#just because something is shared in a fandom setting

[tamayula-hl]

I've received several DMs that say things like:

"That artist in the fandom quit because you copied her art style."

"You’re the one who killed her motivation."

"I can’t believe more people aren’t calling you out."

"You should go back to your original style."

In response to these messages, I’d like to take a moment to carefully explain the history of my art style and how it has evolved over time.

The first image has already been shared on my side blog—it's a sex-themed gag comic I drew around 2013. (It was originally posted on DeviantArt, timestamped Jun 20, 2013.)

The second is a one-page sexual comedy I drew in 2020. It was also uploaded to my Pixiv account (under a different username) on October 2, 2020. I prefer not to publicly share that account, but if you’d like to confirm the timestamp, feel free to DM me.

As you can see, I’ve been drawing this type of work—“silly NSFW comics in a Japanese manga style,” using “pastel, soft colour palettes” and “short, one-page formats”—long before I ever joined the Hogwarts Legacy fandom.

In other words, drawing “sexual content in a comedic tone,” using “a cute art style to depict sweet but dumb couples,” and creating “self-contained comics with clear setups and punchlines” has always been a core part of my creative identity.

However, when I first got into Hogwarts Legacy—a story set in Victorian-era Britain—I wanted to try drawing in a style that better matched the mood of the world: something more subdued and atmospheric. At the same time, I saw another artist already succeeding in the fandom with a soft pastel, manga-inspired style similar to mine. I felt afraid of being compared to them, and anxious about my own lack of skill being exposed. Because of that, I distanced myself from my original style for a while and tried my hand at more realistic rendering and serious, moody art (up until around December 2024).

But earlier this year, that artist released a sexual comedy comic that received a huge positive reaction on Twitter. The execution was so polished that I was genuinely stunned—and deeply drawn to it.

The way it teased sexual content, balanced comedy and cuteness, and managed to stay tasteful despite the theme... it was all incredibly refined. And honestly, I couldn’t help but admire that success. I found myself thinking, “I want to create something that people love just as much.”

So I reached out to the artist via DM and asked, “Would it be okay if I tried making a comic like the one you just posted?” They kindly gave me permission, and I publicly tweeted about it at the time—with a reply from them confirming it.

Since then, starting in late January, I’ve returned to the style that suits me best: lighthearted, pastel-coloured NSFW comics. It’s something I’ve drawn many times in past fandoms—it brings me joy, feels natural, and puts far less strain on me creatively.

I hope people can understand that while I was definitely inspired by that artist, the core of my current work is still rooted in my own long-standing preferences and artistic journey.

That said, I won’t deny that I was heavily inspired by certain stylistic techniques found in her work—such as pencil-like line art, colour-coded speech bubbles, handwritten-style fonts, and her delicate balance of sexuality and cuteness.

I’ve learned a lot from her art, and I truly respect her as an artist. While I’ve never intentionally copied her stories or compositions, I do recognise that her refined techniques have influenced me.

I also feel guilt over the possibility that returning to my original style may have unintentionally hurt her feelings. Even though she explicitly gave me permission to draw “silly NSFW comics like hers,” I now wonder if she might have had more complicated feelings beneath the surface. I wish I had been more sensitive to that.

If my lack of maturity ended up casting a shadow over her creative spirit, I deeply and sincerely apologise.

However, it is extremely painful and upsetting to be publicly labelled as “someone who copied her entire style and drove her to quit.”

I see my current work as a result of evolving my old style by integrating what I’ve learned from others. Still, I acknowledge my tendency to be easily influenced by others’ art and my past failure to show enough consideration for her feelings. That’s why moving forward, I will do my best to avoid looking at the fandom timeline altogether—to prevent myself from unintentionally absorbing or echoing the styles of others.

Additionally, if she ever directly contacts me and says, “Please don’t use certain elements in this fandom—like coloured speech bubbles, handwritten fonts, or pencil-textured lines,” I would accept that request with sincerity and stop using those elements.

A quick note about my future creative plans: The “bad boy × good girl” dynamic in my Sebastian × Sakurako stories—and certain Studio Ghibli-inspired motifs I love as a Japanese artist—are not derived from her work. They reflect my own long-standing interests.

(In fact, the concept of Sakurako—a studious, straight-laced original character—was born shortly after the release of Hogwarts Legacy, well before I ever discovered her work. In November of last year, I sent her a DM to explain that, by pure coincidence, my Sebastian × Sakurako dynamic happened to resemble the “bad boy × good girl” trope her pairing also explored. I didn’t directly ask for permission, but she generously responded by saying I shouldn’t worry and that I should feel free to draw what I like.)

So I want to clarify that what I create is not imitation, but a genuine expression of what I love and want to draw.

From here on out, I hope to keep facing my style with honesty, and to continue creating with greater care and thoughtfulness.

Thank you so much for reading this far.

[ghosthoard]

i don't have money or time to play video games

i do want to play all the zelda games eventually for my own sake and my own writing but my friend gifted me totk two years ago (i think) and i still haven't played it because i know if i played it i wouldn't have time to create art or write because i'd be sucked in (which i can't risk because i need to focus on studying too). i've only played botw, again cause my friend bought it for me. games are expensive first and foremost and also they take a long time for me to finish and require me to set aside time. i really wish i had gotten into it when i was younger, when i had more time, but well, i got into it in grad school.

if i were to wait until i played all the games to create anything for the fandom, i wouldn't be able to create anything until at least 5 years later.

so i tend to be discouraged by people who say things like "they haven't even played the games".

it's odd, because this really reminds me of the fans in the batfam fandom who insist that the fans who haven't read the comics are dumb and really talk down on anything they make. i think i saw most of them on twitter when i used to use twitter. i'm glad i don't really see stuff like that on ao3. but again, the problem is, a lot of the fans don't have the time or money to read comics. (also for DC in general, it's a pick-your-canon situation because there are so many comic writers that have their own version of the characters too so i don't understand people who say that comics should be where you get all your information when the characters vary from writer to writer, just like in fanfiction, it's about finding a writer you like) AND ALSO DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GENERATIONS AND ITERATIONS AND COMIC RUNS EXIST IN BATFAM ALONE??? ITS NOT LIKE MANGA WHERE IT'S A CONTINUOUS STORY BY ONE WRITER, IMAGINE IF NARUTO WAS WRITTEN BY OTHER WRITERS MULTIPLE TIMES ACROSS ALMOST A CENTURY. YOUNG JUSTICE AND TEEN TITANS THE ANIMATED SHOWS ARE FANFICTIONS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT.

anyway

i don't think its reasonable to say i should play all the games before i create something. i want to create. i want to be happy. this is supposed to be fun.

i think i'd agree that those who insist that an interpretation of a character is wrong/right when they haven't seen the source material or try to do an analysis of the character in the context of the source material shouldn't do that, if you want to do analysis posts about canon, that's when you should know the source material, but a lot of the time it's the fanon version of the character they're talking about through headcanons. and also a lot of the time, these types of fans that only know the characters through fanon are children and/or are new to the concept of fandom. i would assume the version of a character that i've seen first or that everybody is talking about was the only way to think about it too if i was new and young.

in fact at my grown age, i was one of those people who tagged a non-LU art as LU, because a lot of the links across link-meets look pretty similar, because people are designing their links based on canon so they're going to share similarities. i saw another au creator state that they were scared of giving twilight a fur detail bc it would look too much like LU but did it anyway bc they wanted to (as they should) but also i feel like that proves how easy it is to mistake the designs. after the creator of the art i tagged incorrectly corrected me, i was more alert about it going forward (honestly i've just been sticking to LU creators to be safe at this point).

and people are right, LU is very popular. it's the ONLY links-meet i knew about when i emerged from botw and my friend told me about it. i honestly wasn't aware there were other versions until way later. especially because the names are pretty similar across links-meets and again the designs are too so i don't think it's all that surprising people get confused and just tag it LU. now imagine you're new to even the concept of fandom AND still in junior high. (side note, i have a couple of cis-straight male friends who are zelda fans and they don't use twilight or time or wild to call the characters, which i think is crazy because it'd be much easier than "twilight princess link" or "ocarina of time link". actually, speaking of cis-straight male fans, a lot of them say the same thing people hating on the LU fandom say, that we (transformative fandom) as a whole haven't played the games, especially when we say we headcanon the characters as queer or if they have autism or if they act differently than the "cool, masculine character" they think the links are.) this (different links-meet aus) is a very unique situation in fandom i think, from my go-around fandoms, naruto, one piece, batfam, haikyuu, the hobbit, etc haven't had different au beef to this extent or at all. it's honestly so fascinating. it's like everybody wants to be separated from each other in a way. (edit: i GOT IT! IT'S BC THE LINKS HAVE BECOME PERSONAL OCs MORE THAN SHARED CHARACTERS, THEY'RE NOT FIGHTING OVER SHARED CHARACTERS, NOT EVEN THE INTERPRETATION OF SAID CHARACTERS LIKE MOST OTHER FANDOMS, BUT SINCE THEY MADE THEIR OWN STORY, THEIR LINKS ARE MORE THEIR OCS THAN ANYTHING THEREFORE SOME PEOPLE FEEL MORE DEFENSIVE THAN FANS IN OTHER FANDOMS WOULD, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL—also most aus are shared between fans in other fandoms, like in batfam they have talon!dick or reverse robins, in the zelda fandom it's more a personal project, also in the microcosm that is LU the LU fandom have aus within the au which are exactly how other fandoms usually do aus, it's all so fascinating!) also i think the fact that LU is so much more popular than any other au adds to it. i've never seen such a phenomenon in other fandoms where one iteration is so much more well known.

LU is popular, i think the most popular links-meet au, at least on tumblr. (jhoca and ovega-karts works are getting more attention as a result of the comic dubs voice actors have done on YouTube) it's what one of my friends called "the gateway links meet au" which means a lot of the new zelda fans are getting funneled through LU first, which means a lot of them are young, new to fandom, new to zelda, or a combination of those. (also, especially for the first two, young and/or new to fandom, means they are susceptible to purity fandom culture, watch out for that). i'm not trying to excuse if people have done harmful things on purpose in the past or in the present but i feel like ignoring this context is doing more harm than good: the context being that because LU is popular it's where all the newest fans end up, and new fans are still learning.

and i really sympathize with creators who keep having their art tagged wrong, whether it was an accident by the tagger or not, because after a while i can understand for some people it can get annoying. but like this recent situation i feel like this pent up frustration is causing people to get too eager to jump on any perceived slight and honestly come off as a bit of an asshole.

i saw someone say they should just block every LU fan at this point, (meaning for it to be a punishment i'm assuming), but honestly yes, please do if it will give you peace. we don't want to be in places we're not wanted either. but it'll be hard, because again, LU is the gateway new zelda fans will come through and they will keep making the same mistake.

[bangtanhoesthings]

When I first discovered BTS, I was immediately met with countless fan theories and narratives which painted Yoongi as cold, distant, or “savage.” These labels were so frequently repeated that I began to internalize them, and, almost unconsciously, I found myself feeling slightly less connected to him than to the other members. But as I got deeper into the group, I realized something: how could I truly enjoy and support BTS while holding a biased view of even one member? I wanted to appreciate BTS as a whole and that meant giving every member a fair chance on my own terms.

So I set out on a personal journey to understand Min Yoongi for myself. I immersed myself in his music and rap, watched countless YouTube compilations, and paid close attention to him in their original content with focused attention on his expressions, interactions, and presence. And what I found was someone entirely different from the version I'd been told about. Yoongi is, without question, one of the most sincere, thoughtful, and warm-hearted individuals I’ve come across. He isn’t emotionally distant but simply expresses his affection differently. He gives himself completely to his members, to ARMY, and does so with quiet dedication. His kindness is subtle but unwavering. In short, he's a misunderstood sweetheart and before I knew it he became one of my top bias wreckers.

I share this because I’ve never understood how some fans, particularly in the Jikook and Taekook circles, form such strong opinions about Jimin or Taehyung based purely on hearsay or speculative narratives. How can you not feel the urge to form your own impression, free from the echo chamber? Why would you let others decide who someone is for you? Why wouldn’t you want to know them for yourself? I genuinely pity those who don't try, because these two are among the kindest, most remarkable individuals you could ever hope to admire. They are not defined by fan debates or edited clips taken out of context. They are artists, friends, and human beings with their own stories, strengths, and vulnerabilities. To ignore that in favor of someone else’s opinion is to miss out on the very heart of what makes BTS so compelling. They deserve more than shallow judgments based on rumors or groupthink.

