#and like. it's expected but it's still a big deal like it was never a 100% certainty but at this point it's looking like one

[lnracer]

Ooh ok ok so for an Oscar fic I’ve been so obsessed with the idea of Oscar as reader’s best friend’s brother. As in, she’s besties with his sister and spends a ton of time over at the Piastri household. He gives such older brother vibes, like I could totally see him coming home from training all strong and sweaty and cool and reader gets all stuttery and blushy and has to hide her crush from her best friend. Maybe he’s on summer break in Australia, so it’s all slow burn and tension and jealousy and sneaking around trying to “accidentally” run into each other, ending up in 4am kisses in pyjamas in the kitchen or in the garden or in his car.

I genuinely adore your writing style omg it’s so addictive 🥺����🥺😫

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Hattie's Best Friend! Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 3.879k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, I loved your request! I hope I was able to meet your expectations! And also, tysm for the compliment on my writing, I'm really happy to hear that, you're very kind! ☺️🧡

Every summer, like clockwork, she found herself spending more time at the Piastri household than her own. It wasn’t unusual — she and Hattie had been inseparable since primary school, practically attached at the hip. Pool days, movie marathons and last-minute sleepovers, it all seemed to orbit around their easy, unshakable bond. And Nicole? Nicole treated her like one of her own. She never left the house without a warm hug, a plate of something sweet, and an offer to stay for dinner — no matter the hour. It was easy, natural, and comforting.

Except when Oscar was home.

She never really knew how to act when he was around. He had always been Hattie’s older brother, the quiet genius with quick wit and easy charm — but he’d become Oscar Piastri, the F1 driver, the national treasure, the boy with eyes like he’d already seen every corner of the world. And yet, every time he came home for summer break, he was still just...Oscar.

Still the boy who teased Hattie for stealing his chargers. Still the guy who remembered her favorite flavor of icy poles. Still the one who gently nudged her knee under the dinner table if she got nervous talking in front of everyone.

He was soft-spoken and observant — maybe that’s why he noticed how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was flustered. Maybe that’s why he never made a big deal out of how she blushed when he offered to drive her and Hattie to the beach. He treated her with a quiet kind of care, like he knew she didn’t like being in the spotlight, but deserved attention anyway.

Around him, she was quieter than usual. A little more careful with her words. A little too aware of the way her heart tripped when he smiled at her across the kitchen island. But she was still her sweet, bookish self — offering to help Nicole with the dishes, asking Oscar if he needed a break from training, listening intently when he spoke about his races like it was a dream he still couldn’t believe he was living.

He never treated her just like Hattie's best friend. He treated her like herself.

And maybe that was the thing that made her feel so dizzy in the middle of summer.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Morning, Piastri Household.

The kitchen was quiet, warm with late morning sunlight pouring through the windows and pooling across the tiled floor. She liked it like this — just her, barefoot in one of Hattie’s oversized t-shirts, pouring orange juice into a glass while Nicole was out running errands and Hattie was still upstairs half-asleep.

She hummed under her breath, focused on not spilling anything, when the back door swung open with a soft click.

Then he walked in.

Oscar, fresh from the gym, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat and pushed back in that lazy way that made him look more like a magazine cover than someone who’d just done deadlifts. His black training shirt clung to his chest and arms like second skin, and when he looked up and met her eyes—

The orange juice nearly slipped out of her hands.

“Oh— uh! Hi— hi, Oscar!” she stammered, clutching the glass like it was a lifeline as she willed herself to look anywhere but at his arms. Or his jaw. Or the way he was looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Hey,” he said, voice still gravelly from exertion. He opened the fridge behind her, brushing a little too close as he reached in for a bottle of water. “Didn’t know anyone else was up yet.”

“I— I just came down,” she murmured, cheeks warming at the sound of his voice so close. “Thought I’d get some juice. I mean, obviously. You saw. Um. Yeah.”

Oscar chuckled, low and gentle. He wasn’t making fun of her — he never did. He just had this calmness about him that made everything feel both worse and better.

“You okay there?” he asked, glancing at the tight grip she had on the glass.

She nodded too fast. “Yup. Perfect. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She took a sip, nearly choked on it, and turned away to hide the color rushing to her face. God, she was so obvious. If Hattie came downstairs now, she’d take one look and know.

Oscar leaned against the counter, still watching her with that unreadable expression. Not teasing. Just... patient.

“I know it’s weird,” he said softly, like he could read her thoughts. “Me being your best friend’s brother and all. I get it.”

Her fingers fidgeted around the glass, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled, small and sweet. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Her heart skipped. He didn’t push. He didn’t laugh. He just turned back to the fridge with that easy grace of his and added, “By the way... cute shirt.”

She looked down and realized — oh no, she’d grabbed Hattie’s tee with Piastri printed across the back in big block letters.

As he walked out, water bottle in hand, she heard his voice drift back over his shoulder:

“Looks better on you.”

She nearly dropped the juice again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

He was halfway out of the kitchen when the words left her mouth — reckless, impulsive and entirely not thought through.

“Do you— do you want a glass too?”

Oscar paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at her. One brow lifted, amused. “Of orange juice?”

She blinked. “Yeah. I mean— yeah. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought, like, maybe. I’m already pouring things. So.”

He smiled again, slower this time. And it was dangerous. Not in a sharp or smug kind of way, but in that quiet, melting way he had — like he could see right through her and was choosing, very gently, not to say anything about it.

“Sure,” he said. “That’d be nice.”

And just like that, he turned back and walked toward her again.

It was a vision. There was really no other word for it.

She busied herself with grabbing another glass, trying to keep her hands steady, but her brain was nothing but static. He was back in the sunlight now, arms crossed casually, watching her like she was doing something far more interesting than pouring juice. She didn’t dare look up — but of course she did. She always did.

And when their eyes met, she knew she was done for.

She looked at him like he was the first man she’d ever seen. Not consciously — but it was in the softness of her gaze, the awe in it. In the way her breath caught just a little at the line of his jaw, the easy way he leaned against the counter like he didn’t know the effect he had on her.

But he did.

He clocked it. All of it. Silently. Subtly.

But he didn’t say a word. Didn’t tease, didn’t smirk. Instead, he looked at her with the same gentle warmth she’d come to crave in the quiet. Like he was flattered. Honored, even. And he took the glass from her hand with a soft, “Thanks.” fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than they needed to.

Her heart was an orchestra.

And when he took a sip and gave her a quiet, “Perfect.” she didn’t know if he was talking about the juice or her.

Probably both.

Without thinking, her fingers gently twirled a strand of her hair, a small, unconscious gesture that she did when she was nervous. Her heart was beating faster now, her palms a little clammy. She tried not to let her gaze wander to him too often, but he was right there, so close now, and she couldn’t help the way her body leaned just slightly toward the balcony, as if she could escape to the fresh air if it got too much.

But in Oscar’s mind?

It was like she was leaning toward him instead, and God, if she wasn’t so shy, he was pretty sure she'd jump on him right here and now. That thought nearly made him chuckle.

Instead, he took another casual sip of the juice she’d given him, savoring the coolness as he observed her from where he stood. His eyes flicked over her in a way that he wasn’t hiding — this time, he allowed himself to take in the little things: the way she bit her bottom lip, how she shifted uncomfortably when he caught her staring for just a second too long. He could see how she wanted to close the space between them, could feel the unspoken tension hanging in the air, and it made his pulse quicken in a way he wasn’t expecting.

She was absolutely gorgeous in the softest way, the type of girl who wore shyness like armor. Oscar could tell she wasn’t fully aware of how much she gave away with every little movement.

And it was... adorable.

“Hmm,” he began, his voice lighter now, teasing. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her eyes snapped up at his words, startled, her cheeks going from pale to crimson as she hurriedly cleared her throat. “Yeah! I mean— yeah! I’m fine. Just, uh—” She cut herself off, taking a step back as if the distance between them could somehow cool the flush on her face.

Her hands were fidgeting now, her fingers brushing over the edge of the countertop like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her body was still leaning toward the balcony as if she wanted an escape, but in Oscar’s mind, it was clear she wanted to do something much, much different.

And then, in the midst of the almost unbearable silence between them, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in slightly, just enough to close the gap between them, and his voice dropped to a soft murmur.

“You know, if you’re nervous or something, you could just…” He paused, just for effect, letting his words sink in. “...say so.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes flicked to his lips and then darted away, as if looking at him for even a moment longer would make it impossible for her to keep her composure.

Oscar watched her, his gaze steady, not moving an inch, letting the moment linger.

It felt like an almost kiss was hovering in the air. He could see it in her eyes — the way her lips parted just slightly, like she was about to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Just as their faces inched closer, the sound of Hattie’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Y/N!” she called from upstairs, her voice echoing down the hall. “Come up here for a second!”

Y/N froze, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. She took a step back, hastily wiping her hands on her shirt, as if it would erase the warmth creeping up her neck.

Oscar, ever the gentleman, only smiled. He let the moment go, but his eyes — his eyes were alive with that same soft, teasing look. The one that was both affectionate and knowing, like he knew exactly what had just happened and was perfectly okay with it.

With a soft shake of his head, a small, smug smile tugging at his lips, he raised his glass in a mock salute before taking another sip of his juice.

“Go on,” he said gently, watching her practically scramble toward the kitchen door. “I’m sure Hattie needs you.”

She fled, her heart still racing as she scrambled up the stairs with her cheeks burning brighter than ever.

And as her figure gradually disappeared up the stairs, Oscar allowed himself to chuckle softly to himself, shaking his head. Damn.

He took another sip of his juice, savoring the taste of it just a little longer as he waited for his mind to stop buzzing.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Afternoon, Oscar’s car.

Oscar was driving, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other adjusting the air. Hattie sat in the passenger seat, babbling about their plans for the evening, while Y/N was tucked quietly in the backseat, lip-glossed and flushed in that way that made Oscar check the rearview mirror more than once.

He wasn’t sure why he felt...tight-chested about it.

Maybe it was the fact that she looked unreal tonight in her denim mini skirt and that floaty top that tied on her shoulders — hair up in one of those claw clips, perfume faint but sweet — and she wasn’t even going out out. Just going over to a friend’s house. A friend with a brother. A brother who Hattie had casually mentioned couldn’t stop texting Y/N lately.

Oscar hadn’t said anything then. But now, as he pulled into the long driveway of that exact house, he felt something cold and slow press into his stomach.

Because there he was — tall, confident, grinning already as he came down the porch steps to greet them. The other brother.

“Thanks for the lift, O.” Hattie said, already hopping out.

Y/N lingered for a second longer. “Thanks, Oscar.” she said softly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror.

He offered a tight smile, nodding. “Have fun.”

But as she opened the car door, her hand still on the handle, he added, just a touch too casually. “Let me know when you want to be picked up. Don’t wait for him to offer.”

She blinked. “Oh— uh— okay, sure.”

“Seriously.” His tone was light, but his jaw was a little clenched. “I don’t mind.”

She gave a small nod, cheeks pink again — not just because of the heat, maybe — and then she was gone, skipping up the steps to where Hattie and the boy were waiting.

Oscar didn’t drive away right away.

He sat there a second too long, watching the boy lean a little too close when he said hello to her. Watched her tuck her hair behind her ear in that way she always did when she was nervous. Or shy. Or — God help him — flirting.

He told himself to look away. Told himself this was fine. Normal. He had no right to feel whatever this was.

But the thing was: he’d never seen her do that for anyone else other than himself.

And it made his grip on the wheel a little tighter.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Late Night, Piastri Household.

The house was still. It was the kind of quiet that only came with the late hours of the night, everything slowed down, shadows stretching long over the walls. Everyone was asleep — or at least that’s what they wanted to believe.

But somewhere in the quiet corners of the house, two people were wide awake.

Oscar had just finished an exhausting training day, his muscles sore and his mind still buzzing. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep just yet, but he didn’t want to risk waking his mom or Hattie, who were both deep into their dreams. So, he quietly made his way to the kitchen, slipping out of his room in his loose sweatpants, hair tousled and messy from running his hands through it too many times.

He wasn’t looking for anything but water, a simple way to wind down. But when he entered the kitchen, there was something unexpected in the air.

There she was. Y/N.

She was standing there, her back to him, and the soft glow from the fridge illuminated her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire house. Her cute VS pajama set, with the lace trim and tiny satin ribbons on the shorts, made her look so effortless, so beautiful, that he nearly forgot how to breathe.

As he reached for the water, he heard her softly shuffle, the faintest of footfalls as she took a step toward the fridge, her movements more fluid than she probably realized. He could sense it before she even turned around. She wasn’t going to just let this moment go. Not this time.

It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t fate — no, they both knew what they were doing. Trying to sneak around in the dead of night, hoping to “accidentally” run into each other.

He watched as she turned, her gaze meeting his. Her cheeks immediately flushed, but there was something in her eyes. A little spark. That same tension they’d shared earlier in the day, that warm, unspoken thing, was still there, and it had only grown.

"Hey," she whispered, awkwardly adjusting the strap of her top as if that would make everything less obvious. But Oscar could see right through her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a little husky from the quiet.

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Yeah…thought I’d get a glass of water.”

The words hung in the air, both of them trying to seem casual as if this wasn’t completely intentional.

But then the silence between them thickened. There was no pretending now. She was staring at him, and he was staring at her, and he realized, with a slight chuckle, that the situation was a bit ridiculous.

“Water,” he repeated slowly, smiling, eyes lingering on her lips.

She couldn't help it. She took a deep breath, her voice coming out more quietly this time. "I...I don't think I need water anymore." Her words hung in the air, and the undercurrent between them was undeniable.

Oscar’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he realized she wasn’t just staring at him because she was shy.

It was because she wanted him. And he wanted her, too.

Without another word, he crossed the space between them.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away as he reached for her, his hands gentle but firm as they landed on her waist. His chest brushed against hers, and for a moment, he simply held her there, letting her feel the steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin under the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Then, slowly — carefully — his lips met hers.

It was a soft kiss at first. But God, the moment his lips touched hers, everything else fell away. She melted into him, her hands slowly rising to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. And that was it.

It wasn’t just a kiss anymore.

It was everything. It was relief. It was desire. It was them finally giving in.

And as their kiss deepened, things started to get heated — the way his lips moved against hers, the way she tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to get closer, needing him. But then, just as he slipped his hands down to her hips, she pulled away.

She took a step back, laughing breathlessly, though her heart was still racing in her chest.

“Wait, wait,” she giggled, her eyes wide in realization. “We’re about to...get frisky in your kitchen...with your mom and sister upstairs?”

Oscar blinked, his chest still heaving, trying to catch his breath. “I mean, if you’re into that,” he teased, his voice rough, but the smirk on his face was pure mischief.

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she tried to collect herself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Oscar, still grinning, wiped his lips with his thumb as he reached for his water again. He glanced at her, eyes soft but playful. “I think we’re past the point of pretending this is a mistake.”

