something with her life now. About how she got a new job, and a coven.

And, to cope, Alice got a gift for Lilia and one for Sharon. They may not be her actual mothers—but she appreciates them both endlessly and their support means the world to her. She got them both protective crystals.

You know who ELSE got Sharon a gift??

Well, Sharon doesn't either. She just received an anonymous bouquet of Azaleas and she had no idea who sent it to her.

It was Agatha, but she'd die before admitting it. She's the last person you'd suspect, since she still calls her Mrs. Hart despite how triggering it is, or pretends she doesn't remember her existence at all. In reality, she's grown fond of the Westview residents despite her best efforts not to. She doesn't particularly respect them and she does view them as “lesser,” but she doesn't wish them harm. They did take care of her for three years—and the Agnes role does have bits and pieces of Agatha in it.

Billy finds out through Rio and accidentally tells Alice. Alice tells Jen, Jen tells Lilia, (because she's not about to hide Agatha's embarrassing secret.) and Lilia tells Sharon.

Sharon is surprised but also extremely moved, considering she doesn't have any living family. She wants to thank Agatha, so she gets the idea to throw her a surprise party. (Since she herself hasn't been to a party since Mr. Davis passed away and she really wants to attend one!!)

She gets help from the coven but also invites all the main Westview residents that we know and love. Rio proposes the idea of writing, 'Agnes of Westview' on the cake, to get back at Agatha for always calling them by their Wanda-branded names. Sharon doesn't want to, but everyone else finds it hilarious, so they do it.

Agatha pretends to be extremely annoyed.

She isn't. She just never expected this to happen to her. For people to want to be there—and to see her as someone at least capable of good—someone who deserves a second chance.

They eat and drink together, having a blast. Billy isn't allowed to drink, but Agatha sneaks him a glass. Just ONE glass. You know, to teach him responsibility, as if she's the queen of it. “It's about knowing when to stop, teen.” “oh is it? tell us more”

Sharon is the opposite of a light-weight. She chugs down those shots like they're nothing—and if you ask her, she'll dismissively wave and say she's “lived a life.” Still, she doesn't seem to know her limits, and she gets carried away. At least she prepared some bomb ass charcuterie for everyone!!

Jen is a classy drinker, picky with her alcohol. She knows her limits and always drinks just enough to “make the company tolerable,” since, “no sane person could ever find you idiots amusing without a few shots.”

Lilia becomes incredibly talkative when she drinks and she loses whatever filter she may have otherwise had. Not to say that usually she has too much of a filter, but drunk, she literally becomes Patti Lupone. Jen finds it endearing and listens intently, Alice finds it sort of amusing but also a bit shocking, Rio matches her freak and Agatha just finds it fucking terrifying.

You'd expect Rio to be wilding, but she already does that sober. No, instead, she becomes very clingy and very affectionate—just whipped over Agatha. And she's kind of a light-weight too, which surprises everyone at first. It's because her real form is literally skeletal and her human form is probably maintained magically—so there's less actual real body mass to dilute the alcohol. So, death can tear through the fabric of reality, but metabolising alcohol is just too difficult.

Alice can hold her alcohol very well. She was once the definition of a teenage dirtbag, so she has experience in the field. Now she's pretty sensible. She's also the most clear-headed, even when she's drunk enough to stumble around.

Agatha herself is a slow drinker because she wants to make fun of everyone else for being less sober than her. She's developed a fair bit of tolerance over the years, but when it finally hits it really hits.

During a particularly rough case of drunkenness her and Jen sung karaoke together. Not during Agatha's party, though. Neither of them can quite recall the incident, or so they claim. Unfortunately for them, Alice recorded the whole thing. Rio made it her ringtone, as did Lilia.

Jen forces Lilia to get a skin-care routine. “Doll, I actively choose to look like this because I don't have the time or energy to maintain a youthful appearance. What makes you think I'll spend money on these products that capitaliSe in womeN's InsEcuriTiEs—I'm a divination fraud, you're a beauty guru fraud, we're both senior citizens, I don't care for this—”

And Jen is like, “okay ouch but nO this is nOt what I've been selling. This is new. We're not talking about just a luxury—the skin is the largest organ of the body and is exposed to various environmental stressors like pollution, UV rays, and temperature changes, as well as internal factors like stress and diet. I'm giFting these products to you I mAde them in a cAuLdron.”

Lilia is so flabbergasted by the clarity of Jen's explanation that she agrees. However, she constantly forgets to actually apply it.

Fortunately, Jen never forgets. And Lilia is probably the only person that Jen tolerates to constantly give reminders to.

[misaerabl]

Off The Ice

HOCKEY PLAYER ABBY X JOURNALIST READER 

MINORS and MEN DNI / Word count: 9.9k words 

SUMMARY: You were tasked with covering your university’s women’s hockey team, you see it as your chance to prove yourself worthy of becoming the next chief editor. Your main focus is Abby Anderson, the team’s star forward known for her cold, distant reputation. After observing her a few times, you’re surprised when she starts to warm up to you—unveiling a side of her no one else seems to see.

WARNINGS: scissoring, eating out, fingering (both a and r receiving and giving). I would say this is kind of a fluff with smut TT.

A/N: this is my early Christmas present tee hee.. I went on a bit of a whim writing this…  SMUT WITH PLOT or PLOT WITH SMUT WTV (please let me know if I miss any warnings!)

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The newsroom is buzzing with the usual chaos of deadlines and last-minute assignments. You’re sitting at your desk, scrolling through your laptop when your editor, Dina, stands by the door, holding a clipboard with the next round of assignments.

“Alright, people, we’ve got some big matches coming up,” she says, her eyes scanning the room. “I need someone to cover the women’s hockey team. We’ve got scouts coming to the next game, so make sure it’s more than just a game recap. I want a real story, got it?”

You glance up, the opportunity immediately catching your attention. The women’s team has been making waves lately, and Abby Anderson, the star forward, has been all anyone’s talking about. Known for her ruthless play and icy demeanor, she’s a force on the ice but practically a ghost off it. No one has really gotten the chance to uncover what makes her tick.

“I’ll do it,” you say, raising your hand before anyone else can speak up.

Dina looks at you, surprised. “You sure? It’s a tough one. A lot of pressure to get a unique angle.”

“I think I’ve got a good angle,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to write about the team, but also about her. There’s more to Abby than just her game stats.”

Dina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright, you’ve got the job. But make it count.”

As she walks away, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. This could be your shot at making your mark—and maybe even getting that chief editor position. You grab your notebook, already mentally outlining your approach. The real challenge, though, won’t be writing the story—it’ll be getting past Abby’s walls.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few weeks later, you're sitting in the stands of the rink, notebook in hand, watching the women’s hockey team practice. The cold air cuts through the arena, but you're too focused on your task to notice.

Abby Anderson moves like a storm on the ice. Her swift, powerful strides cut through the rink with precision, her eyes locked on the puck, her focus unbreakable. She’s the kind of player who makes it look easy, but you know there’s more to it than that.

You’ve been attending practices for days now, trying to catch glimpses of Abby when she’s not in game mode. But so far, she’s kept her distance. She’s all business, all the time, barking orders at her teammates and keeping her interactions brief. If anyone speaks to her off the ice, it's either short and to the point or completely ignored. You’ve yet to get more than a few sentences out of her.

You jot down a few notes, trying to focus on the team’s dynamics, but your eyes keep drifting back to Abby. She's skating alone now, practicing shots at the net, her intense movements betraying any hint of vulnerability. You wonder if she ever lets anyone see that side of her—the one that's not all about hockey, about being the best.