Be cautious with the stories you're fed. Take the time to look a little deeper. Challenge your assumptions. Be bold enough to form your own perspective. You just might change your mind and discover something beautiful in the process. You may be surprised by how much more meaningful your connection becomes when it's rooted in your own discovery not someone else’s version of the truth.

So stay curious my friends. This doesn’t just apply to fandoms or the way we view public figures but it applies to life as a whole. Stop accepting every opinion as fact. Stop following the crowd simply because it’s louder. You owe it to yourself to think independently, to look closer, and to form your own understanding of people, of stories, of the world around you.

Don’t be a passive observer. Don’t be a sheep.

Ask questions. Challenge assumptions. Let your judgment be shaped by your own experience not someone else’s bias.

Curiosity is a quiet kind of power and it will take you far.

Peace and love 💜.

[coracaodeleao]

NSFW Alphabet — Letters N, O, P & Q | Viktor x GN!Reader

(I think this one is more tame and short, tbh. I got nervous in the O(ral) one because of the fandom’s common perception of Viktor as an Oral God, which I kinda disagree with (I think he’s more of a fingering kinda guy). But anyways, here we have: Viktor telling us "no," a bad review turning into a new scheduled evaluation, me and my analogies on how he fucks, and Viktor suffering through a quickie. Have fun, y’all!)

N - No

Viktor shakes his head at your suggestion. “Absolutely not.”

You pout, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting down the collar and cuffs you’d been teasing him with. “Whyyy, Viktor? What’s the problem with it?”

“The problem?” he echoes, clearly exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “The problem is that I don’t know how long I’d take to come home to you. What if something happens? What if someone breaks in and you don’t even hear them because of the damn blindfold?”

You raise an eyebrow. “We don’t exactly live in a warzone, baby.”

“That’s not the point,” he insists. “You’d be handcuffed. Helpless. What if you get cold? What if you panic and can’t get out? What if I get hit by a car and never make it back and you’re left tied up, waiting for a ghost?”

You blink. “Wow. That escalated.”

He rubs at his temple. “I just— I need to know you’re safe. I like control, yes, but not that kind of power. I don’t want you vulnerable when I’m not there to protect you.”

You smile softly, standing to walk over and wrap your arms around him. “So that’s a no to abandonment play?”

He nods firmly. “A very loud, very anxious no.”

You kiss his cheek. “Okay. No getting left tied up alone.”

He sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“But we can try it while you’re home, watching me squirm from the other side of the room?”

That look returns to his eyes — hungry, focused. “That,” he murmurs, “I can work with.”

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

O - Oral 

You join Viktor in the living room. He’s sitting on the floor, working on something spread across the coffee table. You sit on the couch behind him, legs spread just enough to guide his head between them. He hasn’t looked up yet.

“Viktor,” you say, patting his hair. He hums in response, distracted. “I have some notes on your last performance.”

His hands pause. You've learned that Viktor cannot tolerate a bad review — not in his work, not in his personal projects, and definitely not in your shared activities. He slowly leans his head back against your thigh.

You can’t see his face, but the quiet sigh he gives is full of dread. “What did I do?”

You balance a notebook on his head like a hat. He doesn’t move, even when he hears the pen click. “You used your teeth on me yesterday.”

His head snaps up just slightly, the notebook wobbling. “Are you talking about me giving you head?” His voice already sounds defensive. “Really? Do I need to remind you how bratty you were yesterday?”

“This is not what this is about,” you say simply, still writing. He can feel the pressure of the pen dragging across the paper above his head. “Focus,”

“Yes, it is.” He reaches up and snatches the notebook off his head, throwing a sour look over his shoulder at you before glancing down at the page.

Only to see a giant “69” written across the middle.

He sighs — long, dramatic, and with all the weight of a man who knows he’s being played and can’t even be mad about it. You burst into laughter behind him.

“You should see your face!”

“I should stop giving you the satisfaction,” he mutters, setting the notebook aside. “But no, I won’t. Because I’m good at it.”

You cock your head. “Confident now, are we?”

“I like it,” he says, suddenly sincere. “Giving it. It’s not just the reaction — although, yes, that’s… extremely rewarding.” His voice dips a little. “But there’s something about using my mouth and having you go completely quiet under me. You never shut up, unless it’s that.”

Your smile softens, amused and flattered all at once.

“I don’t need to finish when I’m with you,” he adds. “Not if I can make you feel like that first. That’s enough for me.”

You nudge his shoulder with your knee. “You realize you’re making it very hard to keep this professional tone.”

“I assumed you were never serious in the first place.”

You grab the notebook and pen again, flipping it to a new page. “Fine. Still giving yourself five stars?”

“Four-point-eight,” he says, smug. “Pending another live demonstration.”

You lean forward, brush his hair back, and grin. “Let’s submit more evidence, then.”

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

P - Pace 

Viktor fucks the same way he sketches a project. There’s a certain reverence to it — a kind of quiet dedication that starts long before the first real touch. He observes. Studies. Picks the right pencil to start, arranges his space, adjusts his position. He’s not in a rush, not until he’s sure the foundation is set.

At first, it’s all soft pressure and experimental touches. His mind works too fast for his hands sometimes, full of intention before execution, and it takes him a while to translate what he wants into something physical. But when it clicks — when he understands the shape of your breath, the hitch in your voice, the angle that makes your toes curl — something changes.

Some days, it stays soft. Controlled. He takes his time, exploring you like you’re a blueprint he’s redrawing from memory, each line traced and perfected. Other days, he gets the idea fast — and then faster. And harder. All precision abandoned in favor of raw momentum, his rhythm crashing against you like the final stroke of genius after hours of quiet work.

Your fingers dig into his back, and he breathes against your throat, steady but hungry. “Your hips twitch just slightly when I touch here,” he says softly, pressing in again. “I think we’ve found something.”

And from there, he abandons the slow pace entirely.

He moves with such focus it borders on desperate. Every thrust, every grind of his hips, every groan from his throat — it’s all fueled by how much he feels you, how badly he wants to give you everything. His rhythm is relentless, and you match him without question, both of you spiraling toward something hot and inevitable.

Later, tangled in sweat and skin, your voice is hoarse when you whisper, “You start like a research paper... and end like a train crash.”

Viktor just smirks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pulls you closer. “I prefer to say… consistent in intensity.”

You hum a laugh and let him curl into you. He always goes quiet after, but you know it’s not distance — it’s contentment. His breath slows against your neck, his hand still resting over your chest, steadying both of your pulses. He’s still working, in his way. Still studying.

But with you, it’s not about perfecting the design.

It’s about savoring every part of the process.

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

Q - Quickie 

He takes his vest off and kisses you open-mouthed. “We don’t have time.”

You press your body against him, your hand slipping around his neck to pull him closer. “That’s the whole point of a quickie, silly.”

He groans when your hips roll against his. “I don’t even have time to properly take my pants off,” he mutters against your skin. “Especially with my prosthetic on.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, hunger clear in your eyes. He licks his lips at the sight of it.

“Then don’t take it off,” you whisper, grinning. “I like the look of the uniform on you anyway.”

He exhales sharply, caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You’re making it very hard to be responsible.”

“You love it,” you murmur, fingers already working at the front of his pants. You don’t rush — you’re just precise, getting exactly what you want.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you in. “You know I prefer taking my time.”

You nudge his nose with yours. “You’ll survive ten minutes of chaos, baby.”

“Ten?” he rasps, shuddering slightly when your hand slides lower. “You’re being optimistic.”

You bite back a laugh. “I’m being generous.”

That’s all it takes.

There’s no more arguing — only the rustle of clothes being pushed aside, your back against the wall, his breath caught in your mouth. It’s rushed, a little messy, improvised in the best kind of way. Hands gripping, hips grinding, low groans stifled by kisses that taste like promises for later.

And when it’s done, when your breathing evens out and your clothes are barely adjusted back into place, Viktor gives you that soft, dazed look. The one that says he’s already replaying every second of it in his mind.

“I still prefer when I can worship you properly,” he murmurs, tugging his vest back into place with slightly unsteady hands.

You press a kiss to his flushed cheek. “You’ll have plenty of time for that tonight.”

He hums, a little smug again. “Good. I intend to make up for every second we cut short.”

And from the way his eyes darken, you know he will.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; suguru geto

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; jujutsu kaisen

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; suguru geto

outline ; “dating hcs for geto”

note ; for obvious reasons we’re assuming that the reader is a sorcerer here but everything else is left as ambiguous as possible

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

if you’re willing to set aside or accept the whole ‘kill-all-non-sorcerers’ mentality and his role as a deeply manipulative cult leader, you’ll find suguru geto to be a surprisingly reliable and doting boyfriend — as well as an endearingly attentive father towards his (and now your) girls

for example, when he’s not having to play up the whole ‘devout monk’ thing in front of his followers he’s actually very affectionate with you. not in the same over-the-top clingy way as his former friend might be, but enough that you’ll never be given room to doubt his love for or attraction to you

e.g. a grounding hand on the small of your back, a firm hand resting on your upper thigh, a soothing squeeze or rub along your upper arms when he notices you getting anxious, a chaste kiss to your temple or the top of your head, and so on — and when it’s just the two of you he’s more than comfortable encouraging you to sit or lay on his lap, letting you play with his hair, and sharing kisses that last more than just a few fleeting milliseconds

he’s also very good at saying exactly what you need to hear and exactly when you need to hear it — but he’s always been good at offering words of encouragement, assurance, and affection to his loved ones so that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise

very big on pet names in private and amongst friends, only ever insisting on you two speaking formally if it’s in front of his followers (which he hates but deems as a necessary sacrifice for his cause). with you tends to lean towards terms of endearment that are semi-traditional (think along the lines of ‘darling’, ‘my love’, ‘angel’, and so on), but he isn’t so picky about what you call him as long as it’s not something that will get him bullied by his children (though just ‘sugu’ is a favourite of his)

it’s very important to him that you and the twins get along — you don’t have to be another parent to them, especially if you came into their lives quite late, but he wants the most important people in his life to at least respect each other. bonus points if they actually start to really like you, but as long as they don’t dislike you he’s not going to be too worried

he loves to spoil you rotten whenever he gets the chance, as he does with his daughters, so don’t be afraid to ask for the things you want

acts of service is a big love language of his and he’s spent most of his life taking care of those around him as a result, so having you as his partner finally return the favour and start going above and beyond to take care of him will both catch him off guard and make him fall for you even more

especially if you start taking on more work for the cult — filing paperwork and attending meetings on his behalf, for example — so he can focus on spending more time with nanako and mimiko

if you ask him to absorb/tame a specific curse because you think it looks ‘cute’ or ‘cool’ he’ll do it, but he will tease you about it for a while afterwards (especially if it’s some random weaker curse that serves next to no purpose for his mission)

absolutely gets jealous and is very quick to stop any interactions between you and other people that he deems as being in any way threatening to you or your relationship (especially if the other person is a non sorcerer because he has no patience for their kind) — he does trust you, obviously, but he knows what people are like and he doesn’t want to run even the slightest risk of losing you to anyone else

the lock screen on his phone is a picture of you and the twins that he took on a whim after the four of you went out to a new bakery in town that the girls had been begging him to take them to — it’s admittedly not the most flattering of photos but the three of you look so genuinely happy that he can’t not love it

[trippingontheescalator]

Sometimes I think this fandom forgets that the Marauders and Snape are boomers. I just saw an "rip Lily Evans you would have loved Dolly Parton" post and like... Dolly Parton began her career in the 60s. Lily most definitely would have listened to "Jolene" as a 13 year old kid. And as a fanfic writer myself, I don't want to unnecessarily dunk on anyone's hard work, but it is a pet peeve of mine when I search for fics set in the Marauders era during the 1970s and the characters all sound like they are heavily involved in 2024 tumblr discourse. These kids would have never heard the term "genderfluid." They would call themselves transsexual or a butch dyke and there would be 212% more cigarette smoke, just everywhere. Fuck there was a designated smoking area at my boomer parents' high school for students and so long as the parents signed the permission slip the kids could go there and smoke. This was incredibly common (at least in American high schools) pre-1980s. Like, I can see the Evans family playing a game of lawn darts, Mr Evans with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in his mouth, throwing highly dangerous lawn darts that would eventually be recalled because of all the deaths it caused. Severus Snape had most certainly absorbed lead from the leaded paint in his house. Nobody was going to call the cops on any abuse they might see going on in the Snape's house because its the 1960/1970s and "how Mr. Snape disciplines his son is his business." War rationing had just ended 6 years before Snape, Lily, and the Marauders were born. Mental illness was extremely taboo, dyslexia wasn't really recognized in schools or talked about until the 1980s, after the Marauders had graduated, a lot of people were still calling PTSD "shell shock." For Muggles, there was no real DNA testing (it was in its infancy), no cellphones you had to pray there was a payphone nearby, and you wpuld talk to a telephone operator. It wasn't until 1966 that the UK switched to an all-digit telephone numbers. Before then instead of an area code it was a central office in every city/region that used letters. So if Lily, as a six year old girl, wanted to talk to her grandma in Manchester, her mother would have dialed something like MAN-9126 (I actually have no idea what Manchester's central office code was lol, this is just an example). Cokeworth is likely a Victorian mill town, and the major push to replace outdoor plumbing with indoor plumbing didn't start until the 1960s. Severus would have most likely spent his early years without indoor plumbing while living in a rowhouse built in the 1860s. Tubs would have had to be filled by hand, laundry scrubbed by hand and hung out to dry, he would have used an outdoor toilet and considering he is in a poor urban area he most likely would have shared this toilet with his neighbors in the other rowhouses.