But even with the chaos of their emotions, they both knew one thing: this wasn’t just a moment. It wasn’t just a stolen kiss in the dead of night. This was something real, something worth taking their time on.

And as they pulled apart, their shared smiles spoke volumes more than words ever could.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

After that night, something shifted.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. There wasn’t a grand confession or some big change in how they acted in front of others. But behind closed doors — when the house was quiet, when the stars were out, when the world felt like it was just them — they stopped pretending.

There were 4 a.m. kisses in the kitchen, her sitting on the counter while Oscar stood between her legs, arms around her waist, stealing sleepy kisses between sips of water.

There were soft, secret makeout sessions in the garden under the fairy lights Nicole had hung up years ago, her fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie while they kissed like time wasn’t ticking down on his summer break.

Sometimes, when they really couldn’t sleep, they’d sneak out — barefoot and quiet as shadows — to sit in his car parked just around the corner. The windows fogged up more from their kisses than the cool night air, her legs folded up on the seat, his hand resting possessively on her thigh, neither of them willing to speak about how soon he’d be leaving again.

They weren’t exactly reckless, but they also weren’t as careful as they thought.

One afternoon, after yet another failed attempt at keeping their distance around the house, Oscar kissed her goodbye in the hallway — just a quick one. A forehead touch. A soft smile. She giggled and swatted his chest, whispering, “Stop— someone’s going to see.”

Turns out, someone already had.

Later that day, when Hattie dragged her upstairs for something completely unrelated, she turned around with a raised brow and a smirk that said she’d been waiting.

“So…you and Oscar?”

Y/N froze, her heart dropping to her stomach.

“I— I don’t— what?” she tried to laugh it off, eyes wide, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

But Hattie just burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, relax.” she said between cackles. “Babe, I clocked it ages ago. You’ve been in love with him since, like, forever. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he started looking at you the same way.”

Y/N stared, stunned. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Hattie snorted. “Please. Do you know how annoying it was watching you two tiptoe around each other every summer? If anything, I’m just mad it took this long.”

And just like that, the fear melted away. All the worry, the guilt, the dread — it was gone.

Later that night, when Y/N snuck into the kitchen and found Oscar already there waiting for her, she kissed him with a new kind of ease. One that said this doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.

Still, part of them kept their little moments quiet. Not because they had to. But because there was something beautiful in the way it all began — soft, stolen, and undeniably theirs.

[raekensluver]

Hi! Can you please write something about George and his girlfriend getting into a huge argument ( over what I have no idea🤣) but George gets really mean, they give each other the silent treatment for a while ( not months like a couple of days) then George apologises.

🤣🤣 I hope this makes sense

contains: angst/comfort, established relationship, arguing

george clarke x fem!reader

it had been one of those days. a day that started off with small annoyances and ended in a heated argument neither of you had expected.

it wasn’t even something that should’ve been a big deal. at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stared at the closed door to george’s room. he was still in there, and you were sitting on the couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, feeling the weight of the words you’d thrown at each other.

it had all started with something stupid. maybe it was the fact that you had asked him to help with something—something you thought was simple enough—but he hadn’t even looked up from his computer. or maybe it was the way he had brushed off your feelings when you were venting about something that had been bothering you. either way, it had spiraled.

you had tried to explain, tried to tell him how his actions were affecting you, but instead of hearing you out, george had gotten defensive. his tone had sharpened, and before you knew it, you were both yelling.

"i don’t get why you’re so mad," george had said, his voice rising. "it’s not like i didn’t hear you."

"that’s not the point!" you had snapped back, your own frustration bubbling over. "i’m just asking you to be there for me, george. that’s all."

and that’s when things had gone too far. george had said something that had stung deep—something that cut right through the thin layers of patience you had left.

"well, maybe if you weren’t always nagging me, i’d actually have time to do things!" he’d yelled, a bitter edge to his words.

those words had hit hard, far harder than he could’ve realized in the heat of the moment. your eyes had filled with tears, but you refused to let him see. you stormed out, slamming the door behind you. and that was it. the silent treatment began.

for the next couple of days, neither of you spoke. george spent most of his time in his room, streaming or working on something—anything to avoid the tension in the air. you busied yourself with distractions, trying to find some way to get the words you wanted to say out without fighting. but there was something blocking you—something that felt like a brick wall between the two of you.

you missed him, and you hated the distance that had suddenly settled in. but you were stubborn. you weren’t the one who had started this mess, after all.

finally, it was george who broke the silence.

it was late one night, when you were curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling through your phone, trying to ignore the emptiness in the apartment. the door to the living room creaked open, and you looked up to see george standing there, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more vulnerable.

“hey,” he started softly, almost hesitantly. “can we talk?”

you didn’t say anything immediately, unsure of what to say. you had been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

“look,” he continued, stepping further into the room, “i’m sorry. i was a dick the other day. i shouldn’t have said what i did. i was frustrated, but that’s no excuse.”

you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart ache.

“i never meant to hurt you,” he added, his voice quiet. “i’m sorry.”

you swallowed hard, the emotions you’d been holding back threatening to spill over. you had missed him so much, but that hurt was still there, lingering. “you really hurt me, george,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t get how much those words stung.”

he nodded, his expression regretful. “i know. and i wish i could take it back. i didn’t mean for it to go that far, but i should’ve known better. i should’ve listened to you. i’m sorry.”

you sighed, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment. part of you wanted to hold onto your anger, to keep the wall up. but another part of you—your heart—just wanted him back. you wanted to feel close to him again, to feel like you mattered to him the way you always had.

“it’s gonna take some time for me to get over it,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his again. “but i’m willing to try.”

george stepped forward, kneeling in front of you so that he was eye-level with you. he reached for your hand gently, his touch warm against your cool skin. “i’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised, his voice full of sincerity.

you nodded, your heart finally starting to soften. “okay,” you whispered. “but we need to communicate better, george. i need you to listen to me, really listen.”

he smiled, a small but genuine smile, and nodded. “i will. i swear. i’ll do better.”

you gave a small sigh, feeling the weight of the last few days start to lift off your shoulders. you weren’t fully healed yet, but you could feel the cracks starting to form. you didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that, together, you’d figure it out.

“i love you,” george said quietly, squeezing your hand. “i’m so sorry for everything.”

“i love you too,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “just… don’t forget how much i care, okay?”

“i won’t,” he promised, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. “i won’t forget.”

and just like that, the tension started to fade, and the space between you two began to close. it wouldn’t be easy, but it was a start. and sometimes, that’s all you needed to find your way back to each other.

[ronearoundblindly]

Cozy

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: After months of 'knowing' Alpine, Steve and Bucky get to see, hear, and touch you, the real you, for the first time.

Warnings for subtlety and incomplete discussions. They're breezing over some of the deeper stuff since everyone is carefully trying to get to know each other. Forgive them their awkwardness...and my lack of editing. I stuck very close to my standard of "IT'S JUST CUTE, FLUFFY PUNS" which is likely a warning at this point. WC 1.3k

“You cold? Hungry? Thirsty?”

His forgiving, light hold anchors you in place like lead. Steve’s warmth is radiant, heavy without mass or malice. Somehow the weight of expectant words has you tongue-tied as he sits up at the ready.

He’s whispering a long list of possibilities. “I could get you some water. Or coffee? Or do you prefer tea? Have you eaten anything since yesterday?” He reaches for the untouched pile of clothes on the table, reminding you to tuck the blanket tighter around your chest. “I should have brought you clothes,” he mutters absently.

“And how would you—“ Bucky grunts and stretches his neck without opening his eyes yet “—pick out clothes for her?”

“I got a good enough look,” Steve says simply and instantly. “It’s…a skill from my stage days.” He shifts out from under your legs, blushing. “Dancers talk about their sizes all the time, so…let me get you that water, babygi—oh god, I’ve—I forgot your—”

Bucky snorts. “Know her bust and hip measurements but not her name, eh, punk? Oh yeah, you’ve got your priorities straight.”

“I’m just trying to be nice!”

“I need coffee,” Bucky groans, standing. “Guess I’m still the only one using their thumbs in this house.”

You playfully slap his leg, and Bucky jumps in faux hurt.

“Yikes, that’s worse than your angry-tail…Everyone want food? Great.”

“I can do it,” Steve rushes to help.

Perhaps because you’ve never spoken a word in this apartment, perhaps because they’ve never expected to hear you speak, perhaps because…they really, really want to make you some sort of drink in a human container, the men leave for the kitchen and continue to argue.

You look around at the bizarre and tiny difference in the room from your new perspective. The couch is large and deep but doesn’t swallow you whole anymore. The coffee table is not at a height you need to prepare for scaling. The plants are—still in need of water. Why can’t Bucky keep these things alive without you?!

Your fingers feel cramped, still clutching the blanket, so you scoop up the pile of clothing, wrap the throw around your back and skitter off to the bathroom, horrified to find there are bits of leaf stuck in your hair from last night. Once you see them, the grit smeared on your skin makes itself known, and you can’t imagine pulling borrowed clothing overtop this mess.

Fast as you can, you’re in the shower, scrubbing, willing yourself to finish using Bucky’s water and his shampoo and his soap, nervous about using resources you hadn’t before and never asked about and wouldn’t have needed one-tenth this amount of just yesterday.

You hum to soothe yourself. It’s why you purred even when Bucky wasn’t home. It never mattered before that you did. Then the humming becomes gentle singings. You thought you were still so quiet.

In total, no reasonable food could be completely cooked in the same stretch you were in the bathroom, but you exit to find both men staring from the other end of the hall.

Steve wears an expression of great admiration.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says with a smile.

Bucky frown, looking down at the sweats he gave you. “We should have let you go shopping, Stage Boy.”

“They’re great. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

Both of them step closer immediately at the first proper words they’ve ever heard from you.

“You’re not a bother, doll,” Bucky insists while Steve blurts, “you look great.”

Bucky flashes his pal ferocious side-eye, something you like to think you taught him over the last few months.

“Cozy,” Steve corrects. “You look cozy. It’s great that you’re cozy.”

All you can manage is a shrug and crossing your arms over your chest, maneuvering around the baggy shirt.

“Breakfast?”

The sizzling of something in a pan wafts to your less-sensitive ears, and the impulse to raise your head and sniff takes you by surprise. You’ll be doing that for days, at least, moving like a cat, and you wonder how stupid it must look to them.

You nod instead of reply and stalk toward the kitchen.

Bucky, however, does nod.

“Good girl,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee and stopping mid-swallow. The gulp is deafening. “Sorry…”

Nobody responds. All three of you exchange glances, but they aren’t familiar with your body language as you so Steve and Bucky just end up staring.

“You know what,” Bucky breaks the silence, “I’m gonna get my part of the debrief out of the way.” He chugs the rest of his mug. “You wanna check that, Steve—“ Bucky ticks his head to the growing aggression of the popping pan “—while I say ‘bye?’”

Steve, though clearly annoyed at the dismissal, steps away.

“You okay if he’s here? Would you rather be alone for a bit?” Bucky watches the last drops of coffee wriggle around.

“No, I…”

It’s weird to want so much from them and yet be so afraid of saying so. Yesterday, you could walk all over them, literally, and now treading on eggshells in the same room seems risky.

“How did you know my name?” you finally whisper.

“Well,” Bucky sighs, “I did think Alpine was a cat—your family cat—which you might come ‘round to find eventually. I kept the photo your father handed out, just in case, but…” and this part he goes very, very quiet for “…I’ve made people go missing. I know what it does to families. I want you to be happy here—or wherever,—it’s just—“

He looks over his shoulder at Steve.

You say it for him. “I can’t be cozy forever if I’m always running away.”

Bucky bites his lip. “Damn. Nat was right. You’re one smart lady.”

“With great hair,” you add on instinct.

His laugh is loud and unguarded.

Bucky plunks his mug down, grabs his keys, and turns to you at his dying chuckle.

“May I?” His arms open for a hug, and you press yourself in like you used to fall with your whole feline weight. Bucky nuzzles into your hair like he used to, too, giving your temple a kiss.

It feels normal though you’ve never felt it this way before.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Bucky warns, releasing you to stand straight. “He’s not usually this…No, he is always like this. Heart on his sleeve. He just wasn’t expecting, ya know, you.”

After a quick peek at this morning’s chef, you hold up your hands.

“No claws, I promise.”

Bucky reiterates that he’ll be back in a few hours. Steve yells a goodbye to his friend and makes his own promise to ‘take care of everything here.’

You creep up beside his spot at the stove.

Steve’s smiling. “And yes, I know that includes the poor plants.”

He watches as you struggle to say a deeply important thing, one you’ve meant to mention since last night even in the throws of shock and arguments. It’s stupid. It seems so stupid, but you have to tell him.

He’s so patient, carefully removing the pan from the heat and waiting.

“I…I don’t mind—I mean, I…like when you call me ‘babygirl.’”

You don’t get the boyish grin you expect. Steve’s smile turns subtle, a small gesture that swells into his body and makes his eyes light up.

His hand finds yours, his thumb petting your smooth skin.

“Okay, it’s time for breakfast, Babygirl, then I’ll water the plants.”

[Next Part???]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: This is...all I had strictly planned for this series, so I'm open to more though I've no clue what it would be... Still, I hope you enjoyed!

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[dizzydaisychains]

𝒮𝓌ℯℯ𝓉 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓅ℴ𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃

⊹ ࣪ ˖🍰₊˚⊹♡ pairing: sylus x reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖🍰₊˚⊹♡ word count: 9.5k

⊹ ࣪ ˖🍰₊˚⊹♡ summary: in which sylus swaps his pistols and blades for an apron and a whisk. (or alternatively: sylus secretly takes up baking lessons. chaos ensues.)

⊹ ࣪ ˖🍰₊˚⊹♡ ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65619802

I.

Sylus is halfway through modifying his latest motorcycle when he hears the familiar pitter-patter of clumsy footsteps thundering excitedly down the stairs to the garage. He doesn’t even bother sliding out from underneath the engine to see who it is; just continues to twist the wrench as the footsteps draw nearer and nearer. 

“Sylus! You’ll never guess what just happened!”

Without fail, his lips curl into that stupid grin that only you could provoke, which is a big deal, considering there was a time when Sylus found himself forgetting how to even smile in the first place. The perks of having an incredibly deadly reputation, he supposes. 

“Sylus? Are you down here?”

The sound of your voice; it’s music to his ears. Sometimes, he calls you when he knows you’re asleep, just so he can hear you through the phone. 

“I know you’re down here somewhere. I can smell your cologne…” 

More footsteps, albeit, they’re a little more hesitant. Sylus has no doubt you’re beginning to use your Hunter instincts to find him. He considers revealing his whereabouts, but then again, he’s always loved the thrill of hide and seek, especially if you’re the one who gets to find him. 