“Hey.”

You jump, startled, and look up to find Abby standing next to the railing, her skates still on, but her posture relaxed. She looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Uh, hey,” you reply, quickly trying to gather yourself. "Just—just taking some notes. You know, for the article."

She nods, glancing at the rink before looking back at you. “How’s it going so far? Got a good story yet?”

You hesitate, unsure how much of the truth to reveal. “I’m still working on it. It’s hard to find the angle everyone’s expecting… but I think I’ll get there.”

Abby studies you for a moment, her face still as hard to read as always. “Just don’t make me sound like a robot on the ice. I know how that goes.” She smirks, her first real hint of a smile.

You can’t help but laugh, relieved. “I’ll do my best to capture the whole picture. Not just the stats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Good. Keep it real.”

With that, she turns and heads back to the ice, leaving you standing there, heart racing slightly faster than usual. You watch her skate off, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t much, but it was more than you had before. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to get past her walls.

But you also know it’s just the beginning. There's more to Abby Anderson than the game, and you’re determined to find it.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few days later, you’re standing in front of Abby’s dorm, the familiar nerves creeping in. The article deadline is approaching fast, and you’re still struggling to break past Abby’s walls. But today is different. After days of awkward exchanges and hesitant small talk after practice, you finally managed to convince her to sit down for a real interview.

You took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and heard the faint shuffle of movement from inside. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Abby in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, her hair pulled back in her signature braid. The intense, icy exterior you were used to wasn’t there—she looked... normal, like a regular college student.

"Hey," she said, offering a small, almost reluctant smile. "Come on in."

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room instantly contrast with the chilly vibe Abby often projected. The space was clean but a bit cluttered, with hockey gear tossed on one side and textbooks scattered on her desk. It felt strangely intimate like you were seeing a side of Abby no one else ever had access to.

"Sorry about the mess," Abby muttered, gesturing to the pile of equipment. "I’m usually just too tired after practice to clean."

"No worries," you said, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you’re not exactly a fan of interviews."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, instead grabbing two water bottles from a shelf and tossing one to you. "Let’s just get this over with," she said, her tone a little more playful than usual. It was as if the pressure from earlier had eased just a bit.

You smiled, grateful for her willingness. "I won’t take too much of your time. Just a few questions about... well, everything. Hockey, life. What it’s really like being Abby Anderson, off the ice."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she considered your question. "What it's really like..." she echoed, her gaze briefly flicking to the window as if pondering the words. "You make it sound like I'm some mystery."

"Maybe you are," you said, more candidly than you expected. "No one really knows you beyond the ice. You're always the tough player who doesn't talk to anyone off the rink." 

Abby’s gaze softened at your words, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she fiddled with the water bottle in her hands, turning it absently as she seemed to think about what to say. There was a quiet tension in the air, one that neither of you had expected when you first agreed to sit down.

"Yeah, I guess I come off like that, huh?" Abby finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice had a quiet edge to it, almost as if she was admitting something she hadn’t said out loud before. "I don’t really know how to be any different. It’s easier this way."

You felt a shift in the atmosphere, like she was allowing herself to be more open than she ever had before. The moment was subtle, but you couldn’t ignore it.

"I get that," you said softly, leaning forward. "But you’re more than just a hockey player, Abby. I mean, you’ve got layers—there’s got to be more to you than what we see on the ice."

Abby’s eyes met yours then, the intensity of her gaze making your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you thought she might brush you off again, but instead, she looked almost… vulnerable.

"You think so?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as though she was testing you, seeing if you’d take her seriously.

You nodded, feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t expected to feel. "Yeah, I do."

A moment of silence stretched between you, and you could feel the energy in the room shift. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by something deeper, more intense. Abby’s eyes lingered on yours, her lips pressing together as if fighting back something unspoken. You weren’t sure what was happening, but it was as if the ice around her was finally starting to melt, and in the stillness of her dorm, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"I don’t usually do this," Abby said, her voice a little breathless. "Let people in, I mean."

The admission hung in the air, and you realized how rare this moment was for her. It was raw, real, and far from the icy persona she’d shown everyone else. There was no game face now, no walls.

"You don’t have to let anyone in," you replied, your voice lower now, almost without thinking. "But I’m not like everyone else, Abby."

She took a step closer, her eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, without another word, Abby’s hand reached out, brushing against yours—light at first, like she was testing the waters. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart raced as the proximity between you grew more charged, more electric.

"Are you sure about that?" she whispered, her voice shaky, unsure, but her eyes steady as she closed the space between you.

Before you could respond, Abby leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft but insistent. You could feel the toned, muscular strength in her arms as she held you, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The warmth of her body radiated against yours, the firmness of her form pressing gently but surely as her fingers slid into your hair. It was as if her whole presence surrounded you—strong, sure, yet still carrying a touch of hesitation.

The kiss deepened as Abby caressed your hair gently, her fingers threading through it with a tenderness that belied her fierce persona on the ice. It was a contrast—the hard, determined athlete and the softness of the way she touched you. The moment felt like a contradiction, one that both of you were willing to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She looked at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Her hand remained in your hair, fingers still grazing your scalp.

Abby’s hand lingered in your hair, her touch soft but steady, as though she needed a moment to ground herself. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, eyes still locked on yours, as if searching for something—answers, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

"That was..." Abby’s voice trailed off, her lips curling into a small, uncertain smile. "I didn’t think you’d be... like that."

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the kiss. "Like what?"

Abby shrugged, a little bashful for the first time since you met her. "I don’t know. I guess I just figured you’d be... different."

"Different how?" you asked, your voice quieter now, but there was a playful edge to it.

"Like... not so—" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, looking for the right words. "I don’t know. You’re not what I expected."

It was your turn to feel a little bashful. You didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift in dynamics, but there was something about Abby’s vulnerability, her uncertainty, that made you feel like maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just some random kiss. It felt more like a beginning.

"Maybe I’m not," you replied softly. "Maybe we’re both surprising each other."

Abby’s eyes softened at that, and she gave a slow nod. She seemed to be processing everything in silence, unsure of how to label the moment. She was still the tough, intense player on the ice, but the cracks in that persona were becoming more apparent now.

"Don’t go thinking this means I’m some open book now," Abby warned with a smirk, though there was no real bite to it. "I’m still the same Abby Anderson."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing between you two. "I never thought you were an open book."

"Good," Abby replied, her smile returning, warmer than before. She finally pulled her hand from your hair, though she kept her gaze locked on you, her lips still lingering with a hint of the kiss you’d just shared. "But maybe... just maybe... we can see where this goes."

You nodded slowly, your heart still racing, but your chest felt lighter, freer as if a new chapter was just beginning to unfold. "I’m willing to find out."

The quiet between you lingered, the air between you charged with something unspoken. Abby’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she didn’t seem like the intimidating hockey player. She was just Abby, standing in front of you, her vulnerability laid bare.

"Maybe we don’t need to talk about the article anymore," she murmured, her voice low, almost like she was thinking out loud. "Maybe we can just... be here for a bit."

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could respond, Abby was standing up, closing the space between you. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. She was no longer the distant athlete; she was someone who wanted more than just the interview.

"You make it hard to stay guarded," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm against your skin. Her hands slid to your waist, gently pulling you closer. Her body was strong, and solid, but there was a softness in the way she touched you, a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed, your pulse racing as you met her eyes. "Abby..." You couldn’t find the right words, but you didn’t need to. The air between you both was thick with the weight of what was about to happen.