These characters' story are shaped by the time they lived in, and sometimes I think the fandom doesn't realize how different the 1960s and 1970s really was.

[angelltheninth]

Love your LADS writings! Could we maybe get them reacting to their girlfriend wearing their shirt?

I love writing for LADS, now that Caleb is here there's even more hot men to fawn over.

Pining: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, sharing clothes, domestic fluff, clothes shopping, possessiveness, being playful, flirting

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Wrote this a bit fast because my new PC came in today so I need to set it up. It's gonna be awesome.

Zayne pretends not to notice that it's his shirt you're always wearing in the mornings when you stay over at his place. It's only a shirt, he's got many more just like it. So why is it getting to him when you wear it? Simple, it looks cuter on you, and he tries not to get worked up about it, that would go against his stoic, professional self. However when he sees you wearing his clothes he always tells you that it looks good on you. A sort of subtle encouragement that you should do it more often, and also spend more time at his place because he tries not to leave his clothes at your place.

Rafayel wants to buy some matching clothes when he saw that you wear his on occasion. He's always had a good sense of style and is very happy that you do to, furthermore that you like it so much that you want to wear what he wears. When he sees you wearing his clothes he makes sure to memorize what it looked like on you so he can sketch it later. Before he knows it there are a dozen sketches of you in his clothes. Not that it's a bad thing by any means and he thinks you're catching on to him buying matching clothes because every time you're on a date you're pointing out cute outfits that you say would look great on him.

Xavier doesn't think much of it when he leaves some of his stuff at your place when he comes and goes. What he does think about is how his pants looked on you, too long, cozy, some a bit tight on you, others hanging off your hips, all depending on what you get your hands on at the time. The scene is almost domestic, seeing you not even think about putting on something of his, you don't even say why you do it and he's fascinated by that. Playfully he tugs on the waistband of the pants and tells you he wants them back, only for you to turn the tables and tell him to take them off you if he wants them so bad.

Sylus is very perceptive of what you do when you're around him so there's no way he wouldn't notice you wearing his fancy shirts around the apartment. Those aren't exactly outfits for casual wear so there was no way you could have mistaken them for one of your own, which means you took them on purpose. A man like him doesn't do well when other people touch what belongs to him without his permission. It's bad business practice, and dangerous when you're in deep with criminals like he is. But he could be persuaded to let you get away with it, only because you're his girl and his girl can do whatever she wants with and to him.

Caleb leaves his hoodie at your place on purpose. He did it because he wanted to use it as an excuse to visit again early, he didn't expect that you'd be wearing it when you opened the door for him. All the blood rushed to his brain and caused him to stop all train of thought for a few moments before he smirked and leaned in to whisper how cute you look, his breath hot against your lips before he claimed them in a searing kiss. From that day on he never mentioned anything about you giving him his clothes back. Why would he want it back when it looks so much better on you, sometimes it's all you wear around him.

[gf2bellamy]

I know that this is a common trope in the Spencer Reid fandom but a cliche is popular for a reason and I'd love to see your take on it please:

The BAU finding out Spencer has a girlfriend because he left something/his lunch at home whilst he was getting ready so she comes to his office to deliver it back to him ♡

file — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: hi hi thank you for your request !! also omg i rewrote this like 3 times

You set your coffee cup down. The ceramic making a sound against the kitchen counter as your breath hitched, Your gaze locked onto the object in front of you.

There it was.

Spencer’s case file.

He never shared too much about his cases—partly because of protocol, but mostly because he wanted to shield you from the horrors he faced daily.

But this one? He had mentioned this one. Briefly. Just enough for you to know it was important.

And now, he had left it here.

You exhaled through your nose, rubbing your temple as you stared at the file.

Well, this was a problem.

Your mind raced through the inevitable sequence of events: Spencer, halfway through his workday, reaching for the file. The sharp inhale as realization struck. The way his fingers would twitch slightly before running through his hair in frustration. He’d mutter something about cognitive failure rates, probably cite a study about memory lapses under stress, and then—inevitably—blame himself. He was hard on himself like that.

But, in all fairness… this was totally your fault.

Oops.

He had barely made it out the door this morning because of you.

Not that you regretted it.

You smiled to yourself, warmth flooding your chest as you remembered.

Spencer hated leaving you in bed alone. You hated being in bed alone. It was a whole thing. A silent agreement, an unspoken rule between the two of you—when morning came, you stretched those precious minutes as long as you could. And today, you had stretched them a little too long.

He had sighed against your hair, murmured something about needing to get up, but his arms hadn’t moved from around you. His body was warm and you had curled closer, pressing a lazy kiss against his collarbone.

“Five more minutes,” you had whispered, voice still thick with sleep. Spencer hummed in response, fingers tracing mindless patterns along your arm. Five minutes had turned into ten, then fifteen…

And, well. Here you were.

Thirty minutes passed. Still no text back from Spencer.

Not that it was unusual.

You had once asked him about his habit of completely ignoring his phone for hours on end, and in true Spencer fashion, he had launched into a full-blown explanation—something about the overuse of mobile devices leading to dependency, the correlation between constant notifications and increased anxiety, and the statistical probability of missing something actually important when bombarded with mundane messages throughout the day.

Point was—Spencer wasn’t glued to his phone. Which meant he likely hadn't even seen your text yet.

You chewed your lip for a moment, the decision hanging in the air.

Well, if Spencer wouldn’t come to you, then you’d go to him.

It seemed like a trip to the BAU was in order.

And if, in the process, you just happened to pick out your favorite outfit before heading out? Well, that was purely coincidental.

It wasn’t like you were nervous or anything.

Okay. Maybe just a little.

Because, despite how long you and Spencer had been together, you’d somehow never officially met his team. You had heard plenty about them—stories from Spencer scattered between sips of coffee, casual mentions of their names, the occasional anecdote about Morgan's pranks or Garcia's teasing. But meeting them in person?

That had never happened.

And if you were about to walk into the BAU for the first time, to meet all of them in one go, all while hand-delivering a file Spencer had forgotten because you’d been too busy keeping him in bed this morning…

Well. You wanted to look nice, at the very least.

So, you’d taken a little extra time to pick out an outfit. Something that felt casual but still put-together.

After a final glance in the mirror, adjusting the hem of your shirt, you grabbed the case file and headed out the door.

By the time you reached the FBI building, you were… okay. Not totally at ease, but you weren’t quite spiraling, either. A small victory, considering the nerves that had been building inside you since you’d left the house.

You checked in at the front desk, received your visitor’s pass, and found yourself standing in front of the elevator. You couldn’t help but tap your foot nervously against the tiled floor, your mind racing with the possibility of meeting everyone.

As you waited, a tall man stepped up beside you. He had dark hair, a sharp jawline, and an air of professionalism.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. The man stepped forward, and you followed.

“What floor?” he asked, his voice calm, his eyes already on the button panel.

“The sixth,” you said.

He nodded, pressing the button. Notably, he didn’t press any other buttons, which meant he was heading to the same place.

The elevator hummed upward. You tried to stay still, but the nerves in your stomach had made their way to your foot, which began tapping again—slightly faster this time, almost involuntarily.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at your foot’s restless rhythm before looking ahead again, his expression still unreadable.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, you both stepped out. As you moved into the hallway, you hesitated, glancing around the space, trying to figure out where Spencer’s desk could be.

Before you could overthink it too much, you turned back toward the man, suddenly realizing you had no idea how to address him.

“Uh—excuse me, sir?” You winced inwardly at your own awkwardness. Sir? Really?

To your relief, he didn’t seem offended. He stopped and turned just slightly, offering you a neutral look, like he was patiently waiting for you to continue.

“Do you, um… know where Spencer Reid works?” you asked quickly, holding up the case file in your hand. “He forgot this at home, and I just—”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. Oh my god, you were turning into your boyfriend.

The man studied you for a moment, and you felt a wave of heat creep up your neck, suddenly worried that you’d just embarrassed yourself in front of someone important. But then, with a small nod, he answered.

“He’s in the conference room. I’ll take you.”

“Oh. Thank you!” you said, managing to sound more confident than you felt.

Without another word, he turned and began walking. You quickly fell into step behind him, eager to keep up.

As you followed him down the hallway, his words replayed in your mind. Conference room.

Wait. Didn’t that mean—

Oh. Oh no.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks just as the man ahead of you pushed open a door. He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter, and you barely had time to collect yourself before walking into the room.

And suddenly, all eyes were on you.

Your stomach dropped.

Around the large conference table sat several people, each of them pausing whatever they were doing to look at you. Some were curious, others confused, but most were simply… staring. And then there was one person who seemed to be completely frozen in shock.

That one, of course, was your wonderful boyfriend.

Spencer Reid sat there, motionless, eyes wide, as though you’d just appeared out of nowhere. His pen was hovering mid-air and his mouth hung slightly open.

You felt your face heat up.

“Uh—hi?” you offered weakly, holding up the file like it was some sort of lifeline.

The man who had led you here—who, at this point, you were very sure was someone important—cleared his throat. His voice was as flat as ever.

“Reid,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Your file.”

Spencer blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance.

“Right! Right, yes—um, thank you,” he stammered, his voice flustered. He stood so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor, nearly knocking over his coffee , causing you to wince in sympathy.

You stepped forward to hand him the file. The second your fingers brushed against his, you swore you saw the tips of his ears turn the faintest shade of red.

From across the room, a dark-haired woman—who you guessed had to be Emily Prentiss, judging by the barely suppressed smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth—glanced between you and Spencer, her head tilting slightly as she observed the scene.

“So,” she said casually, her voice full of mischief, “you’re the reason he was almost late this morning?”

Your face went hot, and Spencer made a noise somewhere between a cough and a strangled gasp.

Emily’s smirk deepened, and you could practically feel the attention of every single person in the room zeroing in on you and Spencer. The room was so still, you could hear a pin drop.

Even Penelope—who had been in the middle of explaining a case, hands gesturing wildly—had completely abandoned her train of thought. Her mouth dropped open in delighted shock, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.

“Oh my god, is this real?” she squealed, her voice way louder than it probably needed to be. “Reid, my little geeky nerd has a girlfriend?!” Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement. “A very cute girlfriend, I might add!” She made a big show of squinting at you through her oversized glasses. “How did we not know about this?!”

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but Derek—well, Derek looked like it was Christmas morning.

He leaned forward with an expression of pure glee. “Hold up,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear, “Reid, you got yourself a lady and didn’t tell us?”

“I-” Spencer stuttered under his breath, looking like he was actively trying to will himself invisible.

Penelope was practically bouncing on her heels now. “Not just a lady,” she chimed in again, adjusting her glasses dramatically as she looked you over with wide, sparkling eyes. “A very cute lady. Like, ‘I need to know everything about you’ cute! How did you two keep this a secret? You’ve been holding out on us!”

Rossi, who had been sitting back and watching the chaos unfold , leaned back in his chair with a half-smile. “Seems like , Dr. Reid has been keeping secrets,” he said dryly, giving Spencer a knowing look.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the scene around you. It was hard to stay composed when everyone was so… extra. You shifted awkwardly on your feet but it didn’t stop you from noticing how Spencer scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly wishing he could vanish into thin air.