But as expected, he doesn’t have to wait long. Within seconds, a pair of Hunter’s boots comes to a halt beside his head. 

“There you are!” 

Sparkling boba eyes come into view as you crouch down and beam at him. Like the sun, you still manage to make even the dingiest of places seem like a five star hotel. Sunflowers and orange coloured skies. Freshly cut grass and cherry blossoms that blow in the late spring breeze. That’s what he sees when he looks up at you. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, a crinkle by your eye as you continue to smile at him. 

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Sylus can’t help but reach out with his free hand to touch your face as you continue to look at him as if he has a secret to tell. 

“Working on a new project?” 

“Something like that,” Sylus hums, sliding out from underneath the engine, wiping his hands on his grease-covered tank top. As he sits up, he doesn’t miss the blush on your cheeks as you take in his appearance, your eyes tracing over his bare arms, the light sheen of sweat on his skin from the hard labour; it makes him smirk with satisfaction. He can’t help himself. He likes impressing you. Dragon instincts and all that. 

Despite his disheveled appearance, you still throw yourself into his lap, arms wrapping loosely around his neck as you playfully tap his nose. Like clockwork, his hands find their way to your hips, squeezing lightly as he playfully tries to bite your finger as you giggle at his playful humour.  Time slows for Sylus when he gets to have you all to himself like this. Sometimes he wishes he could catch every memory he has of you in little glass jars, stowing them away for a rainy day when his world feels like it’s falling apart. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Kitten,” Sylus says, nuzzling against your hand as you continue to teasingly prod at his face. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Well, like I said, I have news,” you say, giving him a lopsided smile. “And also, maybe I just missed you.” 

“Would it be a sin to say I missed you too?” Sylus responds, not even caring how completely and utterly whipped he sounds right now. “Do share your news. I’m curious to hear what exactly has put you in such a good mood.” 

“I got promoted!” you squeal, your hands flying to your heart as if your body can’t contain your pride. “Jenna assigned me Team Captain of squad seven after the success of my last mission!” 

Sylus nods in approval. “That’s quite the achievement, Sweetie. I’m very impressed.”

You give him a shy look, your blush spreading down to your neck. “I mean…I couldn’t have done it without the lead you gave me…if you hadn’t of had Mephisto leave behind the tracks for me to follow–” 

“You still managed to take out three Wanderers by yourself,” Sylus interrupts, rubbing your arms reassuringly. “Fighting off a pack of Wanderers by yourself isn’t easy, especially when there was nobody around for you to resonate with. You had to rely on your own strength. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Overwhelmed by his praise, you hide your face in your hands, which only makes Sylus laugh; a sound that’s rich like velvet. 

“I suppose we should commemorate your big achievement, no?” Sylus asks, head tilting to the side as he uses his Evol to remove your hands from your face. 

“Do you think your chef could make that special peanut butter noodle dish again? It was really good the other night,” you say, playing with the chain of his necklace. 

“You deserve more than peanut butter noodles, Sweetie. Think bigger. Say the word and it’s yours.”

“Why must you always be so pedantic?”

“Because you’re worth more than all the riches in the world to me.”

“ Sylus …” You shiver as his right hand slides under your t-shirt, his cool fingertips tracing your stomach. 

“Let me worship you like you deserve, Kitten,” Sylus says, letting his hands roam where his desires take him. 

The day he doesn’t crave the sweet scent of your skin is the day the world might stop spinning. He wants nothing more than to have his way with you on the workshop table, but alas, he’s also a man of class, and you deserve only the finest mattress under your back as he fucks you. Patience is a virtue, and Sylus is a man that likes to take his time, especially when it comes to pleasuring his beloved. 

“So, what do you say, a little celebration to commemorate your shining moment?” he asks, voice a little rough. God, the things you do to him. He can already feel the blood of lust rushing down to his lower half. 

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” you ask, feigning innocence as Sylus’s fingers continue to wander over your bare skin. 

“Depends on what you want.”

“Well, I have been craving red velvet cake recently. But the bakery across the street from my apartment is closed for a month due to maintenance. What a shame.”

“Duly noted. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still eat all the red velvet cake that Deepspace has to offer,” Sylus says softly, hands sliding upwards to the clasp of your bra. 

“Anything else you desire? I can make anything happen.” He fiddles playfully with the metal clip as you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m also feeling a little greedy today. I think I might need you all to myself this evening,” you say, biting your lip.

Sylus buries his face into your chest and lets out a growl.

“ Fuck, I was hoping you would say that.”

Without a second to waste, he lifts you up, carrying you all the way to his bedroom as you whisper nothing but filthy desires into his ear.

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

Sylus only realises he’s lost track of time after his third orgasm, your hands tugging on his silver strands, begging him to never let you go; that being close to him is enough to make you never want to leave this room. He adores when you’re like this for him, adores your sweet whines and your desperate moans. It consumes him, his greed for you has no end, and he knows you feel the same, especially now, with your legs wrapping around his waist, holding him in a vice grip.

“Sylus, baby , you fill me up so good. Never stop fucking me like this,” you moan, holding onto him for dear life. 

Fuck, Sylus could fuck you like this for days if he could. But he’s not sure you can hold out for much longer. 

He leans closer towards you, caging you in with his arms as he pistons his hips faster. The bed frame shakes as you continue to beg him for everything he has, and well , Sylus can’t possibly deny his darling what she wants. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, Kitten. Always so hungry for my cock. You were made for it, weren’t you?” he grunts, and all you can do is bite your lip as you feel your third orgasm of the night coming. 

“Sylus…I’m so fucking close…” you shut your eyes as he takes you over the edge.

“Come for me, Kitten,” Sylus coos, lips pressing against your neck. 

You cry out as you feel the knot in your stomach unravel, Sylus whispering sweet nothings into your neck as you continue to grind on his cock, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room as he guides you through your high, gently rubbing your clit as you come down from euphoria. 

Not wanting to pull out, Sylus falls back, pulling you with him as you continue to lie together, his cock remaining deep inside of you as you both catch your breath, his fingers tracing circles on your back as you rest your head on his bare chest. Sylus wonders briefly how he got so lucky. He must have been a hero in at least one of his past lives to deserve an angel like you.

Eventually, despite your protests, he pulls out, carrying you to the bathroom and running you both a much needed bath. He makes sure you feel like a princess, your body between his legs and your back firmly resting against his chest as he massages you with a sponge, wiping away the sweat and grime from your soft skin. 

By the time he finishes drying your hair, you’re already half asleep, so he tucks you in and kisses you goodnight before taking out his phone, researching the best place to buy a red velvet cake. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” 

Sylus ruffles your hair as you squint at the faint glow of his phone screen. 

“Are you free tomorrow Kitten?” he asks, zooming in on a michelin star cafe that apparently serves the best red velvet cake around. 

You stifle a yawn. “I think so. Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to take you somewhere.”

“Please tell me you’re not bringing me along for another plane-hijacking scheme.”

“Why must you always assume the worst when it comes to me?”

“Because it’s you . Just because we’re seeing each other, it doesn’t mean you’re not an insanely wanted criminal. All the people at the Nest would do anything to have a chance of turning you in.”

Sylus doesn’t have a witty comeback for that, so instead, he uses his Evol to hold you down while he smothers you with ticklish kisses, your laughter tinkling around the room like christmas bells. 

II.

If someone had told Sylus that he’d be cafe hopping with a Hunter a few months ago, he probably would have told them the odds of that ever happening would be zero to none. He’s a man that likes whisky on the rocks at a rooftop bar, a man who seeks plush red carpet and seats made from only the most expensive leather on the market. Pastel walls and wooden chairs don’t really do it for him, and eating too much sugar makes him feel unfocused in combat. 

But then again, as he looks at you devouring your second slice of red velvet cake in a white lace dress that makes you look like a fairy, he thinks that life has funny ways of changing a man’s disposition. 

“I think this might be the best red velvet cake I’ve ever had in my life,” you say, examining the piece of red sponge on your fork with hearts in your eyes. 

“If you keep eating at that pace, you’ll give yourself indigestion,” Sylus chides, sipping his coffee and giving you a sly smile. 

“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to enjoy the nostalgic taste of red velvet cake. It’s a childhood birthday classic.”

“I never had birthday parties as a child. For my eighth birthday I learned how to use a gun.”

“Of course you did.” You roll your eyes as you push the plate towards him, motioning for him to take a bite. 

“Not a chance, Kitten.”

“How do you know you don’t like it when you haven’t even tried it?”

“I can already feel my blood sugar spiking by just looking at it.”

“So you’ll jump off a plane with no parachute but you won’t try some red velvet cake?” 

A man that is relentless; even if you beg for mercy he won’t spare you. That’s what the rumours say about him, the kind of whispers heard in the corner of a dingy bar. Apparently no one can persuade Sylus to do something he doesn’t want to do. If you try, he’ll eat you, guts and all. 

They’re wrong of course. There is one person who can persuade him. And the proof is here, right in this cafe, as Sylus takes your fork and scoops a piece of red velvet cake into his mouth. 

“Well?” 

The hope in your eyes makes him hesitate. 

“It could use a little more cocoa.”

“So you like it?”

And really, he should just say no, but saying no would mean making your smile disappear, so instead, he grits his teeth and stuffs another piece of sugary sponge down his throat.

“It’s not too bad after all,” he lies, and you clap your hands in delight. 

“I knew you’d like it. See! You’re just a big sweet, softie, really.” You smile with satisfaction as you take the plate back, using the spare fork to finish the leftovers as Sylus admires the way you sparkle in the afternoon sunlight. 

“I wish I could eat red velvet cake every day,” you sigh as you finish the last bite and stare down at the empty plate with remorse. “If someone could make red velvet cake like this for me every day…I think I’d marry them.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“What? Jealous again?” you tease. 

Sylus scoffs. “No. Just surprised how easy you’d marry someone like that.”

“Never underestimate a woman that knows what she wants.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and hold out your hand. 

“Now, which cafe are we trying next? I was thinking of one that sells pineapple cake…there’s one nearby that I found online…”

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

That evening, after Sylus drops you home, he spends the drive home thinking about the weight of your words from the afternoon.

“If someone could make red velvet cake like this for me every day…I think I’d marry them.”

It’s no secret that Sylus would marry you in the morning if he could. But perhaps that’s jumping the gun. However , he is a man that enjoys a challenge when he’s confronted with one. And if the winning result would be your hand in marriage; how could he back down from that? 

Besides, it’s just baking a cake; how hard could it possibly be?

III.

As it turns out, Sylus may have slightly overestimated his baking skills.

Actually, scrap that; he definitely overestimated his baking skills.

It’s not often he finds himself struggling; he built a whole fucking empire from the ground up. No, the word struggle shouldn’t even be in his list of extensive vocabulary, but here he is, three in the morning, covered in frosting and staring at– what can only be described as –a disaster. 

So yes, he’s beginning to wonder if he made a huge mistake as he continues to stare at the toppling mess in front of him. Maybe he was over-ambitious making it a triple-tiered cake, but he had followed the recipe down to a T, or at least, he thought he had. Maybe he had added too much flour? Or maybe it was the baking soda. The cake does seem rather flat. Perhaps the temperature of the oven was too much? He just can’t seem to put his finger on it. 

Not that any of that matters anymore. He sighs as he gives the sad excuse of a cake another once-over. Even the icing couldn’t save his calamity. How disappointing. It’s not often things go wrong for someone like him; he is the leader of Onychinus after all. He crafts plans all the time, heck , he even broke out of the most severely guarded prison in all of Deepspace, yet for some reason, it seems that even someone of his calibre has their limits. 

The door slides open as Luke and Kieran poke their heads into the kitchen.

“Everything okay in here, Boss? We thought we smelled something burning,” Luke chirps as Kieran flicks him the head, sensing Sylus’s bad mood. 

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Sylus grumbles, using his Evol to flick through the pages of the cook book, searching for an answer to his errors.

“Uh…Boss…is that supposed to be…a new form of punishment for our enemies?” Luke points at the lopsided cake on the counter. 

“It’s supposed to be a red velvet cake,” Sylus deapans, to which, Luke sputters out a laugh before Kieran slaps his twin on the back. 

“Not many people succeed on their first attempts of baking,” Kieran says, kicking Luke discreetly in the shin as his brother continues to stifle his laughter under his mask. 

“No need to lie for my sake, Kieran. I can accept defeat every once in a while.” Sylus folds his arms, his lips forming a thin line as he uses his Evol to poke at the crust of the cake. A hollow thud rings throughout the kitchen. 

“Is it…supposed to be rock solid, Boss? Ow! ” Luke rubs his arm as Kieran once again curses him under his breath. 

Sylus scowls, flicking his wrist and sending the cake flying into the trash before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Well this won’t do at all. Buying one won’t suffice either. He’s already made up his mind that something like this has to be special; holy matrimony is on the line. 

“No need to fret, Boss! I have the perfect solution for you!” Sylus has zero time to react as Luke shoves a phone screen under his nose.

“Baking classes with Linkon’s number one pâtissier,” Sylus reads, peering through his glasses at the advertisement with narrowed eyes. “Learn how to bake everything from cupcakes to pavlova in a month.”

Sylus gives Luke a look. Two words to describe it? Severely unimpressed.

“You’re not being serious , are you?”

“Think about it, Boss,” Luke taps his chin in thought. “Miss Hunter said that she would marry anyone who could bake her red velvet cake for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t it be an accomplishment to actually be that man?”

Sylus raises an eyebrow, weary of the veracity of the twins’ information. This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to set him up for embarrassment, though , over time, he’s grown to love their company in the base (not that he’d ever admit it to the two troublemakers of course). 

There’s nothing wrong with accepting help every now and again. Besides, it’s technically upskilling in a department where he clearly lacks skill (plus he’s an absolute sucker for your adorable smile when you eat sweet treats). 

“How do I sign up?”

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

And that’s how Sylus finds himself covered in flour and wearing a pink floral apron two days later, his right eye twitching in frustration as he stares down at yet another one of his abysmal attempts at baking. This time, his victim is a batch of chocolate chip cookies that have somehow come out of the oven burnt to a crisp with the consistency akin to the shell of metal bullets. 

Even his Evol–renowned for its’ infinite power–couldn’t help in this situation. A few of the other bakers give him looks of pity as they ice their immaculate cookies with insipid pastel coloured rosettes. He must be making a rather sour expression; most of the bakers have moved away from his station, only a brave girl with a curly ponytail seems to be brave enough to stay beside him. 

“Your name is Skye, isn’t it? Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she says to him as Sylus tosses his cookies into the trash. “Baking isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Speak for yourself. Yours turned out fine,” Sylus snaps, expecting the girl to back off. However, she remains unphased. In fact, she simply pushes the bag of flour towards him, giving him a look.

“You’ll never improve if you don’t keep trying,” she says, matter-of-factly. 