Abby’s lips found yours again, more urgent this time, less like a question and more like an answer. She kissed you deeply, her hands threading into your hair as she pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours with a heat that made everything else fade away. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though she was savoring the moment. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, like she was afraid to let you go as if the distance between you both had only made her want you more.

You melted into her embrace, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as if you could close the gap that had always been there between you. She groaned softly, the sound low in her throat, sending a thrill through you.

When the kiss finally broke, Abby’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her hands gently cupped your face, her thumbs brushing across your cheeks as if memorizing the feel of you.

"I’ve been wanting this," she admitted, her voice hushed. "More than I thought I would."

You smiled, still feeling the rush of the moment. "Yeah," you whispered back. "Me too."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "This doesn’t change anything, right?" she asked, her voice a little uncertain. 

You gently cupped her face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of her jaw as if to reassure her. "No," you said softly. "But maybe we can figure out what comes next..."

Her lips curled into a smile, and for the first time, it wasn’t guarded. It was real, and it was for you. "Yeah," she whispered, closing the distance again, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of something neither of you was ready to define just yet, but both of you were willing to explore.

And as the kiss deepened, you realized that no matter what happened after this, you had stepped past the barrier that had once kept you both apart. Whatever came next, it was something neither of you were willing to walk away from…

She pushes you down on the couch, her body hovering above you. She stares deeply into your eyes as if she was asking for permission. You nod in response. 

Abby buries her face in your neck, kissing and nipping it, making you moan in response 

Abby's touch is confident and assertive, her hands roaming your body with an intensity that mirrors her personality on the ice. She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to take it. Her fingers trace patterns on your skin, igniting sparks wherever they touch.

Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingertips trailing along your sides, feeling the soft skin beneath. You gasped at the touch, your hips bucking slightly. Abby took advantage of this, her hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss.

She broke away from your lips, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "Can I... can we...?" She nuzzled her nose against your jaw, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Can I take this off?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, and she reached for the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head.

As your shirt hit the floor, Abby's eyes roamed over your bare chest, taking in every detail. She reached out, tracing a finger over your collarbone, down your sternum, and across your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

Her touch was light, reverent, as if she was worshipping your body. She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and leaned down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your chest.

You hissed in a breath at the warmth of her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair. She continued to place kisses all over your chest, her hands roaming over your curves. She paused at the waistband of your skirt, looking up at you for confirmation.

Seeing your nod, she hooked her fingers under the hem, pulling it up and off. She took a moment to appreciate what was revealed - your smooth legs, the curve of your hips, the lacy underwear that matched your bra.

Abby's hands slid up your legs, her touch leaving a path of tingling heat. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, her eyes locked with yours. "Can I...?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper, full of need and uncertainty.

“Go ahead abby…” 

With a nod and a shy smile, Abby slowly slid your underwear off, tossing it aside. She paused, her eyes taking in every inch of you, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

She heard you suck in a breath above her, and she looked up at you with a mischievous grin. Slowly, she leaned in, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place as she pressed her mouth to you, her tongue parting your folds.

She started slowly, exploring you, learning what you liked. Your moans filled the room, encouraging her. She slipped a finger inside you, her mouth continuing its administration. You let out a low moan, your hands fisting the couch cushion as you tried to keep yourself grounded.

She added another finger, stretching you, preparing you. Your moans grew louder, your hips moving in rhythm with her actions. Abby looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at your beauty. She withdrew her fingers and climbed up your body, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You could taste yourself on her, the evidence of her ministrations. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer. "Abby..." you whispered, your voice shaky,

"Mmm?" She murmured against your lips, grinding against you. She was still fully clothed, her pants rough against your bare skin.

"You're still dressed..." You panted, your hands reaching for the hem of her shirt. She grinned and sat up, pulling her shirt off in a swift motion. She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

Her breasts bounced free, and you reached up to grasp them, squeezing and kneading them in your hands. Abby let out a pleased moan, her hands reaching for the button of her pants. She popped it open and slid the zipper down, shoving her pants and underwear down her legs.

Now Abby was completely naked, sitting astride you. You looked at her, taking in her toned stomach, her full breasts, the curve of her hips, her muscular thighs. She saw the awe in your eyes, and it made her feel powerful.

With a predatory grin, Abby lowered herself onto you. She wrapped her legs around yours, crossing her ankles behind your knees. She slowly rocked against you, her wetness rubbing against yours. You gasped at the new sensation, your hands gripping her thighs as she continued to move against you.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against yours as she captured your mouth in a deep kiss. She sped up her pace, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. She reached one hand down between them, her fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing in time with her movements.

You cried out into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet hers. The sensation of her rubbing against you, combined with her fingers on your clit, was too much. You felt your orgasm building, your vision blurring as Abby continued to grind against you.

"Abby... Ab... I'm... I'm..." You stuttered, your words cut off by a moan as she quickened her pace. She felt you convulse against her, your hands clutching at her back, your face buried in her neck.

She smiled to herself, pleased with the effect she was having on you. She kept scissoring against you, her own orgasm building. "Look at you," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so… perfect.”

As she spoke, she felt her own climax approaching. She increased the pressure between her legs, rubbing herself against you with frantic intensity. With a loud cry, she came, her hips jerking against yours as her orgasm overtook her.

She collapsed on top of you, her breath hot against your neck. You ran your fingers up and down her back, feeling the dampness of her sweat. "Abby... that was..." you started, but words failed you. She just chuckled and nuzzled your neck. "I know,”

She stayed on top of you, her arms wrapped around you in a loose hug. Her fingers traced patterns on your stomach as she nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent. "Can we just…”

"...Stay like this for a while?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She nuzzled your neck again, her body pressing closer against yours. She felt content, happier than she had in a long time. She felt a connection with you, a bond forged in the heat of passion.

You nodded, not wanting to break the moment. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you both lay there in silence. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the soft rustling of the sheets.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The next day came faster than you expected. You’d barely gotten any sleep, your mind constantly replaying everything that had happened after. But as you sat in the café near the university, waiting for Abby, your heart settled into something more focused. Today wasn’t about the sparks from the night before. Today was about the interview.

The café was quiet, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the hum of conversation and the clink of cups and saucers. It was cozy, with warm light spilling from overhead lamps, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had a lot on your mind, not just about Abby, but about the article and what this interview could mean for your future with the paper. If you did this right, if you got Abby to open up like she never had before, you might be able to prove yourself worthy of the next chief editor position.

A few moments later, the door to the café opened, and there she was.

Abby stepped inside, her usual confidence radiating from her as she scanned the room, her eyes locking onto you instantly. She was dressed casually—athletic but comfortable—and yet she carried herself with the same quiet intensity that made her a standout on the ice. Her gaze softened when she saw you, and the familiar spark of something more was there again, just beneath the surface.

She walked over to the table, giving you a small but genuine smile. "Hey," she greeted, taking a seat across from you. "You doing okay?"

You nodded, trying to steady yourself. "Yeah. Just a little nervous."

"Don't be," she said, her voice reassuring. "It’s just coffee, right?"

"Yeah. Just coffee," you echoed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But you know... a little more than that, too. A real interview."

Abby chuckled, glancing around the café. "Right, well, let's make it count then."

You both ordered your drinks and for a moment, there was an easy silence between you. The pressure of the moment, of what had passed between you both, seemed to be melting away, replaced by something more comfortable, natural.