Spencer, still very much red-faced, finally turned toward you, his expression caught between mortification and fondness. His voice was soft.

“Thank you,” he said, with a small awkward smile. “For, um… bringing me the file.”

You smiled, tilting your head, trying to suppress a grin at how adorable he looked when flustered. “Of course,” you said, your voice warm, matching his tone. “Anytime.”

Before Spencer could muster a response, you leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips brushed his skin, Spencer froze, his eyes going wide for a split second like he couldn’t quite comprehend what just happened.

The entire room went silent, save for the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as Penelope’s excited squeal filled the air.

Spencer remained absolutely still for a moment, blinking as if he were trying to reboot his brain. You couldn’t help but feel a tiny rush of satisfaction at how flustered he looked.

“I’ll see you at home,” you murmured, your smile widening as you pulled back. “Love you.”

You watched as Spencer’s mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was about to say something, but his words failed him completely. It wasn’t surprising—he’d never been the best at handling public displays of affection, especially when they caught him off guard like this.

"Bye everyone." Without giving him—or the rest of the team—a chance to respond, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the door.

“Did you see that?” you heard Penelope say as you left the room, her voice barely containing her excitement. “Reid, my little shy genius has a girlfriend and she just kissed him in front of us!”

JJ chuckled from across the room, her voice full of amusement. “I think Spence might need a minute,” she said dryly, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

The sound of their teasing faded as the door closed behind you, and you allowed yourself a little breath of relief, knowing that Spencer’s team was kind but very curious.

As the elevator doors closed, you found yourself grinning, already imagining how the rest of the day would unfold.

[prettygirl-gabi]

So Ma, What Do You Wanna Do?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: never were just friends…

A/N: starting off Pride with a Hard launch fic

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav

The thing about dating Paige Bueckers—America’s golden girl, walking highlight reel, everyone’s favorite hooper—is that no matter how private she tries to be, people watch.

A lot.

Not just fans.

Teammates.

Coaches.

Her family.

Random baristas who pause halfway through her iced matcha because “Wait, are you Paige Bueckers?” And since I’m, well… me—barely 5’2” on a good day wearing heels and introverted enough to disappear in a crowd—we’ve been playing this very careful game.

To the outside world, we’re best friends.

Roommates, if anyone asks.

And yeah, besties hold hands sometimes, maybe nap on each other on planes, maybe share hoodies and match sneakers—but PDA?

Affection that reads as romantic?

Never too much of that. Not yet.

But today? Today changed everything.

It started on a lazy afternoon. Paige had a the day off from practice, and I was curled on the couch in one of her oversized Wings tees—correction: our oversized Wings tees—scrolling through TikTok while she finished up a call with her agent in the other room.

I was bored. Dangerous level bored. So naturally, I fell into a rabbit hole of Paige edits.

Then, BookTok edits/ trends.

The trends kept coming up.

One in particular.

You know the one.

The tall person (Paige). The short person (me). The quiet tension. The “two fingers under the chin, lift your face and make you look them in the eye” trope that sent people feral in the comments.

I’d seen versions of it all week.

And now? All I could think was: Would it really be that hard to recreate?

So I did what any slightly chaotic, secretly in love girlfriend would do.

I set my phone up on the entry shelf behind a plant—just enough coverage to keep it hidden, but still in full frame.

Paige wouldn’t notice. She was too busy dragging herself around the apartment like a sleepy golden retriever in slides.

“Paaaaige,” I sing-songed.

She appeared around the corner, barefoot, hair pulled back, sleepy eyes scanning me like I was up to something.

“What, baby?”

“Dinner,” I said, backing into the doorway casually. “Should we eat out or stay in?”

She shrugged, walking closer putting her hair in a low messy bun. “You wanna go out? I’m good either way. What are you in the mood for?”

I was already fidgeting.

Avoiding her gaze like usual when it came to that topic.

Going out together as just the two of us still felt… vulnerable. I hated being the one people stared at when they recognized Paige in public.

Hated the weird math they did in their heads when they saw us holding hands like, wait… that’s not just a friend, right?

And Paige always noticed when I started deflecting.

“You’re doing the thing again,” she said quietly, stepping closer, her frame easily boxing me in against the doorway.

I glanced away, lips twitching. “What thing?”

“That thing where you look at every surface except my eyes.”

“I dunno,” I mumbled. “That’s why I’m asking you, P.”

She tilted her head, slow and soft. “Nah, baby. We’re not doing that.”

She raised her hand—two fingers under my chin—and lifted my face so we were eye to eye.

Camera still rolling.

“Look at me and tell me what you wanna do, mama.”

I felt myself short-circuit. Literally buffering. If this were a live stream, I’d be frozen in 144p with the spinning wheel of death.

“I—um,” I blinked, eyes wide. “I mean—like—we could go out if you want—”

She hummed. “So, m’onna ask again-ma, what do you wanna do? Because we don’t have to go out if you don’t wanna. I get it. I really do.”

God, her voice was low. Kind. Patient. Gentle dominance at its finest. Her fingers never dropped from my chin.

I melted.

Folded.

Like a human pretzel.

I had nothing left. All thoughts gone.

“We can… we can eat out tonight,” I whispered. “Don’t really feel like cooking. Plus by the time we umm… we ordered and it gets here it’ll be like warm.”

She nodded then leaned in, kissed the side of my forehead, then a quick soft one on my lips and said, “Cool. Get dressed. We’ll hit that TexMex place you like.”

She walked off like she didn’t just drop a TikTok nuke. (Which she had no idea about)

Two hours later, we were seated in a corner booth of La Cabaña, half a bowl into the best queso in Dallas, and I pulled out my phone like it wasn’t burning a hole in my pocket.

“I, uh… may’ve recorded something earlier.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of me?”

I turned the screen to face her and hit play.

We both watched as she slowly, unknowingly gave the world the softest, most heart-melting alpha moment in TikTok history.

Me, looking like I was trying not to spontaneously combust. Paige, calm and smooth and built like a tall glass of “yes ma’am.”

The trend. Executed. Perfectly.

“Oh,” she said after the video ended. “Baby, you really folded.”

I covered my face with my hand. “I told you. You had me buffering like a broken smart fridge.”

She smiled, barely fighting a laugh. “You gonna post that?”

“Thinking about it, but I dunno” I mumbled.

She shrugged and sipped her horchata. “Post it if you want. I really don’t care. Just know…” She leaned across the table, eyes dropping to my lips. “The PDA? It’s not gonna be ‘friendly hand holding’ after that video goes up.”

I choked on a tortilla chip.

She smirked.

Once back at home, I uploaded it. No captions about “guess who” or “my bestie lol.” No ambiguity. Just the truth.

Caption:

Nothing about this says just friends. Especially not dishing out these types of kisses either.

@PaigeBueckers

#booktoktrend #girlfriendsoftiktok #tallgfshortgf #hardlaunch

Paige’s comment came not even a full minute later.

@/Paige Bueckers:

I said what I said. And I’d say it again. louder. with tongue. 🧏‍♀️💋😈

The likes blew up. Comments exploded. People were freaking out.

• “THE WAY Y/N FOLDED LMFAOOOO IKEA CHAIR ENERGY 🪑😮‍💨”

• “if someone ever said ‘what do you wanna do, mama’ i’d die.”

• “this was not a soft launch. this was a full Broadway debut.”

• “Paige said ✨look at me✨ and we ALL looked.”

• “BookTok ain’t never seen it done so real.”

• “I need this kind of dominance in my life immediately.”

Fran, my childhood(and current) best friend texted within five minutes: “EXCUSE ME?!?! YOU AND PAIGE?!?!?!? I’M CALLING YOU.”

I put my phone face down.

“Too much?” I asked, settling into Paige’s side on the couch.

Her arm slipped around me. “Nah. Just enough.”

We watched the likes climb. The comments multiply. The secret we’d been keeping finally out in the open, loud and proud.

And true to her word, the next time we went out? Paige didn’t just hold my hand.

She kissed me—gently, sweetly—right on the sidewalk. Right in front of everyone.

And not a single person thought we were just best friends again.

Not after that.

Not ever.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[bad268]

Hi!

I’ve loved your fica for a while, and thought I should just man up and request.

Could I get an Ollie (F1) fic, where his partners older siblings are super protective when they first meet him? Something like that would also be ok, take creative liberty with however you want to make it :)

Much love from the great white north 🤍

Gimme the Key (Ollie Bearman X Leclerc! Reader)

Fandom: PRF/Formula 1

Requested: Clearly (I took me too long to realize where the great white north was but I got it now lol Much love to you <3<3)

Warnings: None (I think)

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1308

Summary: Your family likes to barge in at the worst times, but the most recent time made them lose their privileges.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

You wished you had thought of this exact scenario when you decided to give your family a key to your new townhouse. You had recently moved into your own apartment in Italy as it was closer to your university, and honestly, you just wanted to move out. You were almost 20, and you wanted a little bit of freedom.

The fact that you had also just hit two years with your boyfriend may have also played a role in your sudden need for independence. You and Ollie had met randomly on a bike ride and hit it off. You didn’t initially know that he was a racing driver or that he knew your brothers until maybe your tenth or eleventh date. By that point, you were already together for a couple of months.

At first, you thought that would have scared him away, but he was in too deep.

Over time, your relationship progressed naturally, and when he made it to Formula 1, you decided to get a shared apartment. Then, when you found this townhouse, you two couldn’t pass it up. There was space for you both to have separate offices for work and simulator set-ups. It was almost the halfway point between an airport and your university. It was close to town without being too close to town. It was everything you could have wanted! You couldn’t turn it down.

You moved in and got settled in with no problems.

Truth be told, you should have expected something like this to happen because you had three very overprotective brothers who had no concept of privacy. You should have known that they would barge in unannounced under the rationale of “checking in on you” and “making sure you weren’t lonely” at the worst possible time. They had done it a few times, so you knew this was a possibility. You just didn’t want to believe it.

The first time they showed up unannounced, you were putting away the new glassware you just bought. Ollie had to head to Maranello for his seat fitting with Haas, and he, quite literally, just left less than five minutes before your brothers came barging in. Charles and Arthur just waltzed through the door, saw you putting dishes away, and decided to stay and help. 

While they were there, you decided to have them build some furniture while you did some more cosmetic changes to the house. Together, they built your bed frame, dresser, bedside tables, and bookshelf while you painted a wall in the common room and hung up some pictures. 

Ollie was shocked at how productive your day was until you explained that Charles and Arthur had turned up. That made more sense.

The next time they showed up, you had a couple of friends over as you worked on a course project, and Ollie was out with his friends. Doing what, you had no clue, and you didn’t care. Still, Enzo, Charles, Arthur, and your mum showed up with dinner because they weren’t sure you could “cook for yourself.” 

Needless to say, you were quite embarrassed as they said this in front of your course friends. You made sure to tell them not to stop by randomly again after that. They would need to call or something beforehand or else you would take the key away.

The third time was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

There was a gap in races, and you told your family that you were going on a trip with your friends. It lined up with your class break, and you just wanted one week of peace! 

You were lucky enough to not be disturbed when Ollie was home because if they knew, it would be chaos. You just hoped they would actually listen to you because you and Ollie were going to be home all week doing whatever the hell you pleased in your own home. 

You had gone for late-night bike rides, farmer’s market trips, movie nights, sleeping in, the whole nine yards. You convinced him to do a wine and paint night with you, do face masks, and cook! You convinced Kimi to teach you how to make authentic pasta and forced Ollie to join you. 

You and Ollie stood frozen in the kitchen covered in flour, after you heard what sounded like a car coming up your driveway. Neither of you moved or breathed for a second waiting for something to happen. Ollie had you caged between his body and the corner of the counter with his arms blocking you on both sides. You still had a handful of flour, ready to throw it at his head, but you both froze in fear.

“I think it was nothing,” Ollie whispered before turning his attention back to you. You were leaning against the counter as Ollie blocked you when you blew some flour at him. You took a break from making pasta when a whole battle broke out between the two of you, and the brief interruption was the only thing that got you to stop.  “Where were we?”

“I was about to throw this flour at your head, but I’ve decided against it,” You chuckled as you dropped your fist to the counter, dusting the flour off your hand. “I’m not in the mood for throwing flour anymore.”

“Well, what are you in the mood for then?” Ollie jokingly teased as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“I could use a kiss and a shower, to be honest,” You replied with a smirk, leaning closer to him.