Sylus narrows his eyes. “Hard work cannot overcome lack of talent,” he bites back, and the girl has the audacity to shrug at him.

“How about we make them together this time, no? Here, I’ll show you…”

A lone soldier; Sylus often finds it hard to accept help from others. But the girl is persistent, and Sylus can only sigh and stir the new mixture as the girl–who is apparently called Ceclia–pours the melted butter into the dry ingredients.

“The secret is to brown the butter. It gives the cookies a richer, nuttier flavour,” Cecilia says, gently folding the ingredients together as Sylus watches. 

“It also helps to bake with love, y’know. Although I’m unsure if someone like you is capable of such…emotions…” Cecilia gives him a sheepish look as she continues to stir the mixture. 

Love. Yes, there was a time when Sylus wondered if he was capable of love too. Aeons ago now, back when horns sprouted from his head and villagers chased him through the mountains with pitchforks. Love is for the weak ; that was what he was told as a child. Love can cost you everything, even your life. It’s an incurable illness. A double-edged katana that leaves scars that will never heal. 

Except, love is none of those things. Love is soft moans in a four-poster bed. A lazy afternoon on the couch as soft fingers comb through his hair. Rose-tinted lips trailing down his neck. A hand that pulls him out of the chasm he flung himself in as punishment for being a monster. 

“Love is one of the few things that life has gifted me,” Sylus says eventually. 

Cecilia sighs, a dreamy look on her face as she stares off into the distance. “Of course, I should have known. No man I’ve ever met has put in this much effort into a class like this.”

A few girls sigh in agreement, giving Sylus wistful looks, their attitudes towards him changing from fearful to longing as they whisper amongst themselves, wondering who the lucky woman could be to have melted his tsundere-like heart.

“She showed me that life doesn’t have to be a maze of thorns,” Sylus says, gently taking the bowl from under Cecilia, beginning to mix the dough himself. 

“The least I can do is bake her a cake to show my appreciation.”

That seems to do it for his audience. One of the girls audibly squeals that this is even better than a TV drama. 

Cecilia beams at him, her eyes glinting with a newfound determination. 

“We better whip you into shape then. Don’t lose hope! Here, I’ll show you how to fold in the chocolate chips so they don’t sink to the bottom of the dough.” 

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

Sylus buys you flowers on the way home from the class that night. Just leaves them on your doorstep and disappears before you can answer the door, the only trace that he’d been there being a note signed with red ink.

To my beloved, 

As the stars burn and the planets orbit, just know that wherever you are, my darling, all I do is dream of you.

S  x 

IV.

Once upon a time; Sylus believed he could do anything. 

With an energy manipulating Evol and an Aether Core permanently lodged in his eye; there’s not much that can really stop him. And even on the rare occasion that something doesn’t go according to plan, his troubleshooting is above distinction level. It boils down to three things really, because most things in life you can either:

a) Fight your way out of

b) Talk your way out of 

c) Stall your way out of

Unfortunately for Sylus though, those three solutions have officially been deemed useless in Sparkling Sprinkles ; a locally owned organic grocers in Linkon, and the only place (apparently) where you can buy–

“I’m sorry, sir. But we have unfortunately sold out of our premium macadamia nuts for the day.”

Sylus stares in disbelief at the cashier as swirls of black and red smoke unconsciously ripple out of his curled fists. 

“ Sold out? But the store only opened an hour ago.” 

The cashier gives him an apologetic bow as he shakes his annoyingly round head.

“I’m sorry, sir. The Linkon macadamia nuts are one of our most popular products, and there’s a little bit of a shortage right now. Our next shipment is due in next Thursday.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sylus takes a deep breath, trying to keep his Evol under control as his mood continues to plummet. Not only does he feel like a fish out of water being in a shop called Sparkling Sprinkles , but he specifically changed his sleep schedule so he could buy the god damn nuts for his miso-caramel apples with macadamia crumble. 

“Are you sure there’s not even fifty grams left?” 

“I’m sorry, sir, we just sold our last few grams to that lady over there.” The cashier motions towards a girl with boba eyes and a bob haircut. 

“ Skye? Is that you?”

So much for going incognito. He should have known a baseball cap wouldn’t be enough to hide his identity. Sylus doesn’t even have time to run as none other than Tara from the Hunters Association starts running towards him, a bag of the oh-so-precious macadamia nuts in her arms. 

It only dawns on him as Tara skids to halt in front of him that if she’s here, that means–

A finger prods his back. He doesn’t even need to turn around, because his senses are already being drenched in the familiar scent of flowers and, ah, yes, there you are, circling him as if he’s an animal in the zoo, because; what the hell is he doing in Linkon in broad daylight? 

“Let me guess; another business endeavour?” you say, eyes playful as Sylus stares down at you with a poker face. 

“Neglecting your post while on duty, Miss Hunter?” Sylus replies. 

“Funny. Even the best Hunters need a break every now and again.” You hold up an iced coffee and a cinnamon roll, giving him a cheeky smile. It irks Sylus seeing that mediocre cinnamon roll in your hands, knowing he could probably make a much fluffier one that hasn’t been sitting in the open air since this morning. 

“Shouldn’t you be dealing with your business endeavors elsewhere? I doubt there’s anything of interest to you in a place like this,” you tease. 

“You’d be surprised, there’s many places where you can find me,” Sylus says ominously as Tara draws an invisible line connecting him to you. He can see the numbers crunching in her head as she tries to decipher if he’s flirting with you or not.

“ Uhhh …Skye, are you here for these?”

The flirtatious tension shatters as Tara shoves the macadamia nuts in between the two of you. If it wasn’t for his skill of composure, Sylus thinks he might have caused the shop’s window to shatter.

“It appears they’ve sold out,” Sylus says, folding his arms as Tara gives him a sympathetic look. 

“You can have mine if you like!” She shoves the bag into his hands, and before he can object, her Hunter’s watch is beeping. 

“Crap! I forgot we have a meeting in ten minutes.” 

Sylus watches as she links your arm and drags you towards the exit. 

“Wait! Tara, I just need to ask Syl–I mean Skye a few more questions–”

“No time! Call him later!”

“Tara let me go –”

But you’re already halfway out the door, and Sylus can finally breathe a sigh of relief as he looks down at the macadamia nuts in his hands. 

Close call.

V.

Leaning against the door of his porsche, Sylus hastily dusts the icing sugar from his slacks as he checks his watch, hoping he isn’t too late. You usually finish work at eight on Wednesdays, and since he’s in Linkon after another baking class, he decided to swing by the Hunters Association building to surprise you. 

Shifting uneasily, he stares down at the box in his hands. Today’s lesson was banana bread, and Sylus has decided to gift the results to you, except, he’s not going to tell you he’s the one who made it. He’s still not satisfied with his skills; but a little practice run wouldn’t hurt.

“Sylus? Is that you?” 

Sylus looks up just in time to see you running towards him, your arms outstretched as you throw yourself into his chest. 

“What are you doing in Linkon? Did something bad happen? Did a deal go wrong?” 

Sylus tuts as he watches your eyes scan his body for signs of an injury. “Why do you always assume the worst when you see me?”

“I can’t help it. You’re always getting yourself into life threatening situations,” you complain, placing your hands on your hips and giving him a stern look. 

Noticing the neatly wrapped box in Sylus’s hands, you raise an eyebrow of curiosity. 

“ Oh? A gift for Linkon’s number one Hunter?” you say, a sly smile spreading across your lips as you attempt to swipe the box, but Sylus is too quick, and he uses his Evol to dangle the box over your head as you continue to try and grab it.

“Such a greedy little kitten. Who says it’s for you?”

“You’re such a jerk sometimes.” 

A soft punch hits his chest as Sylus chuckles, wisps of black and red swirling around the box as it lowers carefully into your hands. Unwrapping the bow, your eyes light up as you peek inside. 

“ Ooooh banana bread! Where did you get this?” you squeal with delight as you sniff the freshly baked crust. 

Sylus tries to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders. “I passed a bakery on the way here. You’ve been craving sweet treats lately, and I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I didn’t fulfill such cravings.”

“No need to look so smug about it,” you huff, taking a slice from the box and promptly stuffing the entire thing into your mouth.

“Do you even chew your food before swallowing, Sweetie?”

“I skipped lunch today,” you say through a mouthful of banana bread. “By the way, this tastes incredible. Seriously, you’re great at finding the best quality version of everything.” 

Warmth fills his chest at your words. He thinks he may owe Luke and Kieran a thank you when he sees them later. 

“Fancy going to see a drive-in movie?” Sylus asks, opening the car door because already knows the answer.

“Depends. Are you going to buy me popcorn?”

“Yes, no, maybe so,” he chides, which only makes you roll your eyes as you slide into the passenger seat. 

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

And it’s not that Sylus finds the film boring; it’s just hard to concentrate when he has you sprawled out on the backseat, your hands working up and down his hard cock as you take a breath before swallowing him whole, your eyes giving him that deliciously coy look the entire time. 

Choking a little, Sylus throws his head back in pleasure and lets his instincts take over, his hips bucking up into your mouth, as if you two are engaging in some sort of call and response. 

“Kitten, you’re so good for me, so beautiful with your mouth full,” Sylus pants, his eyes focused on you and only you. He uses his hands to lean against the window as he continues to fuck your pretty little mouth, the car shaking a little with the force of his thrusts.

“I’m not going to last if you keep spoiling me like this,” Sylus sighs after a few minutes, forcing himself to pull out as he feels an orgasm nearing. 

“I need to feel you more.”

“Yes, Sylus, please. I’m so fucking wet,” you whine, squirming in pleasure as he gently traces his fingers over your wet heat. 

Precome drips from the tip of his cock as he switches positions, hiking up your skirt and using his Evol to slip your panties off as he gently places you on his throbbing cock. You moan as you feel him enter you, the familiar girth filling you up until you’re pleasantly full and rocking your hips, begging him to start moving. 

“Always such a needy little kitten,” Sylus teases, but he gives you what you want anyway, because, well, he wants you as much as you want him. 

The world turns into a blur after a while, Sylus making sure he’s pleasuring you as he chases his own euphoria, the windows fogging up as his breathing gets heavier, soon turning into growls as he fucks you hard and fast against the expensive leather seats of his porsche.  

“Sylus, baby, don’t stop,” you whine as you dig your nails into his shoulders, the pleasure making you see the moon and the stars. “ God, I love you.”

Sylus’s hips stutter at the words, caught off guard that despite the filthy sounds you’re making, you still manage to tell him the words he wants to hear the most. 

“I love you too, my darling,” he whispers into your ear, rocking his hips slowly, making sure you hear him. “I’ve loved you for centuries.” 

He leans down and kisses the tip of your nose, but it’s not enough, and you pull him in for a deeper kiss, coming up for air eventually to give him a pleading look. You don’t even need to say anything; Sylus just knows from the look in your eyes. 

He speeds up his thrusts one last time as you both reach your climax, and when it’s all over, and the post-sex haze begins to fade away, you look at Sylus with curiosity, a burning question on your mind.

“Why are there three bags of caster sugar under your seat?”

“Miscellaneous items. Just ignore them.”

“But– ow! Hey! Sylus! Did you just bite my neck? I told you I can’t go into work with another hickey…”

VI.

Grocery shopping is a menial task that Sylus often avoids when possible; he seldom has time for such mundane errands. He thinks you’re the only person in Linkon who can convince him to push a trolley around a supermarket on a Sunday afternoon, his eyes lazily flickering from one brand of cereal to the next.

“Hmmm…” 

He watches as you examine a roll of frozen puff pastry, tapping your chin as your eyes seem to scrutinise the fine print instructions on the box.

“It’s a shame I don’t know how to make puff pastry from scratch,” you say, a little absent-mindedly as you continue to read the box.

“It’s not too hard, really. You just have to make sure you use cold butter instead of room temperature butter. But I suppose the lamination process of folding the butter between the various layers of dough can be quite challenging in the beginning…” Sylus trails off before cursing himself internally as you look at him, a very confused expression on your face. 

“How…?”

“Cooking programmes,” he says smoothly, not batting an eye. “I’ve been getting into them lately. They’re usually the only thing the cable shows after two in the morning.” Thank God he’s an excellent liar (or, maybe he isn’t, because you’re looking at him as if he has two heads).

“Seems a little out of character for you, no?” 

Sylus tries to remain nonchalant as you fold your arms, suspicion radiating off you in waves.

“There’s a lot of things you still don’t know about me, sweetie. Things that won’t show up in my file at the Hunters Association.”

“Alright, you win. I won’t question your taste any further.” You throw up your hands in mock surrender as you toss the frozen puff pastry into the trolley, giving him one last suspicious look before you continue walking down the aisle, leaving Sylus to let out a sigh of relief. 

That was–yet again–another close call, Sylus thinks to himself, watching as you waltz ahead, seeming to have already forgotten about the whole ordeal. It’s not like him to slip up like that, then again, his biggest weakness is you , so why should he be surprised? Sometimes all it takes is one word from you and he’s falling to his knees, absolutely powerless. He wonders what his enemies would think of him if they knew a Linkon Hunter had him on a leash. 

Lost in thought, he finds himself stranded in the vegetable section until you find him, laughing as you tug on his sleeve, asking him if he wants to go for coffee after grocery shopping. He’s about to say yes until he remembers he’s supposed to be practicing how to whip meringues this afternoon. 

“There’s an auction I have to attend, unfortunately,” he lies, ruffling your hair as you give him your signature pout. 

“Can’t you send Luke and Kieran instead?”

Sylus leans down and kisses your pout away. “Not this time, Kitten.”

“Sylus! We’re in public,” you grumble, pushing him away as you cover your blushing cheeks with your hands. 

“Ask me if I care,” Sylus says with a shrug before walking off, leaning against the trolley as he whistles out of tune. 

“Unbelievable,” you sigh, but you can’t help but smile at his brashness. 

That’s Sylus for you; a man who’s never afraid to show the world that you belong to him and him only.

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

“Boss man! Are you sure you’re the one who made this?”

Luke and Kieran clap their hands excitedly as Sylus places a picture-perfect fresh cream meringue tower in front of them.

“If you don’t believe me, ask Mephisto,” he scoffs, scarlet eyes glaring at the twins as they look at each other and have the actual audacity to laugh. 

“Who would have known Boss would be such a softie when it comes to Miss Hunter,” Luke teases.

Two seconds later, Luke finds his face being dunked into the meringues by a familiar cloud of red and black Evol. 

Kieran howls with laughter as Sylus walks away, a smirk on his face as Luke’s complaints fill the kitchen, his sneezes echoing the marble hallways as he tries to get the cream out of his nostrils.

VII.

It’s not everyday that Sylus finds himself dangling from a helicopter on a Thursday evening, but he supposes it’s something to be expected to happen at least once in this line of work. Somehow the bastards had managed to put an Evol suppressor around his neck, and after being shot multiple times, his healing powers are beginning to wane. It’s not enough to kill him of course, but it’s enough to slow him down. Usually in this kind of situation, he would have used his Evol to teleport somewhere, but the suppressor is choking his powers. 