Finally, you picked up your notebook and pen, getting down to business. "Alright," you began, your voice steady but a little softer than usual. "Let’s start with hockey. You’ve been the team’s top scorer for a while now. How does it feel to be in the spotlight like that?"

Abby leaned back in her chair, her eyes focused on you. "It’s... a lot of pressure. But it’s part of the job. Being in the spotlight is something you just get used to. Especially when your team depends on you."

There was a confidence in her tone, but also something more—something that suggested the weight of being the best wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. You could sense the layers beneath her tough exterior, and you knew this was where the real interview would begin.

You pushed forward, asking more questions, and letting the conversation flow. As you spoke, Abby opened up more than you expected, revealing not just her thoughts on hockey, but glimpses of who she was outside the rink. She was driven, and focused, but there was a vulnerability to her that only seemed to surface when she talked about her team, her passions, and the sacrifices she’d made to get where she was.

The interview wasn’t just about facts anymore—it was about connection. And for a moment, you forgot about the article entirely.

After a while, Abby leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the shift again. There was a quiet tension hanging between you both as if the world outside the café had faded away, and only the two of you existed in this small, intimate moment.

"You know," Abby said softly, her voice almost playful now, "you asked a lot of questions, but you haven’t told me anything about you. What made you want to write about me? About hockey?"

You blinked, taken off guard by her question. You hadn’t expected her to turn the tables. "I... guess I thought you were an interesting story. I mean, you’re kind of a mystery to everyone. The tough hockey player. The star who doesn’t talk to anyone off the ice."

Abby’s smile was small, but it felt meaningful. "I’m not really a mystery. Just... focused. You get that, right?"

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "Yeah, I get it."

For a long moment, you both just sat there, the sound of the café filling the silence between you. The interview was far from over, but something had changed. It wasn’t just about the article anymore. It was about something else—something you both hadn’t been ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there, lingering in the air between you.

"You know," you said after a beat, "I think this might be one of the best interviews I’ve done."

Abby’s gaze softened. "Glad I could make it interesting," she said, her voice quiet but warm.

And as you sat there, talking about everything and nothing, you realized that what had started as a simple interview had turned into something else entirely. A new chapter, one you weren’t sure how to write, but were willing to explore.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The final game of the season was just days away, and the energy around campus was electric. You could feel the anticipation building with every passing hour. The women’s hockey team had worked tirelessly all season, and now, the championship was within reach. For Abby and the rest of the team, it was the culmination of all their hard work. For you, it was the final stretch to prove you could handle the pressure of being the next chief editor of the school paper.

You’d passed the draft of your interview to Dina, the current editor-in-chief, and she had loved it. The words flowed smoothly, and she could sense the connection between you and Abby without you having to spell it out. That feedback had given you the confidence to continue pushing forward, not just for the article, but for everything you had on the line.

But the days leading up to the final game felt like a whirlwind. You and Abby were both consumed with your responsibilities—her with the team’s last-minute practices and preparation, you with your final edits and deadlines. It wasn’t the ideal time for the two of you to reconnect, but you knew that after the game, everything would settle, and maybe you could find out what this—whatever it was—meant.

You found yourself in the quiet corner of the student lounge, typing away on your laptop, trying to finish your article before the big game. Your mind kept wandering back to Abby, though—how her smile lingered after the interview, how she’d looked at you across the café that day, like there was something more she wanted to say but couldn’t.

You hadn’t had time to talk since that day, and now, with the pressure mounting on both sides, you weren’t sure when you’d get the chance to sit down with her again.

The door to the lounge opened, and you didn’t look up right away, assuming it was just another student coming in for a late-night study session. But then, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

"Hey, you."

You froze, the sound of Abby’s voice sending a familiar rush through your chest. When you looked up, you found her standing there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her long hair tied back in a messy bun. She looked exhausted, but there was a spark in her eyes.

"Abby?" you asked, surprised but a little relieved to see her. You hadn’t expected her to stop by.

"Yeah," she said with a small grin, taking a step closer. "I, uh, figured we should talk before the big day. We’ve both been too busy, haven’t we?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. "Yeah, it’s been crazy. I’ve barely had time to breathe with everything going on."

"I get that," she said, her eyes softening. "But I wanted to check in with you. How’s the article coming along? You’re going to be on top of the world when they publish it, you know that, right?"

A warmth spread through you at her words. "It’s... going well," you said, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. "I think Dina liked the draft. She said it’s one of the best interviews she’s read in a while."

Abby raised an eyebrow, a proud smile tugging at her lips. "I’m glad to hear that." She leaned against the table, her tone turning more playful. "But you better not make me look too good. I don’t want to get all cocky before the game."

You laughed softly, the familiar spark between you two returning. "I think I can keep it balanced."

Abby’s smile faded just slightly as she looked at you more seriously. "Listen, about... what happened before. I know we’ve both been busy, but I just wanted to say... I don’t regret it. Us, I mean." She paused, her gaze softening. "I guess I’m just trying to figure out what this all means, but I don’t want to run from it, either."

Your heart skipped a beat, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. "Me neither," you said quietly. "I don’t know what this is, but I’m willing to see where it goes. After the game, maybe we can talk more."

Abby nodded, a small, genuine smile returning to her face. "Yeah. We’ll figure it out." She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at you. "I should go, get some rest. Big game tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, feeling that familiar pang of disappointment that she had to leave so soon. "Yeah. Good luck, Abby."

She paused at the door, turning back to face you. "Thanks. And... I’ll see you there," she said with a wink before she disappeared into the night.

As you sat back in your chair, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything—despite the pressure of the article, the looming championship game, and the uncertainty about what you and Abby were becoming—you couldn’t deny the excitement buzzing in your chest. Tomorrow was the big day, and whatever came after, you knew you’d both be ready.

The final game had arrived, and the energy around campus was palpable. The buzz in the air was electric, with every student and faculty member talking about the championship match. You could feel the weight of the moment—this wasn’t just any game. For Abby and the team, it was the culmination of months of grueling practice, sacrifices, and determination. And for you, it was the finish line for your article—and maybe something more.

You had finalized your piece, and after getting Dina’s approval earlier that morning, there was nothing left to do but wait for the game to unfold. But as you stood at the rink, the sense of anticipation made it hard to focus on anything else. You watched as the team prepared, Abby at the forefront, looking every bit the fierce competitor you had come to admire.

Her movements were fluid, and powerful, slicing through the ice like she owned it. You found yourself drawn to her, to the way she held herself—confidence in every stride, but you could also sense something else, something beneath the surface. And though you tried to concentrate on taking notes for the article, every so often, you’d glance at her, catching her eye.

You were almost caught up in the rhythm of the game when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start. The intensity was immediate, the tension tangible in the arena. The crowd’s roars filled your ears, the game beginning in a blur of motion. You scribbled down observations, the action on the ice more chaotic than you had anticipated. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the game itself. Every move felt crucial, and Abby was right in the middle of it all, controlling the pace with every turn.

But it wasn’t just the game that had your attention. It was the way Abby played—how she seemed to be everywhere at once, her energy contagious, urging her teammates forward. She was the center of it all, and you couldn’t help but admire how she took charge, and how her presence seemed to push the team toward victory. She was sharp, a calculated force on the ice.

And then it happened.