“Who am I to say no?” He chuckled as he met you in the middle and joined you in a kiss. Soon, the brief kiss turned into two, and then it turned into a full down makeout session. Your hands were on his shoulder and in his hair. His hands were wound tightly around your waist until he dropped them to your thighs and lifted you to sit on the counter.

“Mon Dieu,” You heard Arthur’s voice and immediately pushed Ollie away from you.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” You snapped, jumping down from the counter to walk over to your older brothers.

“What’s he doing here?” Charles shouted, pointing at Ollie, who was just standing back and leaning against the kitchen counters.

“What am I doing?” Ollie gasped as he walked over to back you up. “I live here! What are you doing here?”

“You’re supposed to be on vacation!” Arthur turned his attention back to you,

“That’s not answering the question!” You chastised, waving a finger at Arthur and Charles.

“We just thought we could stop by and grab something-”

“What was the purpose of my key, Charles?” You asked rhetorically, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Emergencies only,” He muttered and looked down like a child being scolded by their parent. “I didn’t mean it like-”

“No, that doesn’t sound like an emergency to me,” You lectured. “I told you after last time that I would take my key away if you abused it.”

“I think we’re missing the point here!” Arthur objected, pointing at Ollie again.

“Yeah, Ollie’s here! And he was kissing you! What was that about?” Charles said, feeding off of Arthur’s energy.

“Charles, gimme my key, now,” You replied simply, holding out your hand for the key. “I told you guys this would happen if you came unannounced again. You’ve lost a privilege.”

“Fine, but we need to talk about this,” Charles sighed, reaching into his pocket to and over your extra key.

“We can talk about it at the next race,” You replied with a tight smile, closing your hand tightly around the key. “We’re not talking about this until then. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but get out of my house.”

“There’s the door!”

“Ollie, don’t push it.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2025. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[teal-and-crimson]

— treasured map.

SUMMARY: After seeing what has befallen your beloved's back after your late night indulgence you were devastated. He wishes to put your mind at ease. After all, he is still a dragon at soul and dragons love to hoard. Even when it comes to marks you leave.

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 8k.

PAIRING: Sylus × fem!reader (afab)

TAGS AND GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS. MDNI! 18+ explicit sexual content. porn WITH plot, some fluff is here and there too, established relationships, mentions of body marks, hickeys, love bites, bruises, and a lot of back scratches (kitten got claws), unprotected intercourse, AFTERCARE, oral sex (mentioned, both f & m receiving), freaking in the bathroom, a lot of sweet talk, mild choking, biting, brat taming if you squint, sylus is a bit of a switch, no y/n, not proofread.

A/N. first time writing smut. first time writing for l&ds fandom. first time posting my work on here. a lot of firsts, eh? also, english isn't my first language so I implore you to be kind ♡ if this gets anywhere near enough attention to feed my wounded ego I might consider writing something else, even a part 2, because my mind is infected with sylus and I need to express my love in some way. hope you enjoy!

When you were shaken from a peaceful slumber by a sudden feeling of falling, you found yourself tangled in the sheets, the only light source was a night lamp standing to the left of the bed. You couldn’t recall how exactly you ended up dozing off, but you were convinced there was supposed to be a certain someone to envelope you in a snuggle and warm embrace. Where was he anyway?

You reached with your hand to feel for your phone on the nightstand. The blackout curtains blocked sunlight during the day and moonlight during the night. The only way of telling time was with the help of the screen now illuminating your face.

2:06 A.M.

It’s too early for you, but for Sylus it’s the middle of the day. Well, rather, night. Judging by the sound of running water, he left your shared silken sanctuary for a steaming hot shower. You couldn’t blame him. Not after what you two have done earlier that evening.

You showed up at his estate quite late, Luke and Kieran saw you in before waving you good-bye reasoning their departure with a simple “bossman’s business”. Well, of course, what else could it be? But before they could leave, they told you that the boss in question had been waiting for you for quite some time. The revered leader of Onychinus was a patient man, but you decided against testing said patience, at least for today. Running up the stairs, and taking a few turns, you entered his office with a bright smile plastered across your face.

“Oh, kitten, you are here,” Sylus rose from his chair and reached for the record player. The pleasant melody suddenly cut off and a silence fell on the room, soft and quiet.

“Yes, Mephisto was circling outside my apartment, I figured you wanted to see me,” you walked towards him. “Next time, please, just call me and use your words.”

At that Sylus laughed, “Sweetie, I had nothing to do with it. Mephisto is probably still working off his previous code settings, since I haven’t put a new one in yet.”

“You are a terrible liar,” you said and poked him on the nose.

The gesture made the man furrow his brows as he focused his gaze on your outstretched finger.

“You wound me.”

“The twins told me you were expecting me. Admit it,” your finger was now at the level with his chest, pointing, but not touching. “You sent the crow.”

“I told the twins you would be coming in because I got an unrequested report from Mephisto about your whereabouts and figured that you’d notice him. Which you did,” the smug expression on his face made you squint your eyes. “And I also figured you’d think I am asking you to come and see me. Which you also did.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me predictable,” you threw your hands up in the air and turned on your hill, with your back facing Sylus. “So, this is what I’m here for? To be insulted.”

You couldn’t put a few steps between the two of you before Sylus caught your wrist and spun you back around to face him. As your eyes met all the fight you had in your chest seemed to evaporate. The crimson gems now looking at you were piercing through your very heart, making the blood rush to your cheeks.

“I would never insult you, my darling,” he said in the most sincere and sweet voice you ever heard him use. “I’m glad you came. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, there’s been a lot to deal with at work. The reports just do not seem to end,” you chuckled looking up at him. The position you were in was rather provocative, you would only need to pull at his neck and raise on your toes to reach for the lips you missed so much. But would he want that?

Sylus wanted more than just a kiss, as it turned out. Whatever business he had in his office was long forgotten as he pushed you towards the bed in his room, simultaneously unbuttoning the pants you had on.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, kneeling and tugging the fabric covering your thighs down. “I’ve missed you. You’re cruel for depriving me of your presence for so long.”

“It wasn’t me, there has been a surge of wanderers on the outskirts of the city and they— Ah…”

The searing trail of kisses he left from your navel and lower would have made you fall backwards, had he not pushed at the small of your back with his hand. Evidently, Sylus couldn’t care less about the reasoning for your absence. If only you knew that for the past week, he had been tracking said wanderers himself with Mephisto’s help, just in cases you needed any aid; he would have been there in a minute. Luckily, his girl had it all covered. Just like now, she had the most alluring thing in the world covered with the black silk and lace piece. His nose nudged at your right hip bone before traveling closer towards the centre as he inhaled the maddening scent of you.

“Tell me you missed me, too, kitten,” a plea, made in a growl created by the deepest part of his throat.

You looked down to see one of the hottest sights you laid your eyes upon. The pathetic, almost begging gaze Sylus tried to mask with a smile on his lips pulled a giggle out of your throat. That man looked almost at home with your black panties near his face. Black and red go hand in hand. You weren’t sure how he managed to look so in control yet so pliable at the same time.

“I did miss you,” you raised your leg and let it rest on his right shoulder, a gesture most welcomed by the man at your heels, while your hand travelled to tangle in his hair. “And this.”

You pushed his head against you centre and he obliged almost too eagerly. The fingers of his other hand pulled the fabric to the side and you could swear he hummed when his tongue came into contact with the wetness that had gathered between your folds. You were glad the twins were out for business, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.

The rest of the evening you spent working through every possible way of compensating for all the time you’ve been apart. There wasn’t a single part of your body Sylus left unworshipped and you made sure to return the favour. When you were laying on your stomach, too spent to turn, or lift yourself up, Sylus gathered you in his hands and carried you to the bathroom. There he made sure you relieved your bladder and then he cleaned you up using a warm towel, peppering your exposed skin with feather-like kisses. By the time he was done you were too languid to be standing and the dim lights of his bathroom were almost lulling you to sleep. You didn’t know how exactly you ended up back on the bed, but the sheets felt different, too crisp in comparison to what you felt before, when Sylus was pinning you against them. When you opened your eyes, you noticed the colour was also different and you looked incredulously at the man that cradled you in his arms.

“Didn’t want you to lay on stained linen,” he whispered kissing the top of your head. “Go to sleep, kitten. I’m going to stay right here with you, I promise.”

You didn’t want to question him, not when his firm chest felt so warm and so right under the side of your face. You wrapped your arm around his torso and tangled your legs with his, and just like that all the worries that were building the anxious wall of thoughts in your head throughout the day turned into dust as you let yourself to doze off.

Now, as you hear the sound of water coming to a halt, the bed started seeming too big for you. You tossed and turned until eventually your face was buried in a pillow on the other side. The fabric smelled too much of an expensive detergent and too little of what you actually craved.

“Liar,” you mumbled to yourself and started rolling on the bed in the direction of the bathroom. Near the edge of the bedframe, you noticed there was a silken bathrobe with a belt attached to it. Judging by the size, it was meant for you. As you raised your upper body from the mattress you couldn’t keep a sudden whine slipping from your lips. Your entire body was protesting against anything that involved you getting out of a horizontal position, but your persistence got the upper hand eventually. You slipped yourself into the bathrobe, loosely tying the ends of the belt around your torso and started walking in the direction of the light in adjoined room.

When you walked in you were greeted with the sight of Sylus’ backside clad in nothing but a white fluffy towel, as he was bending over the sink spitting out the remnants of the toothpaste. Crossing your arms you leaned against the doorframe as you took in the absolute eye candy that was now on display.

“A fruit vendor with a bakery business on the side I see,” you thought to yourself as a wicked smile was now sprawling across your face. With a view like that there wasn’t a slither of sleep left in your eyes. You were so mesmerized by the way the towel dipped and curved around his ass you didn’t notice that the man himself was now looking at you in the mirror, smiling as if he were a cat that caught a little mouse.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, straightening up and putting the toothbrush inside the hidden compartment behind the mirror.

“How did you kn—” your teasing response got caught in your throat when your eyes landed on Sylus’ back.

It was red. Screaming, angry, violent red. You uncrossed your arms and straightened yourself. You couldn’t do that? Right? You scratched at him in the heat of the moment but it was only a couple of times, not a hundred! But to counter these arguments the evidence was right in front of you. There wasn’t a single patch of skin on his back that didn’t bear your marks. Everything, from his broad sinewy shoulders down to the small of his back had lines, upon lines, upon lines left by your expressive fingers. You scanned it one more time, noticing there was no blood and a part of your mind calmed down a little. But the other part... Oh, it started eating at your very soul.

You took a step closer; your eyes didn’t leave his back for a second. The sight was so agonizing you couldn’t even blink. You stretched out your hand to trace along these lines but caught yourself before your fingers made contact with his skin.

“Sylus...” you began, your voice quiet, shaky. You could feel your eyes watering but you mentally slapped yourself across the cheek. This wasn’t about you. This was about what you have done to him and you had no right to cry. “I am so... So sorry. This— I never meant... You should have said something! I—”

Suddenly, you no longer saw the reddened skin in front of you, instead you were looking at his chest, but even that wasn’t for long, because he gently pulled you by your chin so you would meet his eyes.

“Stop that,” a command, solid and unyielding, yet spoken with the softest and gentlest of voices. “Don’t you dare.”

It was as if you couldn’t hear him. Words started spilling out like a wildfire after catching a stray spark, “Do they hurt? Why didn’t you stop me? I shouldn’t have... This is bad. So bad. I promise I’ll be more careful, please, forgive—”

You couldn’t finish your plea, because your words were caught by the thing your heart cherished the most — the feeling of his lips on yours. This kiss was brief and to the point, its sole purpose to get you to stop talking and it proved to be effective, because now Sylus finally had a say.

“If you apologize to me one more time, I’ll get mad, and you don’t want to see me in such a state, kitten,” his tone was not one bit teasing. He meant what he said, you could see it in his eyes, so you closed your mouth and just gaped at him. You weren’t scared, but there was a part of you that still felt guilty and Sylus sensed it. He rubbed your chin with his fingers and let his gaze soften, while his eyes followed down your body clad in the bathrobe he left out for you. With a simple hum he maneuvered you to stand in front of the mirror, with him behind you. Droplets of water were clinging to his biceps and neck, and you watched him wrap his hands around your torso as he started fiddling with the silken belt around your waist.

“You are so quick to make assumptions, kitten,” his voice had none of that commanding attitude left, instead it took on a more velvety and sultry quality that made you feel weak in your knees. “Seeing my body marked as yours and immediately jumping to a conclusion that I wouldn’t want it being branded as such?”