“I will destroy Onychinus with these protocores!” 

Sylus scoffs as he looks up, only to be met with the scene of a man with a comically curled moustache bearing his teeth at him as he waves his gun around like a lunatic. Sylus cannot believe he has to spend his Thursday night with this buffoon. 

“Onychinus must die!”

“Drop me a line I haven’t heard before,” Sylus sighs, his arms starting to feel heavy as the helicopter rocks violently against the wind. If he wasn’t such a known villain, people down below could easily mistake him for some kind of hero from a comic book, and honestly , this whole situation is ridiculous. He knew he should have sent Luke and Kieran to deal with this. Fuck , it’s not like him to not think things through. 

Or maybe it’s time to face the facts; the baking is taking over his life. 

And shit , that reminds him, he left his victoria sponge cake in the oven just before he left. He’d anticipated the job would only take him forty minutes at the most. 

Annoyed, he lets go of one of the helicopter legs, digging around in his trouser pocket for his phone, which only causes the man to look at him with absolute terror, because what kind of guy just dangles so nonchalantly with one hand on a helicopter leg that’s about a thousand metres above ground level? 

Unbothered, Sylus speed dials Luke and Kieran, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he places his hand back on the helicopter leg.

“Yes, Boss?”

“The sponge cake in the oven. Take it out. I won’t be home in time to do it.”

“Boss! Is everything okay? There’s news reports of an unregistered helicopter flying around Linkon city, and there’s an unknown civilian dangling from the leg–”

“Did they at least describe me as handsome?”

“Wait, Boss…are you the one dangling from the helicopter?”

“Just take the cakes out of the oven. I’ll be back at the base to ice it, so you better make sure it doesn’t sink.”

“Uh…are you sure you don’t need backup, Boss?”

“Just do as I say.”

Sylus hangs up, just in time to see another helicopter arrive; a Hunters Association helicopter to be exact. Just his luck. With them around, he needs to make a quick exit, but there’s a batch of protocores that this goon has, and they are too tempting to leave behind for the Hunters to take. 

But it looks like the Hunters already have their eyes on the prize as Sylus watches with narrowed eyes as a rope ladder lands adjacent to him and a Hunter climbs down, her hair tied up into a ponytail that Sylus knows all too well.

“Having fun?” you say with a cheeky grin as you salute him. 

Sylus gives you a dry look. “Fancy meeting you here, Kitten.”

“There’s a bunch of protocores that this loser is smuggling. Naturally, the Association had to intervene. Some of them are pretty high grade,” you explain, still taking in Sylus’s current predicament. “How did he manage to put an Evol suppressor around your neck?”

“I was preoccupied. You wouldn’t be a darling and press the release button for me, would you? As you can see, my hands are tied here.”

“Depends. There’s a pretty hefty bounty on your head. I could make millions if I turned you in.”

“That’s why you should make a deal with me. Word on the street is that I’m quite fond of them.”

“Anything else you’re fond of?”

“If I told you, you’d call me a liar.”

“Someone has your heart?”

“She has my heart, body and soul.” 

“Sylus! I’m supposed to be working here!”

Sylus smirks as he revels in the way his words make you flustered. He smiles as you press the release button on the Evol collar, the familiar feeling of power surging through his veins as he turns his attention back to the idiot who has seemingly lost all confidence in himself and is currently in the middle of strapping a parachute onto his back. 

“I’m a little busy today, Sweetie. Think you and your Hunters can handle this fool? You can have the protocores as a compensation for cleaning up my mess.”

“What? You’re just giving the protocores to the Association? No catch?”

“I have you, what more could I ask for?”

“Sylus you can’t just– wait! Get back here!”

But Sylus is already free falling through the air, as if he’s flying. No matter how many times he finds himself plunging recklessly through the air, the adrenaline never gets old. He can hear you cursing his name in the distance, but he knows you’ll still call him tonight anyway. 

In the meantime, he has a Victoria sponge to ice. 

VIII.

The late Summer breeze gently tickles Sylus’s face as he sits out on the balcony, glasses perched on his nose, idly flicking through a The Art of Pastry: Volume III as the twilight sky provides a serene backdrop for his reading. 

“Sylus?” 

Sylus snaps the book shut and hides it under a cushion as the balcony door slides open and you slowly step out, barefoot in a chiffon sundress with your hair damp from the shower. Like a midsummer fairy, there’s a faint glow on your sun-kissed skin as you waltz over to him and plant yourself firmly in his lap.

“Why does your house smell like chocolate chip brownies?” you ask as you fiddle with his open collar. 

“Luke and Kieran must be up to something,” Sylus lies breezily, snapping his fingers and using his Evol to summon one of his poetry books. 

“Strange. I thought I saw some sweet treats stashed away in one of your kitchen cupboards.”

“Snooping around for some dirt on me?” Sylus asks, raising a silvery eyebrow. 

“Actually, I was looking for a snack, dummy.” You flick his forehead and move to jump off his lap, but Sylus is too quick, and he uses his Evol to hold you in place. 

“You always play dirty,” you complain, ready to launch a fist attack on his chest, but Sylus has other plans, and he snaps his fingers, swapping his book for a plate of freshly baked brownies.

You clap your hands at the magic trick, making him smile as he watches you dig in. 

“Where do you even find brownies like these? And they’re still warm.” 

Sylus feels his heart swell as your words fill him with pride. Little do you know that these are once again, a product of his hard work. According to Cecilia (and the majority of the class) his  sea salt brownies are unparalleled. 

“Here, you’ve got to try some!” 

Sylus opens his mouth as you slip a piece into his mouth. Yeah, they’re pretty fucking good. He’s tempted to tell you about the baking classes right here and now, but then he remembers the big plans he has. He’s come this far. It would be a shame to let the cat out of the bag after all his hard work. 

“Why are you always so lost in thought these days? You didn’t even complain about the brownies being too sweet,” your soft fingertips brush the loose bangs from Sylus’s face, making him wonder how he got so lucky that destiny blessed him with a second chance to be with you. 

“Maybe my palette is maturing with age,” Sylus jokes dryly.

“You can pretend all you want, but I know you like sweets, no matter how much you complain about them being full of sugar. The base is full of them recently. Marshmallows, salted caramel, chocolate chips; is Onychinus branching out into the sweet treat industry now too?”

Sylus scoffs. “I already have enough on my hands without dealing with opening a bakery.” 

“Maybe when we get old and retire we can open a cafe together. We can even call it Crow and Kitten ,” you tease, but Sylus can see your dreams dancing in your eyes. 

“And what plans do you have for our cafe?” he asks, a little curious. 

It’s hard to imagine living a normal life after everything he’s been through. Given what’s written in the stars for him, just surviving from day to day is an achievement. But as he listens to you talk about growing old together, Sylus is beginning to wonder if it’s a luxury that he can afford in this lifetime. He knows better than anyone how fragile hope can be. But for you; it’s always worth the risk. 

“...and we can serve matcha lattes, and you can use your Evol to help serve the food, and we can set up an area to play kitty cards… hey! Are you even listening?” 

Sylus blinks as you wave your hand in front of his face, a childish gesture, but endearing when done by you. 

“You’re always so far away even though you’re right in front of me. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to fully understand you.” 

Sylus can only gaze into your eyes as you use your hand to hold his chin in place. 

“I couldn’t burden you with my past like that,” Sylus says, holding your steady gaze. “There are  things in this life that I’ve done that are…unforgivable. In a job like this…I can’t always be the good guy.”

“No matter what decisions we make in life, we’re always hurting someone, Sylus,” you say, giving him a stern look. “You can’t possibly believe that everyone has a clean slate when they go to heaven.”

“But what if one day I hurt you, Kitten?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“But there might come a time when I don’t have a choice.”

“Stop that. I hate when torture yourself like this. You talk in your sleep, y’know. I hear your pain.” You reach out and poke the familiar frown between his brows. “And everytime you wake up, I can feel you reaching out, checking if I’m still alive.”

“I can’t lose you,” Sylus murmurs. I lost you once; and it destroyed me.

“And you won’t.” You tap the ruby crow brooch fastened to the strap of your sundress. “See? You’re always with me, and I’m always with you. ”

Sylus blinks in wonder as you cross your heart. You make love feel so simple; so light. Even the impossible is within reach with you by his side. This kind of feeling; it makes him want to stupid things. Fly to the moon? Why not? Quit Onychinus and run away into the sunset with you? It’s not like he has much to lose anyway. 

And he might tell you all this someday. When the dust settles and the Wanderers and the assassins aren’t lining up to kill the two of you; when all that’s left is a set of homemade rocking chairs on the wooden porch that has the footprints of your grandchildren embossed into the grain, maybe he’ll gently whisper all of the things he would do for you into the crown of your head. 

But for now; he just whispers I love you into your ear, like a secret promise. 

IX.

Eyes squinting with concentration, Sylus keeps his hands steady as he pipes neat little rosettes on the red velvet cake in front of him. After eight long weeks, his baking journey has come to a satisfying conclusion, or at least, that’s what he thinks, as he admires the masterpiece in front of him. 

“You’ve come a long way,” Cecila whistles as she gives Sylus a friendly pat on the back. “Who would have known that the worst baker here would actually blossom into a Michelin star-worthy pâtissier in the end?” 

“I suppose it all comes down to natural talent,” Sylus deadpans, but his face shows a hint of a smirk as Ceclia rolls her eyes at him. 

“Always so humble, aren’t you? You nearly burnt down the kitchen three times.”

“Keeping a tally of my failures? How childish.”

Cecilia barely dodges the meringue that Sylus sends flying at her with the help of his Evol. 

“You’d be nothing without all my knowledgeable advice,” Cecilia says, expecting another meringue to be thrown at her head, except it never comes. Instead, Sylus is looking at his cake with a nostalgic expression. 

“In all honesty, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, so in case I forget to say it…” he trails off, giving her an honest bow. “Thank you.”

Cecilia’s jaw drops. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say thank you before.”

“Only people who earn my respect deserve my thanks,” he scoffs. 

Cecilia folds her arms. “Are your standards always incredibly high?”

“When you’re blessed with the best of everything, why settle for less?” Sylus says with a shrug, carefully sprinkling some gold flakes onto the icing of his cake.

“So what now?” Cecilia asks, eyes curious as she looks between Sylus’s pensive face and the impressive red velvet cake. “Maybe you can bake your girlfriend something special.”

Sylus shakes his head. “No, that won’t do. Besides, I already have an idea in mind.”

He turns to face Cecilia, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“A cake like this calls for a pseudo-marriage proposal.” 

X.

Like a revolving door, the change of seasons can become repetitive after a while. A constant game of give and take; each season eventually yields to the next. The same patterns, the same turns in the weather, Sylus has lived through enough lifetimes to sense the changes from even the most timid of nature’s whispers. 

And as Summer bleeds into Autumn–t he season where everything dies –for the first time in this lifetime Sylus feels something other than dismal dismay. He feels something new. And it probably has something and everything to do with the fact that he gets to have moments like these with you.

“Come and get me!”

Sylus looks at you from behind tinted frames, splashing around in the river, the water up to your ankles as you chase the fish, laughing as every attempt ends in vain. 

“Come on, Sylus! The water isn’t that cold!”

Sylus puts down his book and gives you a look. “How old are you again, Kitten?”

He laughs as you flip him the finger, but he’s already taking off his shoes and rolling up his trousers before he snaps his fingers and disappears. 

Used to his tricks by now, you change into a defensive pose, keeping your eyes peeled for the sound of his Evol, the shimmer in the air that is usually followed by a puff of black and red smoke. 

“Think fast, Sweetie.”

You yell as a giant wave appears out of nowhere and crashes down on you, sending you flailing, headfirst, into the water. Cursing Sylus’s name as you break the surface, you look around, ready to strangle him. 

“Stop hiding you coward!” you yell, brandishing your fist of anger in the air, just as a rush of scarlet and black mist swirls around you and Sylus appears a few metres away from you, doubled over as he laughs at your drenched appearance. 

“You are so dead!” 

And all Sylus can do is laugh as you chase him while the sun sets, casting a heavenly glow on your skin until eventually you both end up on the grass, your clothes drying on the rocks as you lay against his bare chest. 

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

Much later, after the sun goes down and the world starts to fall into slumber, Sylus leads you down a candle lit pathway in the forest, his shirt loosely buttoned as you wear his jumper that’s so big, it drapes down to your knees. 

“So where exactly are you taking me again?” 

“If I told you, Kitten, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” 

Sylus smiles as you cling tighter to him, caution in your steps as you try to figure out where the rough terrain under your feet might be taking you. 

Sylus gives nothing away as he flicks away any debris with his Evol, holding your hand tight in his, anticipation pumping in his veins as he leads you deeper into the forest until–

“Oh my God.”

Roses. Hundreds and hundreds of roses. One for everyday that he spent searching for you. He doesn’t know how much he ordered in the end. All he knows is that he wanted to show you his pure devotion. That his soul is for you and for you only. Take me. Swallow me whole. I don’t care, as long as I can live inside your heart, I can breathe. 

“Sylus…” you trail off as your eyes land on the round, candlelit, mahogany table among the roses. In the centre of it all, a perfect triple layered red velvet cake, like a jewel shining in a cave, Sylus’s has laid his heart out for you.

“A little kitten once said that she’d marry anyone who could make her red velvet cake everyday.” 

Sylus wraps his arms around you and looks at you with all the earnesty of a man in love. 

“I’m not saying you have to marry me right now, but…” he smiles as he lifts you off your feet, holding you tight as your legs naturally wrap around his waist. 

“I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes you to decide. Even if you don’t want to get married at all; I don’t care. Wherever you go, I will follow. Until the world stops spinning and doomsday calls; I will be yours, my darling.”

Two pairs of eyes gaze into each other in a candlelit forest. The stars sigh and swoon as they watch two star-crossed lovers kiss beneath them. Forever entwined, their love knows no boundaries. 

And even though destiny has told him that time is running out; your lips make Sylus feel like this life is infinite.

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read chapter 2 here

Chapter 3

Summary : After online bullying you decided to not continue but Eric won't let you quit.

Warning: Fat shaming, body shaming, manipulation, reader lacks bit of a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

You turned around immediately and called Jake but he didn't pick up. It was 5:50 am. You felt the panic building up and it was as if you'd collapse if you won't sit down right then. So you ran back home as fast as you could, you didn't want to go there anymore, didn't want to face any of those people who may have seen her post and read the comments.

You didn't want to face Eric.

For some reason you couldn't stop imagining the worst. Eric and Regina, cozying up together and laughing at all the comments.

As you reached back to your apartment you dumped your duffel bag on the floor before you crawled into the bed, your arm wrapped around Jake's back and that's when you broke down in tears again.