Abby made an interception, gliding effortlessly past the defense. At that moment, time seemed to stretch out, the entire arena holding its breath as she lined up for a shot. Her eyes focused, and in one smooth motion, the puck flew off her stick and toward the net. The sound of the puck hitting the post rang out, but Abby wasn’t done. She was already there, crashing the net, securing the rebound, and slamming it in. The crowd erupted.

Your heart raced, the realization dawning on you that her goal had put them ahead—and it was the winning goal.

The game continued, but the tide had turned. With seconds on the clock, the buzzer sounded, and Abby’s team celebrated their victory. You stood in the middle of the crowd, still processing the intensity of it all. Abby had led them to victory, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her.

You waited near the locker room, hoping to catch Abby after the game. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the excitement of the game completely, but you had seen enough to know this was her moment. The sound of the locker room doors opening echoed in your ears, and you spotted her almost immediately.

Abby stood out from the others, her usual focused demeanor softened by the thrill of the win. She was still in her gear, her face flushed from the game, but there was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before.

"That was incredible," you said, your words a little breathless from the adrenaline of the game still coursing through you.

She looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was a team effort," she replied, but you could see the pride in her eyes. "Still, I’m glad you were here to see it."

You smiled, taking a step closer. "You’ve earned it," you said quietly, meeting her gaze, trying to find the right words. "I’m proud of you."

Abby’s expression softened, her usual confident exterior cracking just a little. She leaned in slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "Thanks," she said, voice lower than before. There was a moment of silence between you two, the noise of the locker room buzzing faintly in the background.

For a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. Abby’s eyes never left yours, a quiet understanding passing between you. There was no need for words, not now. The game, the season, the article—it all seemed to fade as you stood there, caught between the rush of the moment and the realization that this wasn’t just about hockey anymore.

As the team continued their celebration around you, Abby’s hand brushed against yours, a subtle connection that sent a jolt through you. She gave you a small nod before walking toward the rest of her team, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the game—and from everything that was unfolding between you and her.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

he newsroom was alive with a flurry of activity, papers scattered everywhere as the final touches were being put on the issue. The clock ticked toward 8 PM, and you were sitting at your desk, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The article was done. Your piece on Abby, her journey to the championship, and the thrilling game had come together perfectly. The highlight of the issue, the one everyone was talking about. It felt like the culmination of everything—your hard work, your ambition, and the connection you had built with Abby.

As the editors rushed past, congratulating you on how well the article turned out, you couldn't help but smile. A few of them had asked you how you’d managed to make Abby open up, some even teasing you about her sudden warmth toward you. "Did you sweet-talk her?" one of the writers joked. "She’s been ice-cold with everyone else!" You just shrugged, your mind drifting to her last words to you after the game. "Just doing my job."

But as the energy in the newsroom built to a crescendo, Dina appeared in front of you, leaning in with a grin. "I think you just earned the spot as the next editor in chief," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the room.

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, not sure if you’d heard her right. "Wait, what?" you asked, feeling a flush of disbelief and excitement rise in your chest.

Dina chuckled softly. "You’ve earned it. You’ve got the article everyone’s been talking about, and you’ve proven you’ve got the skills. I’m officially putting your name in for the position." Her eyes twinkled with approval as she walked off, leaving you stunned, your breath caught in your throat. This was it. This was everything you’d worked for.

As the evening wore on, the final issue of the paper was ready to go to print, and it was only a matter of time before it would be released at midnight. You stayed in the newsroom, helping with last-minute preparations, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Abby. What she’d said, what she meant to you now, and how the chemistry between you had grown in such a short time.

In the midst of the excitement, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. The message on your screen made your heart race.

Abby 🏒: Hey, where are you? 

Abby 🏒: I’m still at the party btw

Abby 🏒: I want to see you.

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips as you typed your response, the warmth from her text a stark contrast to the cool air in the newsroom.

You: I’m at the paper, finishing things up. I’ll be there soon❤️

You felt a little giddy, your heart racing with anticipation. After everything, the article, the win, the promotion—it felt like the perfect moment to see her again, to see where everything between you would go.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, you closed your laptop, the rush of excitement bubbling up inside you. The paper would be published, and your future as editor-in-chief seemed all but certain. But as you left the newsroom, your mind was on Abby—and the night ahead.

As you turned the corner, the soft hum of the campus night air accompanied your steps. The excitement of the newsroom buzzed in your veins, but everything seemed to quiet when you saw her waiting for you.

Abby was leaning casually against the wall, a small smile tugging at her lips as she waited, the blue jersey she wore a bold contrast against the dimly lit hallway. It was the same one her teammates all wore, emblazoned with your university’s logo—proud and unmistakable. But even in something as simple as a jersey, there was still that undeniable pull to her presence.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you walked toward her. "You didn’t have to wait for me," you teased softly, though you were secretly glad she had.

Abby pushed off from the wall, stepping closer. "I wanted to. Besides, I promised I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?" Her voice was playful, but there was something softer in her gaze, something more sincere.

You nodded, the air between you light and easy, but still charged with that undercurrent of something more. "You did," you agreed. "And, uh, I actually have something to show you." You pulled out your phone, tapping through the screens until you found the article you’d written.

Abby raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the screen. "No way," she said, her lips curling up slightly. "You actually made me sound like a good person."

You laughed, but there was a warmth spreading in your chest. "I didn’t just make you sound like a good person, I made you sound amazing." You swiped down, showing her the headline: "Abby Anderson: The Heart of the Winning Team." The words felt just as true as when you’d written them.

She studied the screen for a moment, her fingers brushing lightly against the phone. "I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to get me to open up like this," she said, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "But you did. So, thanks."

Your heart raced at her words. The sincerity in her voice made everything feel more real, like something was shifting between you two.

Abby looked at you, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual, before the silence stretched. The sounds of the party down the hall faded in the background, the moment between you two feeling more significant than any celebration.

"You wanna head back to the party?" you asked, breaking the silence, though neither of you moved immediately

She shook her head, her  hand brushed against yours. She paused, her fingers lingering against your wrist, a soft smile on her lips.

"I think," she started, her voice low and steady, "I’d rather be alone with you right now."

Your heart skipped a beat, her words making everything feel just a little more intimate. The noise from the party down the hall seemed to fade away, the energy shifting in an instant.

"You sure?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now, as the anticipation between you two hung thick in the air.

Abby nodded, her eyes meeting yours, full of something unspoken. "Yeah. I’d rather spend some time with you... just us."

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze before she led you away from the noise, down the hallway, and toward her dorm room. The walk felt longer than it was, but it gave you time to let the anticipation build. Abby’s steps were confident, but there was a softness in the way she held your hand, something that made your chest flutter.

When you reached her dorm, Abby opened the door, stepping aside to let you in. The room was cozy, nothing extravagant, you took in the familiar feeling. It felt like a place where she could truly be herself. The familiar blue jersey she wore still clung to her frame, a symbol of her strength on the ice. But now, in the quiet of the room, she seemed different—less guarded, more present.

She tossed herself on her bed and pulled you in with her, planting kisses on you. 

The sudden pull caught you off guard, and you laughed softly as you fell beside her. Abby's arms wrapped around you, her strength both reassuring and gentle. Her kisses were warm, pressing against your skin with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the sound of your breathing.

Abby paused, her forehead resting against yours as she caught her breath, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You met her gaze, a smile curving your lips as you traced the line of her jaw with your fingers, feeling the tension melt away under your touch.

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice husky and low, a tender contrast to the fierce athlete everyone else knew.

You nodded, your fingers threading through her hair. “More than okay,” you murmured, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, as if both of you were savoring the rare moment of peace away from the chaos of the rink and the noise of the world outside.