His hands undid the belt of the robe and it parted slightly, revealing a thin line of your nude form in the mirror. Sylus bent down and put his head on your left shoulder, his eyes fixed on yours.

“You humour me, darling,” he huffed at your neck and straightened back up. “Let me ask you something.”

His hand turned your head to the side with a gentle push of his fingers against your chin, “Do you want me to apologize for this as well?”

When you were finally able to tear your eyes from his and look at your neck the air inside your lungs got trapped. A crimson red circle nestled itself comfortably between your neck and clavicle, and another one, but smaller, was right under it.

“And this?” Sylus’ hand gripped at the side of your robe that covered your chest and pulled it to the side. The skin of your right breast had a hickey and two distinctive bite marks, and the nipple seemed to be a darker shade than usual. When he bared your chest fully, sliding the robe off your shoulders, you saw a trail of love bites and red marks sprawled in a beautiful map all over your upper body and a shaky breath left your mouth.

“What about this?” Sylus gathered your robe and tugged it down to fall onto the floor, forgotten. He traced the marks on either side of your hips that resembled his fingers in a splatter of maroon hues and then he pulled at your inner thigh, prodding you to open your legs to reveal a bite that was blooming in a ruby red just below your cunt. “Your skin comes to its most tender when we’re away from each other for too long. Should I be begging for your forgiveness for all of this, my darling?”

“No,” the answer came naturally to you and so quick it subconsciously made you question things about yourself. Refusing his apology seemed easier than the act of breathing. Every mark on your body was telling you a story of the lovemaking you experienced with the man you so dearly missed during one of the busiest work weeks of your life. The one above your right nipple was when he uttered the very first proclamation of love that evening and the one above your hip, he gave you after he repeated himself for the fifth time. The bite on your inner thigh came when you were thrashing in his hands while he seemed to be devouring you whole, and by biting he attempted to persuade you to remain still. The traces of his fingers on either side of your hips were given to you when he grasped at your form as he fucked his release into you for the second time in a row, and you could have sworn this is what heaven would feel like if you were destined to see one. If you could frame this and put it on the wall, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Pulling you out of your trance, Sylus kissed you lightly on the shoulder, “Do you get it now? The marks you leave are my most prized possessions at the moment.”

His nose was now buried in your neck, as he breathed in your essence. The way he described it was so close to what you felt inside, but to you... All of the marks he left were just there. Even if they caused you any discomfort, they made you feel at home. The absolute massacre on his back couldn’t come anywhere near this feeling, right?

As if he could sense the formation of bubbling self-loathing thoughts dimming the brightness of this moment Sylus locked his eyes with yours once again.

“Well, if you’re going to be stubborn about it, I have no other choice but to prove my stance on the matter,” with that he spun you around and hoisted you up by the hips, making your rear land on a marble table adjoined with the sink. You yelped at the sudden change in positions, but still wrapped your legs around him almost instinctively.

“What are you doing?” your hands remained to either side of your legs while the man caressed your waist and back.

“I’m going to fuck you now and you are going to enjoy every second,” the bluntness of his words caught you off guard. He seemed amused by the way your eyes were blown wide, so he chuckled before continuing.

“I will make you claw at my back again even if it is the last thing I do on this damned planet, kitten. After all, there’s no such thing as too much treasure,” he started kissing your neck and guided your hand from the table to rest on his shoulder. When your fingertips met the hot skin of his back it was like someone emptied a bucket of ice-cold water over your head.

“Sylus, no!” you snatched your hand away from his grasp and put it on his chest, pushing firmly. “Those are too fresh, I don’t want to cause you pain!”

“The only pain I feel right now,” he held your hand and pushed it in the centre of his chest, “is here. The pain of my beloved refusing to ruin me.”

“Sylus, please...”

“Stop worrying and let me make you feel good,” the look in his eyes was full of love and raw unparalleled need. “Will you?”

He pushed himself between your thighs and when you looked down you could see the front of the towel bulging around his crotch. Did he get all riled up this quickly?

“Seeing your body adorned with my marks makes me want to leave even more of them. I just wish you’d return the sentiment,” the words were practically purred against your ear and if you weren’t wet and ready before, you definitely were now. He nuzzled his nose against your hair, inhaling deeply, and then he strayed lower, to the side of you neck that had the most of the marks. Before you could even think about containing your strangled moan it left your mouth in a breathy sensual manner, as he attached his lips to the reddened spot that was already there. As he sucked and nibbled at it, you put the heels of your feet into his back, pulling him flash against your bare cunt.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, dear?” The mark he disturbed was blurring your mind and you had to take a deep breath to focus your eyes on the surroundings.

Oh, also that feigned innocence in his voice made your blood boil. There he stood in all his glory, grinding his hard length against you, making you whine and hunger for more. The towel around his hips was surely ruined with how slick you were. You pushed yourself impossibly close to him and moved your hips, both hands now resting on his chest.

“If there’s something you desire, you need only ask,” he whispered in your ear and you went limp. How does he manage to pull at every possible string to unravel you in the span of a few minutes? This man was out of this world.

“Take this off,” your hand went down his abdomen and tugged at the white cotton cloth.

“Ah, I see, someone’s eager,” Sylus smiled down at you smugly and quickly undid the knot, finally freeing his erect length out of its confines.

“Yes, you are,” with that you wrapped your hand around his girthy hard cock and started leisurely pumping it up and down. The few drops of precum were forming at the very tip and you eagerly used whatever lubrication they provided. Sylus hissed at your little torture and bucked his hips into your hand ever so slightly, before he suddenly let out that rich, delicious laugh.

“As much as I love you doing that, this is not the part of my body I need your hands on now,” he swiftly freed himself from your grasp and started pulling your hand upwards. Your fingers brushed a splatter of white hair that were trailing up to his navel, then his hard abs, then it was his pecs, flexing enticingly and after followed the beautiful curve and dip of his clavicle and neck. And, when your hand reached the back of his shoulder, your body stilled.

“I think my kitten needs something else to focus on,” his hand left yours to stay flat on the top of his shoulder and then he moved his own south, between your bodies pressed tightly against each other. When the tips of his fingers touched your clit you grasped at his shoulder tightly, while your other hand flew to his bicep instead. “So wet for me, good girl.”

Sylus flicked at your bundle of nerves, drawing fast, hard circles around it before dipping his hand lower, allowing himself to sink into your welcoming heat with just a single finger at first. When your walls flattered around him and your head got thrown back, you found yourself pressed into his other hand, as he cradled the back of your head, not letting it come into contact with the cold wall behind.

“Careful there, sweetie,” he murmured as his ring finger joined his middle one in stretching you out. Every thrust of his hand felt like torture, his thumb circled your clit drawing more and more whimpers out of your mouth and Sylus just watched. Drinking in every expression, every emotion, every twitch of your face contorting in pleasure. When he curled his fingers inside you, prodding at that sweet spot, you had to pull every ounce of self-control to not dig your fingernails into his exposed skin. Instead, you dragged your hand into a fist and bit you lip.

“Oh, no, that won’t do,” he lowered his head and bit down on your neck, hard and angry. You wailed in his embrace, walls cramping around his digits as your hips were trying to get more friction than he was providing, but the feeling of his teeth sinking into your skin like a honey comb made your insides tremble.

“Sylus! Sylus, ah, please!”

“Hm,” he raised his head and looked at you through half-lidded eyes incredulously. “What was that, kitten? Do you want me to stop?”

At that you put the hand on the back of his head and pushed it against the other side of your neck, “Again. Do this again.”

“But you were screaming just now, I thought I accidentally hurt you, my sweet,” the sarcasm that was dripping from his voice almost made you snarl. What an arse. You pulled at his head again and crushed his lips into yours. Not wasting any time, you plunged your tongue into his mouth, lapping hungrily, while your hips kept riding his hand. Sylus chuckled against your lips, but complied and engaged in the dance you initiated. The hand he kept behind your head was slowly withdrawn, allowing you to cool against the marble wall, while he grasped at the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Your hands remained still, caging his neck but not moving, only caressing his soft skin, and Sylus realized that you were still holding onto that wicked idea of restraining your primal urges. This annoyed him to no end, so he started parting his fingers within you, stretching your walls that were so snuggly enveloping him in their warmth. The moan you let out when you felt it almost made him spill right that moment and it took an insane amount of self-control to prevent it. He growled in your neck when his hips twitched, and the head of his cock prodded against your glistening folds. But what actually grounded him in that moment was the sensation of your hand, dragging between his shoulder blades. There. He had you.

Even though it was just the position of your hand and no actual pressure, he knew that you were close to caving in. He just needed to use the right push. He gave your clit a few more circles with his thumb and freed his hand from its warm prison and the disappointed huff you let out was easily the sweetest thing he ever heard.

“You are being mean,” you whined looking up at him, not even realizing that both of your hands were now touching his back.

Sylus raised the hand he was pleasuring you with to his lips and opened his mouth. The way he started slowly sucking at the slender digits put you in a sort of trance. Even if a wanderer burst through a near wall, screaming and wailing, you wouldn’t be able to tear your gaze away from his blissed-out expression as he tasted your wetness on his fingers. This was diabolical, filthy, lewd and so. damn. sexy.

When he was satisfied with the clean appearance of his hand, he freed his mouth and looked down at you hungrily, “I wish you could see yourself right now, sweet thing. You look absolutely ravishing.”

“Ravish me, then,” you called, you voice coming out more needy than you intended.

“Bold kitten. I like that,” he lowered his head and pressed a chaste peck on your lips. “But I need you to promise me something before I comply.”

“Anything,” if he wanted the world, you would give it to him. If he wanted the world to burn, you would char it until nothing but ashes remained.

“Do not,” he looked down and took his cock in one hand, positioning it right at your entrance, “hold yourself,” the tip smeared against your folds, getting coated with a good layer of slick that covered them, “back.”

When he finished the phrase you choked on a sob, eyes wet, and round, and pleading, “I won’t, I promise. Sylus, I need to feel you, please. Please…”

“Alright then,” and finally, finally you felt it, inch by agonizing inch of his hard member entering your greedy pussy. There was no point in containing your moans, not with him. You pressed your forehead against his, seeing his eyes pinned to the sight of your body stretching out to accommodate his girth. That in itself was a work of art for him, your body a perfect fit. When he bottomed out, he felt your hands on his back digging into his skin ever so slightly and in that moment, he swore he could see stars.

“Remember, darling, you promised,” suddenly his hands were on your hips and his eyes were locked with yours. He started pulling his cock out slowly, almost lazily, before slumming his hips back inside with a hard thrust. And still, your hands remained motionless, even when your eyes rolled back in extasy. That wasn’t enough. He needed more. Sylus put his other hand on your breasts, massaging it and making your nipple pebble, then he dipped his head and sucked it into his mouth. Your walls spasmed around his cock and the sensation made him straighten back up to look into your eyes.

“You are so fucking tight, sweetie,” he breathed out heavily. “So fucking good for me.”

“Sylus, please…”

“What is it, my heart?”

“Harder…” was all you could manage to say. The way he was rocking your world with every movement should have left an impression of being “too much” if someone were to look upon the two of you, but in reality, it was hardly enough. The hunger you felt for this man could never be satiated, not even when you felt like his cock was sure to pierce you all the way to your throat.

He laughed, one of your favourite sounds to come from him, second only to that little moan you once heard him letting out when he fucked you from behind.

“Insatiable little thing,” he left your breast alone and pressed the tips of his fingers to your clit instead. The pace he built was brutal, not fast, just brutal. With every thrust he seemed to enter deeper and deeper. “You are not holding up to your end of the deal, my love. I don’t want your nails digging into your palms,” he took one of your hands, tugging it in front of your face. It was true, the hand was clenched in a fist, knuckles white, and it was only then you felt the pain seeping through your skin. Sylus straightened your fingers, his hips not slowing down for a second, and then he placed your hand on his back once again. “Ruin me. Ruin me and I will ruin you.”

You pulled at his head instead and crushed him with your lips. Biting hard, you hungrily sucked on the bottom one as he returned the favour by going for your top lip. He started moving your hips with his hand, letting you fuck yourself on his cock, every vein and ridge made you moan into his mouth. You weren’t kissing him; you were trying to eat this man alive. Merge him with yourself, mould him against your own body so you would never part. He would let you, he would gladly be yours, but at the moment he was quick to figure out the game you were playing. Suddenly, his movements stilled and he tore his lips away from yours. You looked at him, squinting and tugging at his neck once again, but he didn’t budge.