A few seconds later he shifted in his sleep.

“Are you back already?” He immediately sat up, grabbing his phone to check the time..it was barely six.

“Thank god” he murmured as he turned to face you “What's going on?” He asked as he found you sniffling

“Can you just hold me?” You asked him so he sighed and wrapped his arm around you.

A cry baby. That's what he called you. You cried at the drop of a hat. Somebody raised their voice, you cried, someone was rude, you cried, a minor inconvenience and you cried so this was really a big deal for you. You had never felt so humiliated before. You knew that picture would go around, being shared on reddit and tumblr and whatnot as a joke. You didn't want to tell Jake but he'd eventually find out.

“What happened? I asked you a question..” he asked again so you pulled away from him..

“I texted you yesterday that I met Regina Blanc at the gym right?” You said to him as you wiped your tears so he hummed, you could tell he just wanted to go back to sleep as he'd have to be at the hospital soon.

“She was really nice to me..we got to talking and she clicked a selfie with me” tears welled up in your eyes again, he almost rolled his eyes.

“Continue, honeybear?”

“She posted it on her instagram last night..you know she has like 2 million followers.. and they just..they were so mean” you broke down in tears again, scooting closer to feel his warmth but he pulled you away from him.

“What picture? Show me?” He asked you so you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and gave it to him.

As soon as he saw the picture he grimaced visibly.

“Why would you let her post this?” He asked you as he opened the comment section.

“I didn't..she said she wanted to post..I just..-”

“You just what hmm?” He asked as he sat up and began to pull his pants up. “Are you blind or something? Have you seen the picture? What were you expecting really? Like look at yourself and look at her” he said as she shoved your phone in your face before he stormed into the bathroom.

He was embarrassed. As he should be but it still hurt. You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

The phone slipped from your hands and landed somewhere on the mattress, the screen still glowing faintly in the early morning light. Jake’s words kept echoing in your ears

“Look at yourself and look at her.”

Like you weren’t even in the same species as her.

You laid there, frozen, each breath shaky and shallow, trying not to cry again because you knew how much he hated that. But the tears came anyway. Quietly. Shamefully. You pressed your hand against your mouth to muffle the sound as he came out of the bathroom.

“Ask your new bestie to delete it before my colleagues or god forbid my family members get a grip of it alright?” He said as he dressed up.

“Where are you going?” You asked him, voice still broken from the crying.

“Well my sleep is ruined now ..I'm going to the hospital”

“No stay..I'll make breakfast” you sat up immediately but he glared at you.

“I don't think you're in a position to make me anything right now”

You flinched like he had slapped you.

He slipped his watch on with that same cold detachment, grabbed his bag, and walked toward the door.

You heard the sound of the door thudding loudly as he left.

Your phone kept buzzing with new notifications so you picked it up. There was a message from Eric

Eric : You're late

You sniffled before you typed out your response

You : I'm sorry i wasted your time. I won't be able to continue

You sent the message, a part of you wanted to delete it but he had already seen it. Another thing you couldn't keep up with. Jake was right, you didn't take it seriously, no wonder he wasn't too keen on taking you to see his parents.

No Response came from Eric for a few minutes. Why would he care, you thought? You were just a client, another client that stepped into his gym for a day and then never returned.

You weren't really expecting any response from him but then your phone buzzed again. You began making excuses in your head already as to why you didn't want to continue.

Eric : Is it about the picture?

You sat up as you read the message. You weren't expecting that. Not from him. Did he feel bad for you? Probably not. He just wanted to keep a paying client.

You : No

You responded, not wanting him to see how much it has affected but then he surprised you again.

Eric : You don't have to lie

You sighed before you typed again.

You : Well then yes. It's my fault, i looked a mess and i should have told her I wasn't comfortable with it being posted publicly.

*Buzz buzz*

You read the response and he took you by storm again, you were expecting a pitiful response but not this.

Eric : You looked happy

You didn't know why but those three words made your eyes well up again. There was no over exaggeration. He just put it plainly.

You : For a minute i was

You : But then it all came crashing down

You stared at the screen, the conversation unfolding in a direction you hadn't expected. You didn't expect him to care at all. You had already paid for six sessions, he wasn't the one who had anything to lose here.

Eric : Why? Because a bunch of faceless trolls with miserable lives typed out their frustration?

You couldn't help but snicker at the response.

You : Easy for you to say

What would he know? He was Regina's boyfriend, people loved him and then as a couple. He was 6 '4, well built, handsome man with one of the most unique looking faces you had ever seen.

Eric : Might be. Doesn't make it any less true. You showed up to a place even though you didn't feel as if you belonged here. That's courage. Don't stop because some jealous, jobless freaks want to pull you down.

You took a deep breath as you read the message.

Courage. No one had ever used that word for you before, not without the intended mockery. You felt the tears sting your eyes again, but this time it wasn’t shame dragging them out. It was something warmer, something you weren’t used to. You typed the message as you wiped your tears.

You : I just feel like everyone would laugh at me

He responded immediately

Eric : Nobody would. The real world is not instagram, you'd be surprised how many people can only grow a spine behind a screen.

Eric : Besides. I don't tolerate bullying here, it's a safe space for everyone. If you feel like you're being mocked, you come to me. I'll handle it

His answer brought a sudden surge of encouragement in your veins.

His message shouldn’t have made you feel better—but it did. There was something oddly grounding about the way he phrased it. Not soft, not pitying, just matter-of-fact. Like you did belong there.

You : Why are you being so nice?

Eric : I'm not being nice. I'm your personal trainer. It's part of my job to keep you motivated.

You : It's 6:30.. should I come tomorrow then?

You couldn't see it but on the other side Eric's mouth had curved into a genuine smile. That was rare for him.

Eric : Come now if you want to. I'm free till 8

You peeled yourself out of the bed and the self pity to quickly wash your face, then you grabbed the bag and ran out of your apartment.

You reached the gym just before 6:47. The lights were already on inside. You hesitated at the door, pulse thudding a little too fast but then you entered.

As he looked at you he didn’t smile, not fully. But his face softened, and he gave you the smallest nod, like you had passed some kind of silent test just by showing up.

“Twelve minutes,” he said, glancing at the clock. “Not bad”

“I ran all the way” You gave a small shrug, trying to steady your voice.

“Good. That counts as your warm-up.”

You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest loosened.

You’d made it. You were here. And somehow, that felt like a win. You weren't going to give up.

“Ummm I'm still sorry about it” you said as you followed him into the gym area. The black gym t-shirt he had on hugged his ripped physique tightly. If you had any knowledge of anatomy you would have been able to name every muscle.

“About what?” He asked nonchalantly, shoving aside the whole mess as if you hadn't wasted his last hour.

And you were grateful for it .

For the first time in your life you touched the weights, but Jake always told you that he wasn't into the whole muscle barbie movement women were on these days so you were worried about it.

“Ummm i don't want to get too muscular” he rolled his eyes as you said that.

“You think you'll start to look like the incredible hulk after pumping 5 lbs?” he asked. He had a lot to teach you about anatomy it seems.

“No?”

Chest press. Shoulder press. Lat pulldown down. 3 sets of each had your shoulders and arms burning. But he wasn't done with you. You did six more exercises, all of it involving your upper body in some capacity. Much to your surprise you did enjoy exercising with weights much more than the hell that was burpees and jumping jacks.

“Come to the gym tomorrow in the evening or anytime you want” he said to you as you were signing your exit on the register.

“I'm just so clueless without your help” you let out a small chuckle.

“I'll help”

He said to you, you looked at him to be sure he wasn't joking.

“I'm only paying for alternate sessions”

“I know..i said I'll help” Eric said again.

You nodded before you turned to step out of the gym. You were half an hour late for work but you figured you'd make an excuse. On the way to work you called Regina, you felt nervous but you really needed that picture deleted before Jake would get even more upset or god forbid his colleagues find it.

She didn't pick up your call so you texted her.

You : Hey Regina. It's y/n..can you please delete the picture you posted of us? I just don't feel good about myself

You texted her, it was delivered but she hadn't seen it yet.

At the library you kept checking your phone, around 2 in the afternoon you finally got the response.

Regina : Sure

That's all she sent. You didn't know why but it sounded off, you checked the instagram but it was still there. When another hour passed you messaged her again.

You : Ummm it's still up”

She was quick to respond this time.

Regina : Girllllll I am busy :) ? I'll do it soon..i asked you and you seemed fine with it yesterday.

You : Yeah but ..I just..it makes me uncomfortable.

She saw the message but didn't respond afterwards.

You understood that she was busy but it takes a second to delete a post. Why didn't she just delete it?

**********

In the evening Regina entered The Crow at her usual time. Not one single strand of hair was amiss.

“Hey can you sign?” Chance asked her so she rolled her eyes.

“No?”

She entered the gym area and as she spotted Eric she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

“Can we make a video today?” She asked him, he brought his fingers up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I have clients until 8.. tomorrow?” She sighed before she nodded. Her phone buzzed so she took it out of her wallet.

“God why can't she just let it be?” She said in frustration, Eric's brow quirked up in curiosity, usually he preferred to keep himself far away from her Social Media drama until or unless she was being bothered or hurt by someone.

“What happened?”

“It's that girl y/n.. she wants me to delete the picture”

She said, as if it was a huge inconvenience to her.

“Do it then” she looked up at him to match his eyes as he said that.

“Did you see how many likes it has?” she chuckled.

“Did you read the comments?” He retorted immediately as he pulled her away from him.

“Those are just trolls..they have never bothered you when I post our pictures”

She chuckled again.

“It's not about me though. It's about y/n. She feels humiliated by it so just delete it” he said to her, his voice firm “Besides she's a client here. She's paying to get better..not for online bullying..it's bad for the business” he added as he realised he sounded a bit too agitated.

“Fine..I'll do it.. I thought this was cute..she looked fine to me” she huffed as she went to her profile and deleted the picture.

He almost responded with She did but caught his lips at time. Regina wasn't outright mean, she just loved attention and sometimes at the expense of others.

“Done..happy?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around him again.

“It's not about me”

“I know I know.. listen, do you have five minutes?”

She asked as she bit on her lips. He knew that look very well so he smirked.

“I might”

She squealed as she grabbed his arm and took him to the small room in the back where he often rested in between the clients.

********

That day when you reached home and opened the instagram you let out a breath of relief as the picture was now gone from her profile and so were those horrible comments.

“Thank you”

You texted Regina and then you texted Jake to let him know that the picture was deleted.

That night your mom called you, she was chronically online and she followed Regina so she must have seen the photo. You already had a paragraph of text sitting in your inbox from her but you didn't want to open it

“Look I got it deleted so it's all good” you said to her because she was getting hyper.

“Dear God y/n, do you ever think about Jake when you do these things? He's a prestigious doctor for god's sake”

You hummed as she said that before you made an excuse and hung up on her.

Next day at the gym you saw Regina running on the treadmill so you took the one next to her. You couldn't help but stare at her figure, how come she looked like that? You couldn't find a flaw in her.

“Hey..I'm sorry if I was rude yesterday” you said to her, hoping she wasn't upset.

She didn't respond to you but then she slowed down the elevator and took her airpods out.

“You said something?’ she asked you so you repeated.

“Oh nevermind. I was just busy or I'd have done it sooner, I don't get time to breathe-” she groaned as she wiped the sweat from her face with her towel. “You know how it is..brand deals, promotions, events and I gotta post daily vlogs for my fans ..it gets so hectic” she smiled so you nodded

“I get it”

Regina smiled, satisfied with your acceptance of her situation, and popped her AirPods back in without another word. You tried to focus on your treadmill, but all you could think about was how casual and dismissive she seemed as compared to yesterday.. maybe you had pissed her off.

You finished your run and stepped off the machine, muscles still sore from yesterday’s session. As you reached for your water bottle, you felt a presence beside you.

As you turned it was Eric.

“Come with me,” he said to you so you nodded.

You followed him through the gym, past the weights and machines, until you reached a quiet corner with a heavy punching bag suspended from the ceiling. The room smelled like rubber mats and lavender. It was oddly comforting.

“Have you ever boxed before?” he asked, pulling two pairs of gloves from the shelf, you couldn't help but chuckle.

“This one time I wanted to punch this kid in my class but that's as close i have gotten to punching something or someone”

“Good,” he said as he tossed you a pair of wraps first. “These go under the gloves. Protect your hands, knuckles, and wrists”

You fumbled with them until Eric stepped in front of you.

“Here” he said before he started to wrap your hands with practiced precision. His touch was careful. Respectful. His fingers brushed your skin only when necessary.

He then helped you put the gloves on, tightening the straps for you. His hands were firm but gentle. You didn’t realize how tense you were until you felt your shoulders start to relax under his intense stare.

He then asked you whether you were right handed or left even though he already knew.

“Alright” he said, stepping back. “First things first..stance”

He guided you into a fighter’s stance, shifting your feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot behind, knees slightly bent.

“Keep your hands up here” he said, lifting your gloved fists near your face. “Elbows tucked in. Protect your face and ribs. Always.”

You did as he said, mimicking the motion awkwardly. This was something new for you.

“Now the jab. It’s your dominant hand..quick, direct” He stood across from you, one hand raised as a target “Aim for my palm.”

“You won't get hurt?” You asked him so he shook his head, you reached for his palm but you were still conscious.

“Again” he said, calmly “Turn your hips a little. You punch from the ground up..use your whole body, not just your arm”

You tried again. This time, your glove smacked into his hand with more force and made a loud sound.

“Better.”

Over the next few minutes, he drilled you on the jab, the cross, the hook, you learned the names as he went along. You felt like you should be writing it down because you didn't think you'd remember it.. Each time you got frustrated, he corrected you gently. You were still holding back on those punches so he suddenly grabbed both of your wrists and made you look at him.

“Stop thinking about it so much,” he said, his nose flaring in anger. “Feel it. Let the force come from whatever it is that is bothering you” he said firmly so you nodded.

You thought about it. You thought about all the comments you had read yesterday's, your mother's disapproval, the way Jake was so disappointed in you.

And eventually you felt your anger rising up.. When he finally led you to the punching bag, you weren’t swinging blindly, you were hitting with intent.

“You feel that?” he asked, as the bag shuddered under your fist.

You nodded, breathless, a strange satisfaction thrumming through your arms and chest.

Eric stepped beside you, hands on his hips, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

“Should I go harder?”

“Yeah. However hard you need to.”

You kept swinging. Your arms ached. Your breath came in short bursts. But the more you hit the bag, the lighter you felt, like the weight you’d been carrying since yesterday or maybe even before that was finally off your chest.

Eventually, you slowed down, sweat dripping down your temples, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Eric handed you a towel, his gaze steady.

“Take an epsom salt bath when you go home today,” he said as he unwrapped your hands so you nodded. That sounded heavenly.