Abby shifted, pulling you even closer, her embrace tightening around you as if she wanted to make sure this moment stayed real. The scent of her, the warmth radiating from her body, made your heart race. 

You sit up and move on top of her, her gaze softening as you did. “I think… you deserve a reward for your excellent performance at the game. don’t you think?” 

Abby’s eyes widened slightly at your words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She let out a breathy laugh, her hands finding their place on your hips as she looked up at you, a mix of amusement and anticipation in her gaze.

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Is that so?”

You leaned down, your lips barely brushing hers as you whispered, “Absolutely.” The playful tone sent a shiver through her, and you felt her fingers tighten their hold, drawing you closer.

Abby’s gaze softened, the fierce determination she carried on the ice replaced by an openness that was reserved for moments like this—moments just between the two of you. The space between you seemed to shrink as she tilted her head to meet your lips again, her kiss more insistent, filled with a new kind of energy that made your pulse quicken.

She sighed against your mouth, the sound sending warmth rushing through you. Her hands traveled up your back, pulling you down until there was barely any distance left. The room, once filled with quiet, seemed to pulse with the shared heartbeat between you.

“Best reward ever,” Abby whispered, a grin breaking through before she kissed you again, deeper this time as if she couldn’t get enough.

Pulling away from the kiss, you start to unbutton your shirt, watching her gaze on you. 

She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving yours as you began to unbutton your shirt. She felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached up, helping you remove the shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin. "You're so…”

"...beautiful," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of your collarbone, feeling the warmth of your skin. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot she had just touched, before moving on to kiss the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, her lips lingering on your pulse point. She could feel your heartbeat fluttering beneath her mouth, quickening with each touch. "I want you," she murmured against your skin, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as she pulled back slightly. "You're right, I got a little carried away," she said with a playful grin. She settled back, watching you with hooded eyes, her hands resting on your thighs.“Ah! Not so fast Abigail. I’m the one who’s giving you this reward remember?”

You help her remove her jersey, and then the shirt she was wearing underneath. You trail down to her pants. As you began to unzip her pants, she lifted her hips, allowing you to slide them down along with her underwear. She lay before you, her body bare and exposed, her chest heaving with anticipation. Her eyes, filled with desire, followed your every movement as you leaned down.

She let out a soft gasp as you kissed her stomach, your lips trailing down to her hips. She wrapped her arms around your head, holding you close as you continued your path of kisses. When you reached her inner thigh, she spread her legs wider, giving you access to her most intimate area.

She moaned softly as you kissed her, the sensation overwhelming. Her hips buckled against your touch, her breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. She tangled her hands in your hair, pulling you closer as the pleasure intensified. "Please...please..." she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She arched her back, her breath hitching as you continued to tease her with your mouth. Her legs tightened around your shoulders, her whole body tensing as the pressure built inside her. "Don't stop...please, don't stop..." she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire.

Her eyes flew open, her mouth forming a silent 'O’ as you pushed two fingers inside her. She writhed beneath your touch, her hips bucking against your hand. "Yes...like that...please..." she moaned, her voice growing louder as the pleasure became almost too much to bear.

“Hm? You like it baby?” You hissed. 

“Oh god, yes...” She panted, her body tensing as your fingers curved upwards, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her head fell back against the bed, her body trembling. "More...I need more..." She looked at you, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.”

You smiled, pleased with her reaction, and added a third finger, scissoring them inside her. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as the stretch and pressure became overwhelming. "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!" She chanted, her voice echoing through the room as she struggled to breathe.

She could feel the heat building inside her, her body growing warmer and more sensitive with each passing second. Her hands grasped at the sheets beneath her, pulling them taut as the tension became unbearable. "I'm...I'm going to...please, please!" She begged, her eyes wide and desperate.

With a final thrust, you pushed your fingers deep inside her, crooking them upwards. She shattered, her body convulsing as waves of intense pleasure washed over her. She screamed your name, her voice hoarse from shouting, her body growing limp as the aftershocks subsided.

As she came down from her high, she pushed feebly at your shoulder, her body still shuddering occasionally. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice still ragged from her release. She pushed you onto your back, straddling you before you could protest.

You landed on your back with a surprised grunt, looking up at her with widened eyes. She grinned mischievously, her eyes filled with lust and determination. She slowly began to kiss her way down your chest, her hands caressing your skin.

She continued her descent, her lips leaving a trail of kisses on your skin. Without warning, she reached out and tore open your already unbuttoned shirt, the fabric ripping easily under her strength. She tossed the shirt aside and moved on to your pants, roughly pulling them down your legs along with your panties

Once she had you fully exposed, she took a moment to admire the view, her eyes hungrily roaming over your body. She licked her lips before leaning down, her hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "I'm going to make you feel so good,”

She whispered, her voice low and sultry. Before you could respond, she wrapped her hands around your thighs, pushing them apart. She leaned down and slowly, torturously, ran her tongue up your length.

She took her time exploring you with her tongue, licking and sucking at your most sensitive areas. Her hands massaged your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. She worked you with skill and enthusiasm, determined to drive you wild with pleasure.

Abby sucked on your clit making you toss your head back and grip her hair. You could feel her smile. She stops for a second and slides in her fingers inside you

She curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot as she continued to suck on your clit. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against her face desperately. She added another finger, scissoring them inside you as she finger-fucked you relentlessly.

She could feel you tightening around her fingers, knowing you were close. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she pumped her fingers faster. Her other hand reached up to roughly grope your breast, pinching and tugging at your nipple. She wanted to feel you come undone.

The combination of sensations became too much and you came with a loud moan, your body shaking and convulsing. Abby continued to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers and licked them clean, savoring your taste. "Mmm, you taste divine," she purred.

She crawled back up your body, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She leaned down to claim your lips in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her. She ground her hips against yours, her own desire evident in the way she rocked against you. She was far from finished with you… 

She kisses your neck, trailing down until she reaches your breasts, sucking on your nipples. 

She lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and kneading the soft mounds. She bit down gently on one peak, causing you to gasp. She grinned mischievously and continued her torture, moving between the two and back again.

“Mhmm.. Abby… Shit”

She heard your muffled words, your voice hoarse with desire. She knew you were helpless under her touch. She bit down harder on your peak, relishing your cry of pleasure-pain. She moved her hand down to toy with your slick folds, mirroring the action of her mouth with her fingers. 

You bit your lip, staring at her. as if begging her to give it to you. You wanted her fingers inside your walls once again.

Abby looked up at you through her lashes, a smirk playing on her lips. She slowly slid one finger, then two inside you, loving how you bit your lip and watched her with eager eyes. "You like that, baby?”

“Fuck yes…” 

Abby pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them upward to hit that spot deep inside. Her thumb rubbed circles on your swollen nub. "Look at me while I touch you," she demanded. Your eyes locked onto hers as your hips lifted to meet her touch, silently begging for more.

She added another finger, stretching you. She watched your face as she increased her pace, her fingers slamming in and out of you. Your breaths came in short pants, your moans filling the room. She leaned down to capture one of your moans with her mouth, kissing you deeply.

Your legs shook as she worked you expertly. She could feel you tightening around her fingers. "That's it, baby. Come for me," she encouraged, her voice low. You shattered, convulsing around her fingers as you found your release.

As your climax washed over you, Abby gentled her touch, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers.

She gathered you in her arms, holding you close as your breathing gradually slowed.