“This is not what I meant,” he exhaled sharply when your walls spasmed around him, urging him to move again, but he persisted, staying still, his dick nestled inside you, torturing you by the lack of motion. “You probably still think that the marks on my back cause me pain. Well, allow me to put your mind at ease, sweetheart. I want to feel it. I want to feel my skin burn every time the fabric of my shirt touches it. I want your marks to sink so deep into my back they never fade away. I need every breath I take to be a reminder of how good I made you feel,” the fervour with which he was saying it made your heart beat faster. “Can you do that for me? Please, darling. Be a good kitten and use,” he pulled himself out of your heat almost entirely, “your,” both of his hands lifted you off the table by your hips, “claws,” and with that last word he quickly hoisted you up and just as quickly he dropped you down on his cock. That new angle alone made the entire room go white; you screamed so loudly it left ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your hands went to steady yourself on his shoulders and when he dropped you down again you lost your balance and fell on him from above. Your hands slipped, and now you were clinging onto his back like a marionette, whose every string was pulled by the very man who was rearranging your insides with every thrust. Your hands gripped, and ripped, and clawed, the cries coming out of your mouth lost all sense and meaning. You screamed every word that came to mind. Please. Yes. There. More. More. More. And then, there was his name. Oh, his name was the most frequent on your lips. And in return you heard your very own called by the deep and demanding tone. Every time your nails scraped at his skin, he hit the spot inside you a little harder, his pelvis rubbing your clit with more precision, so you indulged him.

The deep red of his back went deeper still, as you clung to the only thing that could ground you right now. As you went all in on the expanse of his back, Sylus groaned and stepped towards the wall. One of his hands left your body. He was insanely strong, as he still managed to fuck you up and down on his cock with just one arm. As he cradled your head once again to ensure you wouldn’t hit your head on the impact, he threw the two of you against the wall.

You scratched his back one more time, and his cock bullied its head against your cervix, now hitting impossibly deep within your quivering walls. Then, you buried one of your hands in his silver locks, pulling on them and making his lips pop with a loud noise while you practically dragged him away from your neck. You knew there would be a new mark blooming when the sun rises.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked with a ragged breath and another drag of your nails across the plain of his back. His eyes... Oh, these gorgeous red orbs rolled back in ecstasy and you almost came undone by the sheer sight of pleasure contorting his face.

“Ye— Yes...”

Your pussy cramped around his cock involuntarily. You never had a chance to hear him sound this desperate, this needy, this pathetic. Now that was the hottest thing to be heard, you were certain.

“I’ve ruined you, my love,” you placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, not stopping the rolling motion of your hips, as you rubbed yourself against him. “It’s only fair you return the favour.”

He released the back of your head gently, only to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing lightly, as his lips collided with yours in a fervent, searing kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, moving in and out, matching the pace of his hips, swallowing every moan you had to offer. If you thought the pace he set before was brutal, now it just got downright vicious. You were glad you had a break from work, because tomorrow you won’t be able to stand, let alone walk. Sylus lost himself completely, with your hands now under his arms, clawing at the middle of his back and your lips so soft on his own, he felt not like a man, but a sacrifice. A sacrifice to the most divine creatures of all in his world — you.

The hand on your neck travelled down and down, past the valley of your breasts and your navel, to tangle in a splatter of hair you had above your cunt and then he found you clit, stimulating it with a few flicks of his fingers. Your entire body tensed and you tore yourself away from his lips.

“Sylus! Too... Too much, I can’t—”

“Relax, you can handle it, sweetie. Here, bite down on my shoulder,” you didn’t stop to think about his proposal, you just went for it as his hand guided you lower. In the state you were in right now he could have told you to do a handstand and you would oblige. You sank your teeth into his skin and it did help you steady your spinning mind, but the groan that fell from Sylus’ lips went straight down to your soaked cunt. The release that had been building up in your lower stomach for quite some time suddenly erupted, and hot tears fell from your eyes as you felt his hips stutter. Your walls spasmed, and clenched, and begged for him to fill you up, while his cock dragged, and moved, and prayed for them to keep on going. In that silent exchange of pleas, you found yourself limp against his moving form, but still desperately clinging to his body. He kept rubbing your clit to prolong the waves of orgasm that shook you. You dropped your head on his shoulder, one hand in his hair, soothing your man tenderly and the other still on his back.

“I’m close,” he huffed through gritted teeth and you knew it was true, because his thrusts had grown erratic and unpredictable.

“Please, Sylus,” you whispered in his ear. “Please, come inside me. I need to feel you. Now,” you dragged your hand from his left shoulder to the right, leaving a new trail of red lines on his back and that was enough for Sylus to press you flat against the wall as he emptied himself inside your flattering cunt. He was coming for a long time, probably the longest you’ve ever felt him come and it inflated your ego to a whole new level. He filled you so deliciously, the warmth that bloomed inside your stomach made the world around you spin. When he finally stilled, dump forehead pressed against your shoulder, you cooed and kissed him on the temple.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice rasp from all the screams he had pulled out of your sore throat. You felt the mess you made between the two of you, because his release was now dripping from your hole, still stretched around his softened length.

“No, darling, thank you,” he kissed you tenderly on the mouth and brow, before looking deep into your eyes.

You were standing there in each other’s embrace, eyes locked in the soft and quiet exchange of love. You smiled and he licked his lips, looking at you, mesmerized. That was your favourite part of having sex with Sylus. The moments after. In the fading heat of pleasure, the flares of love you shared were almost palpable. When he shifted ever so slightly under you, you winced. Yes, in the fading heat there was also the aftermath of your activities to consider, because your plump and tender folds seemed to be screaming for a break.

Sylus saw the expression on your face and caressed your cheek slowly with a thumb, “I’m going to pull out now, brace yourself on my shoulders and I’ll carry you to a bath.”

You did as he bid you and soon you found yourself seated in a bubbly warm water, while Sylus hugged you from behind, tenderly washing away any sweat and cum that still remained on your body. When he washed between your thighs, he was extremely careful, whispering sweet things into your ear, pulling all of your attention to his words, and not the tingling sensation that gathered there. You were still sore and he couldn’t allow you to seduce him into another round, for your own sake.

“I want to wash your back,” you said after a while. He hummed and pushed you away from him, so he could turn around and kneel in the bath. When you saw his skin, your jaw dropped. Every line, every scratch and every mark screamed ‘mine’ scribbled in your writing. The pang of guilt still remained, nestled deep within your heart, but it wasn’t as loud as when you first entered the bathroom. Now, to counter it there were the sounds Sylus made as he slammed you harder into the wall every time you touched his back, and that little “Yes” that he whimpered… Some day this will be your undoing.

You ran the water from the shower head nearby, cold and soothing, and he murmured something about it feeling nice. You gingerly patted his shoulders, the middle of his back and then lower, as the markings turned light pink. You tried to hold yourself off, but the urge to kiss them was stronger, so you lowered your head attaching your lips to the centre of his back, tenderly.

“Kitten…”

There it was, that smooth voice you would die for.

“Yes, my love?”

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring my work.”

His head snapped to the side as he tried to catch your eyes with his, attempting to find a single hint of lying, but there was none. It was true, the idea of him being in any sort of discomfort because of you still rubbed you the wrong way, but the fact that he himself enjoyed it. This allowed you to enjoy it a tiny bit as well.

The two of you got out of the shower some time later, Sylus wrapped you in a towel and directed you to find another bathrobe in the closet he specifically filled with every possible thing you could have a need to wear. You picked the white nightgown and a robe that was going all the way to your ankles, foregoing the underwear. Who knows, the night is still young.

Sylus came out of the shower completely naked, drying his hair with a towel. As he entered his closet and secured a bathrobe with a belt he walked up to you, a soft smile on his lips, “Are you hungry? It dawned on me I haven’t fed you anything since you stepped into the N109 zone.”

“Well, technically, you did feed me something,” you teased, reminiscing the way he had you on your knees earlier that evening.

A throaty laugh reverberated in a dimly lit room, “That can hardly count as nourishing, sweetie. Come, I’ll cook something for you.”

As you were sitting on a kitchen counter Sylus sliced at vegetables and herbs he planned to add to the meat that was searing on the stainless steal skillet, periodically checking on the water he left to boil for pasta. You hummed the lines of the song that has been stuck in your head for a while…

“Through the cold, I’ll find my way back to you… Oh, please, give me mercy no more…”

Your melodic singing was abruptly cut by a grating assault on the next set of notes, “That’s a kindness you can’t afford…”

You decided to let the singing part slide and instead focused your attention on the line Sylus chimed in with, “You know this song?”

“That’s my favourite one on the album,” the smile on his lips was almost suggestive, as he dropped a box of farfalle into the boiling water.

“You’re kidding!”

“No, he’s not,” two voices cut in. The twins marched into the kitchen with Mephisto flying in after them. The bird landed on a table and cawed loudly.

“He blasts it each time it comes on queue,” Kieran said matter-of-factly.

“Boss, the deal is done.”

“Yeah, we gathered all the intel you required, the papers are in your office.”

“Good,” Sylus tossed the vegetables in for a sauté. “Wash your hands now, the two of you.”

“Oooh! You’re our chef tonight! What’s for dinner?” Luke hopped to Sylus’ side on one foot. Despite the fact that these two were dealing with some dangerous things on the daily, they seemed to be still very childish and carefree; you found it endearing.

Kieran walked up to you and said, “Bossman loves to sing that particular song in the shower. See, the vents go right under my room, so I know what I’m talking about.”

You almost choked on the water you were sipping. Good thing the twins were out for business, because them hearing what you and Sylus had been up to in his shower was the last thing you’d want.

“Ahem, wow, poor you,” you said, setting the glass down.

“Poor? Kitten, he should count himself lucky! I don’t often give off private concerts.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky alright,” Kieran said aloud before adding a strangled whisper only for you to hear, “Lucky to survive.”

“Remind me to cut your allowance in half,” of course Sylus heard that.

“No need, bossman, your voice is my favourite sound to wake up to,” Kieran said it so sweetly you almost believed it yourself.

You stifled a laugh and watched the twins leaving the room, presumably to change and wash their hands. When Sylus served the three of you the dinner, he so attentively prepared, you finally realized how hungry you were. The plate was clean within minutes. When everyone was done with their supper the twins started working on cleaning the kitchen while the two of you watched as Mephisto walked from one end of the table to the other, cawing every so often. When the bird walked up to Sylus he patted its head with his finger.

“Thanks for assistance, buddy, she appeared here according to your meticulous calculations,” he whispered under his breath.

“Hey, I heard that! So you did sent him after all!”

“Guilty as charged,” Sylus laughed, mockingly throwing his hands up in the air. “Are you cross with me, sweetheart? There’s always a way for you to take it out on me.”

His right hand reached across his chest and Sylus patted himself on the back. Your cheeks turned bright red.

“Animal,” you huffed and rolled your eyes.

“Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it, sweetie.”

“Seriously? I thought we gave you enough time,” Luke cried from the side of the sink.

“Don’t eavesdrop!” Kieran hit him on the head with a wooden spoon and the two of you sitting at the table burst out laughing at their banter.

When Sylus and you retreated back to his room you collapsed on the bad exhausted, the soreness between your thighs finally let itself known and you complained loudly.

“I have a few things in mind that could ease the pain,” Sylus suggested cheekily.

“Do any of these things involve your face buried between my legs?” you asked settling yourself comfortably as Sylus spooned you.

“A couple of them do, after all I haven’t had any dessert after such a filling dinner,” he murmured in your ear.

“Sounds tempting but right now I just want to sleep. Don’t leave my side,” the last sentence was a command and it made the man chuckle.

“As you wish. Do you have anywhere you need to be tomorrow?”

“No, I’m free till twenty-fifth,” you mumbled.

“Oh, that means we’ve got the whole week!”

“Yeah, that will get my hole weak,” the words fell from your mouth before you could catch them. Damn the internet and damn those witty comments.

“What was that?” he laughed in your ear and you squirmed.

“Nothing! Go to sleep!”

“Alright, alright. But as soon as we wake up, I’ll start planning a quick getaway for us, just you and me. You deserve a break after all the work they’ve put you through,” he kissed the top of your head. “Sweet dreams, kitten.”