As you reached the front desk Chance smiled at you so you returned it.

“You had a great workout it seems” he commented as he looked at your sweaty palm so you nodded.

“He's a good trainer..”

“Couldn't ask for anyone better” you nodded as he said that. How he had handled you yesterday, you were starting to believe it too.

“Did Regina leave?” you asked as you didn't see her name in the register, entry or exit. He nodded in confirmation before he leaned back into his chair.

Later that night after your bath as you laid down in bed and opened Instagram. Regina never followed you back even though she posted that picture and tagged you. You couldn't help but open Eric's instagram profile. It was very professional, all he posted was about the gym and his services. He had a few pictures on his grid with Regina but they were all from the gym, nothing personal.

You clicked on a picture he had updated a month ago, he had his arm around Regina as they posed for a picture, she smiled enough for both of them.

And then you opened the comment section, there were few gushing about them as a couple, some thirsting after him, but then you saw some comments that you didn't expect to see on his profile.

Mean comments.

“Regina’s literally carrying this couple. Why does he always look like he just crawled out of a coffin 😭?”

Then there was another one, right under it.

“Our queen could do so much better. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years”

And then more..

“This is what she’s dating? Yikes. He looks like a villain from a horror movie”

Your stomach twisted. You glanced back at the photo. Eric wasn’t smiling, but he never really did, not even in real life but you'd have to be feature blind to think he was ugly in any shape or form. You couldn't stop yourself from scrolling further.

“I don’t care how many abs he has or how tall he is.. that face is tragic.”

What was Reginasbeautifulangel on about? He had such a beautiful face.

“Right out of a tim burton film but not in a good way 😂”

You quickly exited the comments, suddenly feeling sick of these people. You didn’t understand how people could be so casually cruel. You wondered if he had read them. If they had ever gotten to him.

You thought about how motivating he was with you today. How he listened, how he saw you without judgment.

He carried himself with such confidence. Never showed even a flicker of insecurity. But maybe that’s what made it worse. That even someone like Eric..someone who looked like that also had to endure the kind of judgment you thought only people like you received.

You were about to close the app and go to sleep but then a notification popped up

EricDraven92 requested to follow you.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted

[brklynbxby]

“¿Tú viste eso?” he murmured, half in disbelief, half in awe, eyes scanning her face like maybe it held the answer. “I finally beat the stupid thing.” His voice cracked with quiet wonder, wrapped in a laugh that was more breath than sound. The Stitch plush squished between them, a ridiculous, bug-eyed relic of years spent trying and failing. Her kiss landed light on his cheek, but it echoed deep. Deeper than he expected. “I didn’t keep playing for the toy,” he said, voice low now, quiet enough to almost get lost beneath the nearby screech of victory from a kid. “You know that, right?” His hand still rested at her waist, fingers brushing the edge of her leather pants, grounding himself in something real. “It was always about you, Liyana. It’s always been you.” He looked down at her, lashes casting faint shadows beneath the arcade glow, and his smile turned softer.“Años perdiendo… pero valió la pena.” Years of losing, but it was worth it. And suddenly, he didn’t care that they were standing under flickering lights with cartoon eyes blinking down from screens. This felt like the kind of win that mattered. Not because he finally held the prize—but because she never let go of the player. His eyes flickered down to her lips once, his body began to follow the route—leaning closer, caught in that electric hush between impulse and intention—before a small tug at his shirt broke the moment.

A kid, maybe six or seven, stood behind him with wide, hopeful eyes and sticky fingers clutching the hem of his shirt. “Mister… can I have your tokens?” For a beat, Diego just stared, the surreal shift jarring. Then he let out a soft laugh, crouching down so he was eye level with the boy. “¿Mis fichas, eh?” he said, “You got big plans for 'em?” The boy nodded solemnly, eyes darting to the claw machine like it was some mythical beast waiting to be conquered. Diego reached into his pocket, pulled out the last few tokens, and held them up between two fingers. “Alright, pequeño. But only if you promise me something important.” The boy leaned in, suddenly serious. Diego’s voice dropped into a whisper, theatrical and warm. “You have to try your absolute best. And if you don’t win today, you don’t quit. You just come back tomorrow and try again. Deal?” A quick, eager nod. Diego placed a couple tokens in the kid’s hand like they were sacred, and gave him a wink. “Go get your prize, campeón. And remember—the machine only wins if you walk away.”

The token slid between his fingers, its ridged edge catching on calloused skin as he turned toward the claw machine. Neon lights flickered across the glossy tiles beneath his shoes, casting fractured reflections that danced like ghosts from some half-forgotten summer. Rows of plush toys waited behind the smudged plexiglass, mid-sized and slightly sagging from a thousand failed attempts. A Stitch slumped near the corner, blue arms outstretched as if in surrender. Just to the right, a Mufasa sat with regal stillness, golden mane catching the light in waves of synthetic sheen. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Of course she’d pick this game—this moment—to test him. She always had a way of making even the ridiculous feel sacred. Without looking back, he fed a token into the machine. The mechanical whir clicked in his bones. Fingers hovered over the joystick, pausing for a breath, a beat—long enough to glance sideways. The claw descended with a stuttering lurch, metal pincers trembling as they reached for Mufasa. He didn't blink, didn’t breathe, just watched as the claws hesitated, then clamped shut. For a second, less than that, he saw it. The possibility. The win. And somehow, even more intoxicating, the loss. Because either way, she’d be looking at him like this, all lit up in soft pink sugar and flickering fluorescents, as if she hadn’t already stolen every piece of him worth stealing. He could fail, and it wouldn’t matter. She’d still remember. Still remember his attempt. Still remember that he owed her one.

“This machine is laughing at me,” he announced, voice dry, the corner of his mouth lifting as he slid another token into the slot. Fingers poised over the joystick, he exhaled. This time, his eyes locked on Stitch, the blue plush slouched against the side like it had given up on ever being chosen. Years. That damn toy had mocked him for years. Dozens of arcades, claw machines in every service station they’d passed on late-night drives, forgotten change jingling in his pocket like loose regrets. Each time, he’d tried. Failed. Shrugged it off with a joke while she laughed, eyes crinkling like she didn’t mind the losing, like she only cared that he kept playing. But tonight—something felt different. The air had shifted. Not just between the two of them, but inside him, where old resolve lived beside a softer ache he didn’t know how to name. The claw lowered again, spindly metal arms twitching as it hovered above Stitch. No hesitation this time. He moved like he knew what he was doing, like this wasn’t the thousandth attempt, like the universe had finally decided to let him have one win. A metallic click. The soft lift of fabric. The claw didn’t drop it. Didn’t twist or stutter or mock him with a false grip. It held. And when it reached the chute and Stitch tumbled down in a slow, victorious somersault, Diego just stood there for a moment. Silent. Watching the toy settle with an anticlimactic bounce, like it didn’t realise it had just undone years of failed tries and missed timing. He bent down and picked it up, brushing dust from its oversized ear. The fabric was cheap, the stitching imperfect—but his fingers curled around it with a strange sort of reverence. Finally. Turning toward her, he held it out, not saying anything at first. Just letting the moment speak in the silence between them. Letting her see it for what it was—not a toy, not a prize, but proof that he never stopped trying.

[redvelvetcoffeeandkisses]

Unpopular opinion…

I actually really enjoyed tonight’s episode. I think everyone needs to take a step back and recognise that even if you aren’t happy with the writing, it was an objectively good episode.

The pacing was great, and I thought it wasn’t the biggest thing on my mind while I was watching, the actual technical aspects were just as on point as they always are.

The cast did a wonderful job, but they always do so it’s not really much of a surprise.

I understand why people are upset, and would have loved even a hint that Bobby was still with us just hidden in a lab somewhere. But I really didn’t go into the episode expecting it, and maybe managing my expectations has helped with my opinion.

Nothing that happened was that unexpected to be honest though. Eddie was never going to stay in Texas permanently (and Buck never intended to stay in the house permanently), once Hen made it clear that she didn’t want to be Captain the next choice was always going to be Chim, Madney naming the new baby after Bobby was the predictable outcome (even if I don’t personally like it). Hell, even Athena selling the house isn’t at all surprising - Bobby and Athena made it clear they were downsizing in 8x14, and without Bobby there to fill the space with her there really isn’t much sense in having a house that big, not to mention the emotional implications of living in the house they built together without him.

Despite all the press this week (and I’ll discuss that in a bit), Buck and Eddie really aren’t yet in a place where Buddie makes sense. They’re both still dealing with their grief over Bobby being gone, and at this point in time Eddie is still straight. I still believe that it will happen eventually, but it’s going to take time. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying if it happened now without getting to see Eddie come to terms with his sexuality and what that means, without Buck recognising that actually he does love Eddie, he just didn’t think he was allowed. Give us a chance to see them build a solid relationship together and make the conscious, intentional choice to move in together, rather than Buck just not moving out because it’s convenient (and they were roommates works in fanfic, less so in a network TV show).

Ok, now my thoughts about the press this week… I’m not claiming to be an expert on the in’s and out’s of marketing a network TV show, nor do I claim to have any idea what the motivation behind all the press was.

Yes, it was a lot. But I think it’s important to remember that while this is the show’s 8th season overall, it is only the 2nd season at ABC/Disney, and if the intention is to drive new viewers to the show, this is seems like a great way to do it. The network has already renewed for season 9, and I remember reading somewhere that the network has no plans to cancel anytime soon. Surely ensuring they are not only retaining the current audience, but also picking up new viewers, is top priority.

I also think it’s too early to call queerbaiting on the Buddie front for all of the reasons I mentioned above - it’s just too early to tell. If there has still been no progress by the end of next season, we can reevaluate.

If you’ve stuck out my probably incoherent rambling this far, thanks 🥰. I would love to hear people’s thoughts, but please keep it respectful.

[unlimitedlust]

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 8 (+18)

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Heeyy dears!!! I’m finally back from making one of my dreams come true and, as promised, here’s the continuation of the story!!!

I wrote this next part entirely listening to “Dangerous” by Sleep Token because it fits so much in my head, so if you want to listen to something while reading, this is my suggestion for you.

I hope you like this next part, I tried to bring up his perspective like @a-differentbrandof-beans suggested (thank you so much, beautiful)...

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know your thoughts and suggestions, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @witchofozz @wiseyouthinfluencer @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

End of Author’s note.

Y/N blinked into the soft morning light streaming through unfamiliar curtains, as she laid naked and half-covered by a black duvet she didn’t recognize. The only thing familiar was his smell, clinging to the pillow, the sheets and the still warm imprint of where he’d slept beside her.

She sat up slowly, the duvet tugged over her chest, and immediately felt it, the soreness between her legs as her body reminded her of the night before even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Last night was… Well, she couldn’t think of a word strong enough to describe it, but it was like she could still feel it, her body tingling with the memory of all the places he’d touched her, all the places he’d been in her.

Their so-called truce should’ve never gone that far. 

What the hell had she done?

But she knew exactly what she’d done. What they’d done. Over and over again. Bent over the couch, pinned against the wall, in his bed.

She was supposed to hate him, to despise him. That was always the whole point. Hating him was easy and made sense.

But as much as she hated to admit, he had fucked it out of her. And now, she was in trouble.

It wasn’t just a wild night of sex, she knew that. She’d had those before and none got slightly close to the turmoil Eric had stirred inside her.

Fuck. She wanted more. She craved for more.

Her gaze drifted around his bedroom. It was tidier than she’d expected but it did match his annoying personality.

She rubbed at her temple as she tried to process her thoughts. This wasn’t who she was, she needed to get up, get dressed and leave, that’s all. She’d done that before, no big deal.

But still, her body didn’t move.

Not until the sound of water running reached her ears from across the room. The door was slightly open, he was in the shower.

A flicker of memory surfaced, their small feud back at the lake house and how mad she was at him at that moment.

A small smile tugged at her lips and without fully thinking her legs carried her out of bed, one quiet step after another towards the bathroom.

She opened the door slowly, warm steam fogging her vision and the mirror on her left as she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse of him, his back turned to her, head bowed under the water spray as he just let it run over his body. 

Eric seemed to be so deep in thought he didn’t hear her getting close, not even opening the glass door to join him.

He was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to let her go now.

He’d spent years pretending this thing with Y/N wasn’t real. Since high school, he’d written it off as boredom, as a way to kill time. Teasing her, provoking her, pushing every button she had just to get a reaction out of her.

He’d told himself it was a game. That the way his heart kicked whenever she snapped back at him, whenever she rolled her eyes or smirked like she had him figured out, that it didn’t mean anything.

But even then, he’d known better.

There’d always been a spark in her eyes that didn’t quite match the hate in her voice. And maybe that was what kept him hooked. Delusional or not, he saw something there.

As life happened and they followed their own paths, he convinced himself she was just a weird high school obsession.

But that was before the wedding.

Before she waltzed back into his life like a knife twisting in his chest. 

She still had the same smile, the same sassiness in her eyes, and still blushed every time he stole a glance. She was still the same, and yet entirely new.

She was a woman now. A fucking gorgeous one.

And suddenly it wasn’t a high school obsession anymore. It was worse, deeper. She’d carved herself into the space behind his ribs without even trying.

He’d barely slept for weeks after that night and their weekend together at the lake house. He kept replaying every second of her, how she looked, how she smiled, how she flushed every time she caught him watching her, how she failed to pretend he didn’t also affect her somehow.

He told himself it was just a phase. Just nostalgia. 

But then he saw her again at that bar, with a date.

And it was like something primal had taken over: rage, jealousy, possessiveness. He didn’t even see the girl on his own arm anymore. All he could see was Y/N with someone else. Laughing at someone else’s jokes. 

And now, after everything, after last night, after finally touching and tasting and feeling everything he’d dreamed about for years, he was frozen.

Because he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. He didn’t want it to be just a one-night-only truce. He wanted more. But wanting her the way he did meant cracking himself wide open. It meant giving her the power to destroy him. 

And that scared the shit out of him.

Eric had never felt anything like this before. Not even close. And now he was lost, completely and helplessly lost, like a ship in thick fog, chasing the faint glow of a lighthouse he wasn’t sure he deserved to reach.

He exhaled, chest tight under the stream of hot water, letting it pound against the back of his neck like it could wash away the mess in his head. He didn’t hear the door behind him open. Didn’t register the shift in air or the extra steam curling around him.

Not until he felt the warmth of her body pressing against his back, the soft brush of her hands running over his abs as she hugged him from behind.

His breath caught and suddenly all that noise in his head, the panic, the doubts, the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing, just stopped. She was here, with him, it wasn’t just a dream.

He spun around. His hands immediately found the curve of her waist and her arms snaked around his neck. She tilted her chin up and he met her halfway, crashing his mouth against hers with a hunger that hadn't cooled overnight. It was messy and deep, all tongue and heat, her lips parting easily beneath his as he pulled her impossibly closer.