She stroked your back soothingly, placing soft kisses on your shoulder. "You’re gorgeous," she murmured. She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a warm, damp cloth, cleaning you up tenderly. 

She tossed the cloth aside and pulled you back into her arms. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. She nuzzled your neck, her voice laced with concern. You snuggled against her, your voice sleepy. "Content," you murmured. "So taken care of…”

She smiled, her heart warming at your words. She tightened her arms around you, her voice gentle. "Good. You deserve to be taken care of." She kissed your shoulder, her touch becoming slower, more loving. "Rest now, baby. I've got you.”

Abby’s gaze softened as she watched you sleep, the subtle rise and fall of your chest lulling her into a sense of calm she rarely found anywhere else. The room was quiet, the only sounds being your soft breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in—a mix of contentment and the unfamiliar ache of something deeper. Brushing her thumb across your cheek, she whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me,” her voice so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.

As exhaustion finally pulled her eyes closed, Abby held you tighter, as if anchoring herself to this moment. The worries of games and expectations could wait; for now, all that mattered was the warmth shared between you and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

[lumarhorrors]

Hey lumar!

I have a fic idea!

Can you write frat boy x stalker bottom reader? Thanks!

mhm! I love me some stalker type stories but that's just the horror and dark romance reader in me~!

CW: stalking, drugging, bullying, cheating

You were obsessed to say the least. But not in a romantic sense...no no. Frat boy he was a horrible person to you in high school and you wanted karma to hit him hard.

So you began to Stalk him, you knew his dorm, his code for his frat house, his schedule for college and work and knew the perfect time to strike. You had everything planned out. Watching him for weeks...you set him up, at his party. You drugged his drink and paid a random girl to make out with him best thing was his girlfriend and all his friends saw everything. So he lost everyone...then you got him fired...and kicked out of college and that got his disowned by his parents. And you were there as a light just for him...

Oh, how he begged for your forgiveness saying you were the only person who'd understand his situation...you got him dependent on you, made him need you for everything. You got him into your college, a job at your work. He moved into your dorm. Everything was perfect. Of course, you still stalked him. Can't have him straying from all your hard work now, can we? You'd always manipulate him. Does he get written up? You cry telling him how hard you convinced your boss to hire him and this is how he repays up! He goes out partying? Why...he has to study or he'll get kicked out!

And your favourite.. he's flirting with other guys and girls? How could he! You took him in, he's dependent on you...he's yours! And he's going after someone else.

That's when the possession and love obsession started. You could do with him as you pleased. Abuse him, bully him, praise him, bilittle him...? He was all yours to do as you pleased.

Sorry it's short but I didn't have much to work with so I'm treating this as kind of an introduction. If you have any names for the frat boy I'd accept any!

[iluvoscarpiastri]

i usually don’t like to really ever publicly talk about this stuff just cause it leads to too much negativity in the fan base but this post is so ‼️

i started F1 as a lando fan. i was like in love with him. ofc i supported max, charles, oscar, alex everyone but he was just 💘. and i never thought that this is a post that i would ever be typing out 😭.

in the press conference post miami gp race, i remember the reporter asked max if he thinks lando would still have won without the safety car. max knew what they were trying to do and he also knew that lando was going to be very harsh on himself about the race so he instantly shut down any attempts at discrediting lando’s win. he fully backed lando up and was very very happy for lando’s win.

fast forward to zandvoort, when lando won max’s home race, nothing against that at all. that’s just how it happens. no driver is entitled to a race win simply because it’s their home race, however, i do think it was unnecessary for him to throw in the “simply lovely”. did F1 twt go insane about this to an unacceptable extent? yes. but i just want to point out and bring to light the fact that if the roles had been reversed, and max had pulled something like this, you best believe that not just twitter fan pages but fucking sky sports would’ve made it into a huge deal where max was being “disrespectful” and “acting like a child”.

then, brazil gp. there is not a single formula 1 fan who can deny that max’s drive that day was fucking phenomenal. going from P17 to P1 in probably the 2nd or 3rd fastest car with limited visibility and dangerous track conditions is nothing sort of a fucking master class in driving. i understand that lando’s words were taken out of context but it still doesn’t change the fact that some of what he said was completely unavoidable.

lando has always been an advocate for mental health and i have a shit ton of respect for him for that. in this sport, talking about mental health becomes extremely necessary considering the high pressure scenarios, constant public scrutiny, uncertainty of job security too amongst a lot of other things.

like the original post said, why should we feel sympathy for the hate lando’s been getting when the one that max has been getting not just this season but probably ever since he won his first championship is simply ignored as a part and parcel of being in such a sport??

max was booed at multiple races last year, i didn’t see anyone coming out to talk about how it might have been affecting max’s mental health negatively?? do yall really think that just because he acts like it doesn’t affect him, he’s immune to it? where was this talk about mental health when max was being villainised left and right by sky sports? a media company that needs to remain unbiased considering they’re one of the primary broadcasters for F1 related news. where was this talk about mental health when anything and everything that max said or did was taken out of context and his name was dragged through the mud??

i do not condone hating on any driver because of petty ass shit. but it gets tiring to see such double standards.

i am in no way discrediting the hate that lando has been getting off late and i think that’s it’s despicable that people stoop to such petty acts in order to feel better about themselves. the lando hate train has gotten really out of hand and i genuinely think mclaren should take legal action against a lot of these accounts.

but that still does not take away from the fact that max has been hated equally as much and i did not see anyone come forwards and talk about how it might have impacted him negatively.

You know what? I might sound like a c*nt when I say this, but why are we suddenly supposed to feel sorry for Norris?

Are we forgetting the way Norris basically threatened his friendship with Max over something most drivers saw as a racing incident? The way he so happily disrespected Max at his homerace, the way he's been shitting on Max's driving, the way he's tried to undermine Max's performance several times as if it were just luck, when Max has done the complete opposite for him?

The way his friends have been shitting on Max on social media? The way official social media accounts related to him have been taking digs at Max? The way his father liked that disgusting meme of Norris punting Max off at Copse corner? The way his team has been shitting on Max 24/7?

Max has been antagonised by Norris, his team, his family, his friends and his fans all year long, but now we are supposed to sympathise with him??

No. I don't care. And I don't care how that makes me sound.

This time should be about Max's stellar drive in Brazil and the way he's carried this Championship. Not about Norris reaping what he's sowed.

[myokk]

Hi! I'm still feral for these two, would you mind giving us some art of them in their later years together!?

Hello angel!!!!

Sorry it’s taken so long to respond🫶🫶 but I wanted to draw some new art for this ask💓

We have: Sebastian and Eloise trying out their new fancy camera with a selfie, pictures of them with their daughter, and finally…idk I just always felt like this drawing is when they’re a bit older💓

I want to take this ask as an opportunity as well to talk a little about how I imagine their future (I have no chill & you can ignore this and just enjoy the art if you want😇).

I am a COMPLETE pantser - I never know how a chapter’s going to end when I start writing it (I always just have a few scenes I know I need to include to keep the plot moving forward). Although I have different *big* scenes I’m always writing towards, and themes/plot elements I’m always foreshadowing (shout out to @elliecutte for catching *almost* all of my hints and appreciating my general no chill😆), IM STILL NOT 100% SURE HOW I WILL END THINGS !!! 😳 I have a lot of endings I see as possible, and I think soon it will become more clear to me what will work the best💓

HAPPY ENDING:

Eloise and Sebastian become Unspeakables. I have a LOT of thoughts on this profession that could be its OWN post, and I feel like Unspeakables are generally specialized in one or two departments, but as their interests/research change they also change.

Eloise becomes an Unspeakable in the Mind and Death departments, with the occasional foray into Time. Her ancient magic is connected with all of these things (my version of AM is NOT like the game) & the Department of Mysteries is one of the only places that gives her any useful information about these things. Plus she thinks too much (it IS her hobby after all😆💓) and is very introverted so a hermit job like this is a perfect fit.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable as well, but I feel like it takes him a long time to specialize in anything, if he ever does. I just feel like becoming an Unspeakable is the adult equivalent of sneaking into the Restricted Section🥹🫶

They grow old together (I won’t explain TOO much) & have a lovely little family🥹 at least one daughter that they both dote on. Sebastian had an amazing childhood (idyllic until it wasn’t), and wants to give his daughter the same, and Eloise works hard to make sure their daughter feels the love that she never had growing up🥺

When Sirius is burned off the family tree, Eloise and Sebastian take him in🥹🫶 (they’re like 100 years old but WIZARDS LIVE LONGER…) The same happened to her all those years ago, and she wants him to know that his whole family hasn’t abandoned him.

Eloise LOVED her nieces - Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa - when they were younger, but as Voldemort becomes more powerful & people realize WHAT he’s doing, she has to separate herself from them. Her heart breaks seeing Bellatrix go mad, and seeing Narcissa engaged to a Malfoy out of obligation😔 (iykyk)

I haven’t thought any more about happy ending but I think it’s fun to think about how their future story might weave in with the actual canon events, ESPECIALLY since Eloise is a Black🥹💓

SAD ENDING:

After Sebastian gets his hands on Slytherin’s relic, it really starts to consume him and makes him even MORE obsessive than his natural tendencies - I imagine it similarly “talking” to him like Slytherin’s locket/horcrux did in Deathly Hallows (😳)

Eloise is deathly afraid of the changes she’s seeing in Sebastian and steals it from him (he would never willingly give it to her ESPECIALLY if it starts to feel like a precious item to him)

BUT the relic triggers the latent Black Family Madness in her - the madness that afflicts almost every woman in her family since…🤭 - and she herself starts to lose touch with reality. Her body and soul are already destroying themselves between the curse and the ancient magic inside of her, and the relic is what triggers it in her.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable, focusing on the Mind, in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his Eloise🥺

He never gives up his research, and sometimes when he comes home she is lucid and they talk about his research - otherwise, he just loves and takes care of her.

(He’s never successful in finding a way to reverse what he feels he caused in the first place - his ambition and single-mindedness is, to him, the reason why all of this happened)

Honestly who knows if I end their story either of these ways😌 I just love thinking of AUs and different endings and I have a few others I’ve considered as well!!! And whatever endings I don’t write will be immortalized on this blog and in my art as well🙏

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

The idea of Heatwave being a Wavewave sparkling but mainly from Soundwave tears me up. So I'll submit you all to my PAIN!!!

The idea of Soundwave growing up in the pits, fighting for his life, becoming a top gladiator but still being seen as the lowest of the lowest, but then, this Sparkling appears in his life. A little red bot who seemingly was abandoned or was not picked when it emerged from the All Spark.

That being their first meeting, Soundwave was not yet the Soundwave we know so he didn't know what to do. His best hope was that the little bot would end just like him, surviving on its own... or just die with no pain. After all, there was no one else but him, just him, and Ravage too ofc but really no one else...

So, imagine how stupid must he have felt as he took the sparkling from the ground and was unable to put it down. Ravage in the background wheezing as she realizes what has happened ¨Oh yea, that's how I adopted you too HAHAHAHAH¨

And things well get hard. Why did he do it? Was it some left kindness on him? Did he lose his mind? or maybe, he just compasioned...?

Time passes, he keeps fighting, Ravage keeps being annoying but is still there for him, and the Sparkling now going by the name Heatwave, was there too looking from afar. Soundwave had decided that the little Bot would not participate in the arena, he would just watch and learn.

Heatwave was amazed at the way his ¨creator¨ fought other bots who were bigger than him and much more robust in comparison. Tho he didn't wish to become a gladiator just like his creator, but he still wanted to show how strong he was helping others.

Time passes, they're a small ¨family¨ for all they can say, but they are very strong and united. In every fight, Soundwave participates in the entertainment of the upper classes, he kept in reserve credits so that one day Heatwave can leave the pits and form a real life outside the misery. It would of course be a slow process, but Soundwave knew that he could do it.

A big surprise was when Heatwave shared with him that he wanted to become a Rescue Bot, a particular job that didn't really fit in any of the class rankings that Cybertron had been using... it was a job that came with intense training that if failed, all the blame would go to the bot who failed and not to the institution who trained them. A job that was more chosen to do for the pure of one spark than the want to win something. Such was that it was known that the High Council would prefer losing 5 Rescue Bot units than one Council member.

The job was clearly going to be a dead sentence, but after a long discussion, there were not many options like the Rescue recruit institutions offered to give a semi-normal life to low-class citizens... at least, for the time Heatwave would be trained he would have a home with basic needs, and once out of training and to the practice, the payment would be enough to even feed Ravage.

Soundwave still didn't want to say yes. to give Heatwave permission, but, Heatwave was just hotheaded, he was promising that with this he would be able to give Soundwave the life he could not grow up with... the life he gave to Heatwave...

Soundwave still saved credits as he kept participating in the arena, just in case.

Time seemed to fly through this change. Heatwave met his assigned team and close friends, Soundwave met new bots too, aspiring and strong allies for both of them. Yet, their ideals seemed to change as their lives grow appart.

They still saw each other, they kept communicating, and Ravage always reminded one or the other to call. But things just can't stay calm forever. The pits and many parts of Cybertron considered for the lower cast were being destroyed, homes and families being displeased so the upper class could take those areas. Slowly, a revolution was being armed with strong bots taking the lead. One in particular, Megatronus, wanted Soundwave as his second in command as he saw potential in him.

Soundwave wanted to decline at first. This could endanger Heatwave in many levels if it was known that they both were family. Megatronus seemed to understand, and it seemed that someone else would take Soundwave's place as SIC... is it wasn't for that one call...

The call that changed forever Soundwave's perspective on life and on his own decisions. It was from the Rescue recruitment system that chose Heatwave informing him of... the red bot dead, with the rest of his team...

Rescue Sigma-17 had been deployed to help another unit very far away, and as it seemed that the job was being completed, the communication began to cut. In short, all signals were lost and no vital was detected. Both units had been gone enough time to be declared deceased...

There was not going to be any effort on further location or send a 3 unit with more equipment to help or to at least know what happened. There was not going to be any effort on finding Heatwave's body for a proper funeral, his stuff as the stuff of his team would be tossed or given to their creators. That being said, Soundwave and Ravage received nothing but a big box full of credits, enough to live a luxurious life in the middle class...

It had a note from Heatwave. Just like Soundwave was saving for an emergency, Heatwave had been doing the same. Probably not eating or working extra to have this amount of credits...

... Soundwave tossed all that in their faces not accepting a damn. As fast as he could he went to Megatronus and began their plan to attack...

...

...

...

At light years far away, after more tragedy had occurred. A small ship floating in the middle of nothing received a message that redirected t it to a planet called Earth.

Landing, four bots from stasis had awakened to see the beauty of an organic planet and to encounter a figure not many would be able to talk to, Optimus Prime.