His fingers dug into her waist, and her nails grazed the back of his neck, sending a tremor straight through him. There was no space left between them, just wet skin and steam and the electric pulse oozing out of them.

He kissed her like he was drowning in her. Like the only way to breathe was to taste every inch of her.

When she finally pulled back, lips red and kiss-swollen, she whispered against his lips:

“I hope our truce isn’t over yet.”

And he could only hope she didn’t feel the way his heart skipped a beat.

He couldn’t speak at first. All he did was stare at her, into her eyes that still held that sharp fire, now softened by steam and sleep, into the gentle flush on her cheeks, the way her wet lashes clung together, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

“Not a chance,” he finally said, voice rough.

He kissed her again, but slower this time. Less desperation, more passion. He trailed his mouth down her jaw, over her neck, letting his hands roam over her slick, perfect body as he pressed her gently against the shower wall.

She sighed into his mouth, her fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging lightly, grounding him even as he felt himself slipping, losing all sense of reason where she was concerned.

He wanted her again. God, he was already so hard for her again.

His hand slid down between them, between her thighs, fingers brushing lightly against her heat, until she hissed softly, her reaction making him stop and pull back an inch.

Her eyes fluttered open, brows drawing slightly together even as she tried to pull him closer again.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, voice thick with want, her hips rolling subtly into his hand despite the wince.

But he shook his head gently, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You’re sore,” he said softly, lips brushing her skin. “I don’t wanna hurt you just to have more of you. I can wait.”

He pulled her into his arms instead, resting his forehead against hers again, letting the water wash over them both.

Because as much as he wanted her, he realized now that having her meant a lot more than just taking. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, letting the hot water cascade over their bodies.

Eric dipped his head to press a kiss to her temple, then reached for the small bottle of shampoo on the ledge. Without a word, he gently nudged her back a little and tipped her chin up so the water could dampen her hair. She looked at him, soft and curious, but didn’t resist, just let him take care of her.

His fingers threaded into her scalp, slow and tender, massaging the suds into her hair like she was something breakable. Like she deserved to be worshipped, not just desired.

Y/N closed her eyes with a small sigh, leaning into his touch, and he watched her, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the faint smile playing on her lips. He’d never done this before. Not like this. Not for anyone. And definitely not without an ulterior motive.

But this wasn’t about seduction. This was just… Her.

Eventually, he kissed her again, soft and unhurried, and whispered, “I’ll get out first. Let you finish. Take how long you want and use whatever you want.”

She gave a small nod, lips still pink and wet from his, eyes barely open and a soft blush tinting her cheeks.

Eric stepped out of the shower, running a hand through his damp hair as he reached for a towel. He dried off quickly, his mind still buzzing with everything she made him feel, the quiet ache of wanting to hold onto whatever this was for a little longer.

It was too good. Terrifyingly good.

As he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot into the kitchen, his phone buzzed from the counter. He glanced at the screen.

Liam (2) missed calls. Incoming.

He sighed and answered, even though something in his gut warned him not to.

“Took you long enough!” his brother’s voice crackled through the speaker, light and teasing, yanking him out of the soft fog he was still wrapped in from the shower.

“I was busy.” Eric muttered, already regretting picking up.

“Damn. You sound like shit. Rough night or good night?” Liam laughed.

Eric smirked automatically, muscle memory taking over like a reflex. His guard snapping back up before his mind could catch up with what his heart was still feeling. “What do you think?”

“Ohhh.” Liam’s tone turned playful. “So who’s this? Anyone I know?”

And then it happened. That familiar, awful instinct. The old armor sliding back into place. The default setting, the one that kept everyone out, the one that told him to minimize, deflect, hide. The one that didn’t let anyone in, that couldn’t let anyone know she means something.

He leaned against the counter, voice cold and easy. “No one important. Just another hook-up.”

Silence. Even Liam didn’t laugh this time, he could sense his brother’s uneasiness through the phone. 

“Are you sure?” his brother asked carefully, like he could hear the lie in his tone. Like he already knew.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because that’s when he turned and saw her, standing frozen in the doorway, hair damp, wrapped in one of his towels. And she’d heard every word.

Her eyes weren’t wide with shock or narrowed with anger. They were blank.

Completely, terrifyingly blank, and that gutted him more than if she’d screamed.

Like something had snapped clean inside her. Like he’d finally managed to cut whatever thread had been holding her close, whatever fragile, unexpected connection had started to form between them in the last twelve hours.

“Shit,” he muttered, lowering the phone, voice hollow now. “Wait, Y/N, it’s not what…”

But she was already moving fast, like touching the floor burned her feet.

She yanked the towel off her head and began grabbing her clothes, the skirt crumpled on the floor next to her heels, her inside-out top on the counter. She moved like she couldn’t get out of his space fast enough.

Eric started towards her, heart punching against his ribs, but stopped cold when she finally looked at him.

There was no fire in her eyes. No anger. No witty jab.

Just hurt. Raw, unfiltered hurt.

And it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever seen.

She slipped her skirt on and the top over her head before she bent to grab her shoes.

“Y/N…” he tried again, but she straightened, stopping him in his tracks.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said, voice low but steady. “I almost forgot who you really were.”

Eric flinched like she’d hit him, but she wasn’t done. She slipped her heels on, ran a hand through her damp hair, and looked at him one last time.

“You know…” she added, her voice cracking just slightly at the edges, “you almost had me.”

A bitter smile curved on her lips, the kind people wear when they’re trying to keep themselves from falling apart.

“Almost.”

[sturns-mermaid]

TAMING THE OFFICE BRAT pt. 2

masterlist | part 1 | matt ver | not prof read

I'm not responsible for what you consume on the internet; read at your own risk!

📎 wc: 1.3k

Previously on taming the office brat...

You stand outside his office door for a few moments, taking a deep breath, and it looks like no one has noticed your absence. Thank god, or else you would never live it down, you make a quick promise to yourself to never do something like this again. But the small smile that appears on your face makes you second-guess yourself when the printer finally starts printing the paper. “Great, how will I give this to him?” you say, holding the stack of paper in your hands.

WARNINGS: bratty assistant reader x rude boss chris, dom chris x sub reader, tension, use of nicknames, elevator sex, angst?

“Great, how will I give this to him?” you mutter, holding the stack of paper in your hands.You scowl. The last thing you wanted was to go back into his office- face him again- no matter how much your body still buzzed from his touch.  Instead, you headed back to your desk and set the papers in one of the many folders cluttering the surface. A glance at the clock tells you it's almost lunch. Thank God. You needed air. Space. Time to figure out how you were supposed to look Chris in the eye after that.

You made your way to the lounge room to get the container of leftover pasta you had packed for lunch out of the fridge. Making sure to hurriedly pass by his office in the process, hoping he didn’t see you. Little did you know, Chris wasn’t in his office; he was in the lounge room warming up a container of pasta in the microwave. Your pasta. As you walked towards the breakroom, the smell of pesto lingered in the air, which smelled oddly familiar, almost like the pasta sauce you used the night before for dinner.

That’s when you saw Chris walking out of the lounge with your pink tupperware in hand and eating bitefuls of your lunch. “What the hell?” you questioned, your voice coming out louder than you expected, causing him to stop in his tracks.

You stormed towards him, watching as he raised an eyebrow at your actions. “Why are you eating my pasta?” you question, hands on your hips. He let a loud groan roll through his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Let me make it up to you,” he smirked, still holding the container in his hand. You could help the soft gasp that left your lips. “Whatever,” you mumbled, deciding to give up before he realized just how much those words affected you.

Behind you, you can feel his eyes still on you, tracking every sway of your hips. You grab your lunch bag and pretend not to feel the heat of his gaze on you as you storm back to your desk. Your stomach growls in protest. Thanks to him, you're now hungry and annoyed. Moments later, the sound of footsteps approaches your desk. You don’t have to look up; you know it’s him. You feel him before you see him; his presence always does that to you.

“Hey,” Chris says, setting something down on your desk. You glance up. It's a takeout container, still warm, steam rising from the bag. “I figured I owed you,” he adds, shrugging like it’s no big deal. You eye the container suspiciously. “Is this poisoned?” He laughs. “Only a little. You like Chinese, right?” Your hesitant lips twitching despite yourself. “Lucky guess,” you mutter. Chris lingers for a second too long, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to figure out what you think. Then he nods back. “I'll be in my office,” he says, finally walking away.

You watch him get a confusing knot forming in your stomach. You hated how easy he made you forget about boundaries. You turn your attention back to the takeout box, lifting the lid of the container and seeing your favorite dish. Damn it. You glance towards his office and the door is cracked open just enough for you to catch the top of his head. He’s pretending not to look, but he is; he can’t take his eyes off you. You sigh, grabbing a fork. This was about to get a lot more complicated. 

A few hours later, the office was dying down, and the rest of the employees staggered out of the building and down to the lobby. You glance at the clock at 7 pm. You know you should be leaving, but you can’t. It’s like you’ve been stuck this whole time, pretending to be busy when all you can do is reread the same email over and over again. The lights dim over the office, casting a warm glow on your surroundings, and when you notice Chris walking out of his office, briefcase in hand. “Still busy?” he asks, looking up at you as he approaches your desk. Something shifted in the air.

You tried not to notice how good he looked in the low lighting; the way his sleeves were rolled up, how the shadows framed his jaw. For once, your usual snark didn’t come. You cleared your throat, looking away, unsure of what to say.  You stand up from your desk chair, still not saying anything, your throat suddenly feeling dry, you brush off your skirt as you gather your things to leave. “Wait…” Chris says, grabbing your wrist as you're about to head into the elevator. 

You don’t know you ended up in this position, not even halfway down the elevator floors, and you both already had your hands all over each other. Chris kept glancing at you out of the corner of your eye, watching as you tried to avoid his gaze. “Think you can just ignore me?” he said, tilting his head as he finally faced you.

Your breath caught. He stepped closer. You backed into the wall, your eyes locked on his. And then you couldn’t take it anymore.

You crashed your lips onto his. His hand slid to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as heat bloomed between you. “Fuck…” he muttered, lifting your hips slightly so your legs wrapped around him. “Such a naughty fucking girl,” he whispered, trailing kisses down your neck. The small space was filled with soft moans and shallow breaths as your hands fumbled at his belt. You didn’t know what had come over you; maybe it was the late hour, the silence of the building, or the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

But something changed in that elevator that night. 

His hands start to explore you like he’s memorizing every inch, not rushed but hungry, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’d admit. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your back contrasts with the warmth of his body pressed against yours. Each kiss deepens, less careful, like he’s losing control each time your lips meet. The elevator shudders slightly as it continues to descend through the floors, but neither of you cares. You’re not even sure what floor you're on anymore, or if the world outside even exists. All you know is the weight of his hands, the rasp of his voice.

The way your heart pounds against your chest like it’s trying to reach his. “God,” he breathes against your lips, forehead pressed to yours. “You drive me crazy.” You let out a breathless laugh, barely audible between the shared kisses. “Took you long enough to do something about it.” His hands linger on your hips as he slowly lifts your skirt higher, his hand slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties to the side.  He lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your arousal, teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes. And then, he pushes in. You gasp, your whole body tightening around him as he fills you.

“Fuck…” you whisper, clutching his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world Sliding his tip through your wet folds, spreading your slick before pushing inside you. You whimper as he finally sinks into you, the ache of wanting him washing over you, too much, too good, too real. He groans into your neck, thrusting into you with slow, deep thrusts. His grip on your hips is possessive, anchoring you to him. You don’t want to let him go.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grits out his breath fanning over your ear hips snapping against yours. “So fucking tight, clenching aorund me like you need it.” your nails dig into his shoulders, depserate for something hold onto. He’s all over you, hands, voice, and body breaking you apart and putting you back together in every movement.

“Say it,” he growls, setting a punishing pace. “Say you wanted this.” You cry out, eyes squeezing shut, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I wanted it-I wanted you.” He smirks, slamming into you harder. “Good girl.” 

note: FINALLY

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws @/inklore

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @scorpio1205 @brianna-grace12 @mattsplaything @courta13  @conspiracy-ash  @anyaa2s   @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @sirensdollesque @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory  @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns @lezleeferguson-120 @sturnsflirt @sturnsblogs @fratbrochrisgf @mi-co-uk @sturniolohohoho @vanteguccir @bbgirlmatt @tezzzzzzzz @nodoubtily @applecidersturniolo

[jyndor2]

I can understand all too well the feeling of finding unexpected solace in a piece of media and then hurting and not being able to just stop caring as its very avoidable, franchise-y fate unfolds in front of your eyes, whatever that may be. It's honestly even worse when the majority of a large fanbase keeps telling you it's not a big deal. I guess expectations really are the trap here, but even knowing that...sometimes a feeling just keeps sucking and you wish it didn't. Thank you for sharing the ways Rogue One has inspired you! I also find it - and S1, oof - to be a source of hope and catharsis. I can't help but think that this fandom truly is the story's legacy - the message was sent out years ago, and it's clear that it resonates even beyond the intentions and limitations of those who created it.

Anon, thank you so much. That really means a lot to hear. Yep. Sometimes we need to just sit in the shit for a bit until it passes.

But also like the film will never not stop meaning what it means to me. I still don't think that what I and others took away from it is wrong, it works - it's moreso the gross way that people are stuffing jyn to the side. Acting like shes a side character. When in the end this is a character who has been left behind her whole life, and in rogue one she found her family and her purpose. For the fandom to kind of collectively shove her to the side feels very, very personal - even if this is just a movie and just a story and just a character.

Expectations really are the big trap. Long ago I learned to set reasonable expectations but I guess I didn't fully learn that for all things. Lessons learned.

And I will say, I reject the idea that Andor is what the creators of Rogue One always intended. Tony Gilroy is ONE person who worked on the film at the end. He did a lot! But he isn't speaking for anyone else, not Gareth Edwards, not Gary Whitta or Chris Weitz, not John Knoll - who said he wanted a female protagonist for his three daughters - not anyone else. He is one guy. A talented writer but just one person.

[askfordoodles]

felt so euphoric to be able to come out as nb/trans in Veilguard, loved the added dialogue they took the time to write and record just for such scenarios

now can we PLEASE make a game where u can explicitly, verbally come out as ace, and also without it automatically locking you out of the romance path

pls bioware (and other companies) some of us are STARVING

[ophierian-vp]

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[lights-at-night]

gender euphoria moment ! rare morgan w

[cementcornfield]

the way i know it's taking everything in him not to say some ridiculous comment to the press rn 😭

[that1notetaker]

Question for the neurodivergents--I might go to a nightclub tomorrow, which I've never done before because I'm a nerd, and I'm a little worried about the sensory bits--Especially with everything being pretty loud lately since I began heavy unmasking. So long story short, do you have any recommendations/tips not to end up a ball on the floor?