“Good night, my love…” those were the last words you uttered, blissfully content with the feeling of the warm body pressed against yours from behind. The marks on your skin were tingly and hot, but they felt like a map leading to the discovery of your treasured love, whose soft breath was landing on your head every other moment and whose hands were holding you like you were the most important thing in the whole wide world. So, you didn’t mind them. You didn’t mind at all.

A/N p.2.: is sylus a masochist? idk don't ask me. well, he did ask mc to kill him once, just saying.

© All rights reserved. You DO NOT have my permission to translate, plagiarize, copy, modify, republish my work or repost it on any other platform in any way.

[stareiiez]

You're Mine, Now and Forever

notes: first actually long fic for this fandom, and its giving a slow start. don't worry! it gets better from here. also idk how I feel about this style of writing, it feels off. idk.

warnings: MINORS DNI.

words :3.3k

chapter two

You don't know how it happened, or how much time passed when the first scream ripped through the air and the first bloody body collided with your frantic driving on the express lane outta town. After all, it was just supposed to be like any other day, with you spending your time at work during a slow hour; organizing and reorganizing dresses for what felt like the nth time that hour just so you looked productive. Pop music filtered slowly through the store's speakers and you hummed to the few lines you knew of Chappel Roan's new hit song. The two customers milling around the clearance section chatted to another one of your coworkers across the store, and your manager was at the cash register, scrolling through logs of ordered clothing items to make sure they were in stock in the store's catalogs.

It was a boring day. A lunch break was the motivation for you to continue mindlessly nitpicking at full clothing racks when the first explosion shook the very building. The music stuttered glitching just to accompany the flickering overhead flourescent lights. Then another explosion follows soon after, a deep heavy boom that sinks into the soles of your shoes and rockets up your spinal cord to shake your back molars. Your mouth wants to open, to ask the obvious ' What the fuck was that?" out loud like every stereotypical blonde that questions the bloody scream they heard in the middle of the night in every 90's horror movie. But the chorus of screams and chaos answers your inner thoughts instead. Screams of fleeing citizens running away from whatever danger caused the very ground to shake, and smoke to plume into clouds upwards.

"Stay back, " your manager barks to you and three other women who cower together in a small huddle. She walks towards the still rattling glass doors of the store. A shared fear decorates your faces as you all watch with bated breath; the two sets of wide doors swing open, and your manager steps out into the chaotic mass of running bodies that swarm past her.

Horror paints her face when she sees the source of the destruction. Her head is tilted backward and jaw slack, her amber eyes the size of marbles, she's rooted to the spot. You're surprised she's not knocked off her small feet with every push and shove she endures. "Oh my god." Your ears strain, eyes focused on the way her mouth moves over each syllable with a slow, shocked pace. You're not blessed with reading lips, but you'd like to think that adrenaline fuels your brain enough to make out the word 'Invincible' before the ground shakes again.

This time, the destruction targets your building particularly. One second you're standing and the next, you're knocked on your ass washed away in a wave of shattered glass and minuscule pieces of asphalt and rubble that spray into your vicinity. The outside world, once muffled by plexiglass, screams with sirens, and people running for their lives berate your ringing eardrums. Your front doors are destroyed and buried under brick-and-mortar rubble. Severed limbs stick out this way and at odd angles from the tight crevices of drywall and insulation. The dust makes your eyes water, and you choke on a scream that squeezes your throat something fierce. You like to think you're not consumed by the panic and the trauma of watching your manager and several others get crushed to death in a matter of seconds because Mark has gone off the deep end.

"Come on!" Your coworker's words bark at you. Suddenly she's at your side, in your shocked haze, she managed to be the functioning one out of the rest of your group. Her hands grab onto your forearm and yank all your dead weight to your feet. "We need to leave! I don't want to die here!" Her free hand holds onto the sobbing customer, the other woman accompanying her is missing. Surely buried under the rubble that caved in one corner of the dress store, maybe she was one of the hands that was reaching out from the concrete bloody mess. The thought makes you want to stop and vomit, your stomach curdles with how much stress and adrenaline swarms through your body in nauseating waves.

You follow her, not like you had a choice, she's pulling your trio towards the back of the store and the emergency exit. Her breaths are ragged and half-sputtering between prayers to some god she believes in that your only exit isn't blocked off either. "Stay here, I need to get the keys in the office." Your coworker says, dropping both of your hands. Her face is an ashy pale gray when she turns to give both you and the other woman a once over, checking to see if you're all in one piece and able-bodied enough to book it once she gets the door open. You must look just like her, the expression of unrestrained fear and cement particles dusting your face. Small streaks of blood trickle down your temples and nose bridge, thanks to the shards of plexiglass that rained over you in the third explosion.

You nod, swallowing down acidic bile that bubbles at the back of your throat. Your eyes linger on her small back when she makes a mad dash to the small back office down the hall. When she disappears from your line of sight, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It makes you jump right out of your ashen grey skin. The woman beside you startles as well, her hand clutching at her heart. "Sorry," you manage to whisper, while your hands scramble to the right back pocket of your jeans to dig out your phone. The now cracked touch screen illuminates too brightly, shining a picture of you and Mark Grayson posed in a goofy pose. Your fingers poised in a 'peace' sign, while the male was peeking out from behind your shoulder with his two pointer fingers raised above either side of your head. Your twin smiles look so carefree in the saved contact picture you have of him.

Your thumb taps on the green answer button, and you raise the phone to your ear. Mark's out-of-breath panting sends chills down your spine in some sickly worrisome way. Your name barks through the speaker of the phone, the continuous screams make it almost hard to hear him. "Mark? Mark, what's going on? " You don't even question why the hell he's calling in the first place, isn't he the supposed one murdering and tearing down the city? Isn't that why the people screaming his superhero name saw him wreak havoc?

"No time! Please tell me you're safe. ." a pause, his ragged inhale makes your heart squeeze in time with your clammy palm gripping the phone tighter to your ear. "Please."

"I'm fine." You copy his pause, brows wrinkle in thought. You know you're lying, you're not fine. You're dazed and confused, shaking in your sleek shoes. Your legs are unsteady and becoming more and more unstable, the comedown from adrenaline is going to be a fickle bitch that'll do you in if whatever happening outside doesn't kill you first. "I'm still at work, I'm waiting for the door to get unlocked as fast as it can be."

Even through the grey background noise on the other side of the line, Mark's sigh crackles through the call. You could picture his shoulders just dropping the tiniest inch in relief, that a loved one of his hadn't been hurt or god forbid, even slaughtered mercilessly in the devastation that had been going on. "You need to get out of here." His voice urges, tensely.

"Mark-"

"I'm serious!" His tone jumps, he's barking. Halfway yelling, and you flinch. The woman at your side reacts by recoiling, both of your nerves bouncing off one another like electrons bouncing off the walls of an atom. "You need to get the fuck out of here, find a car-- any car. Don't even think about hiding, you need to drive as far as you can outta here. You hear me?"

You swallow dryly, fingers squeezing tighter. Blood rushes in your ears, you know you can't argue. There's no way to get information outta him now, not when his words are clipped, whatever is happening outside is far more important and drastic than arguing with his girlfriend who's too stubborn to flee for her life without asking stupid questions. You're smarter than that, and he knows it. He's lost far too many things, and gone through too many traumatizing situations than to waste time and not save the people he loves. Your eyes close briefly, counting to three in your whirling hellscape of a mind. You nod like he can even see you. You can sense it's different now. This isn't some closed-off fight between Nolan and his son that trying to stand up to him and not ' ready the Earth' for the viltrumites to come. This is far more scarier, it's drastic and life-shattering. "What about you? People are screaming Invincible is causing this."

"Don't worry about me." Mark says, his tone more gentle than before, "Just run, I can handle them and if anything happens to me? Just know I love you, okay?"

Your breath hitches. You hate how that sounds; you hate the confession on his lips. It sounds more like a goodbye than him admitting his affection for you like he does every day so casually. It feels heavier on your heart, it rattles your bones, and the tidal wave of curdling bile in your stomach roars into a tsunami. You need to vomit. You need to yell at Mark and tell him to not talk like that. You want to tell him that whatever is happening outside can be handled by the two of you together, even if you don't have any powers. Yet, before you can even voice any of those options over the phone, the call ends with a sharp click. You don't know tears are dotting your waterline till you blink so rapidly that a few salty drops cut trails down your ashy cheeks. Gray water stains the front of your shirt, and your phone lowers from your ear. Your grip is loose on the device.

"Got them!" Your coworker calls out, jogging back to you and the other woman; the jangling keys clenched tight in her fist. You don't know if it adds to the hurt your heart is already holding onto when she doesn't acknowledge the distraught on your face. She's more focused on jamming one of the silver keys in the keyhole and twisting it to the right, the satisfying click and rough opening of the door rings in your muffled ears.

The woman shoves past the two of you without hesitation, making a break for it as fast as her forty-five-year-old bones can carry her. She won't make it far, she barely would last surviving running around the bend of the building before the crowd of citizens tramples her half to death in their need to live another minute longer. Any man for themself is a fickle bitch. Your head turns to your coworker as you follow suit, breaking into a jog. She's already following behind, her pace a lot faster. "Stay safe." You call to her when she breezes past. Her silhouette disappears when she blends into the waves of people, fighting against the current so she can get to some sort of safety before she gets crushed to death herself. Her kindness, her stupid jokes, and her natural leadership are all you're going to have to remember her by; if you live long enough to even see her again.

You run a different path, following the makeshift alleyway that's half crumpled down and now smaller in size, your shoes threaten to trip on jutting-out stone and rebar when you traverse too fast. Your heart thuds faster in your chest, brain running a million miles an hour on how to keep yourself from running further and further away from the manic crowds. Alley water splashes at your ankles, sinks into your shoes, and makes your socks stick to your soles. You cringe inwardly, pumping your legs harder till you too start to run. The small alley breaks out into wide open space, and sunlight and smokey skies greet your frazzled complexion. Crashed cars and abandoned vehicles greet you immediately, some are still smoking and burning. Hot oil and melted rubber don't do anything to quell the queasiness you've been fighting this entire day, but there's no stopping now.

Now, you have to leave. No matter who Invincible knock-off is causing this; they'll be busy fighting off Mark and his team. You run along the cracked sidewalk, eyes sweeping over the conditions of the vehicles.

The lessening of people crying for help is eery, the whole city should be shouting from the tops of their lungs. It's like everyone got wiped out in a matter of seconds, or on a lighter note, they're all hiding and being as quiet as possible so they don't die next. You expected to see clogged highways and people running along the highways seeking freedom, instead, there are only deserted streets and cars tipped over on their sides that you brush past in your search for a ride.

Finally, you spot a buggy. A cute little Volkswagon with dents decorating its doors, and still running. Its engine is the loudest thing in the pin-drop silence, even compared to your sneakers pounding on the pavement. You know it's stupid to take the bait, that some conveniently placed car is here while you were in the middle of your search. You like to think you're better than the dumb female lead of a horror movie, that falls for every trick and ploy the killer lays out for her; but you're desperate. You need to fulfill Mark's wish, that you get the fuck out here and run as far as you can. The leather seat squeaks under your weight when you throw yourself inside the car and shut the door behind you. The car's radio crackles with dead static over its speakers, it sends chills up your spine and only adds to the apocalyptic atmosphere your once-busy city has been subjected to.

You're a walking target. The last survivor of your bug colony that trying to outrun the burning magnifying glass held above your head by some sadistic fucking toddler. The realistic side of things is, that you won't live to see the outskirts of the city before the Invincible knockoff crushes you and your car into smithereens. It'll be quick and painless, but you would hate to be another headstone in a graveyard that your family and Mark would have to visit. That's if they can separate your body from twisted metal and leather. With bated breath, you shift the car from park into drive and slam your foot down onto the gas. Clammy hands clench the wheel when you speed down the streets. You weren't prepped to see the mass destruction that greets you with every twist and turn you made. Bodies littered the streets, some in one piece, others most likely ripped into multiple pieces and scattered over the road and sidewalks. Collapsed buildings and homes make you swerve and splash puddles of oil and blood on the car's exterior. Your tires have run over a body part or more not to crash; the squish of flesh being flattened unnaturally is unmistakable in your ears.

"This is so fucked." You whisper under the roar of your pounding heartbeat. The city limit sign seems to grow closer and closer to you once you hit the wide-open highway. The drive through the rest of the city was thankfully quick, and you still were alive and unharmed. It's a miracle.

Your hope swells and stirs in the pit of your stomach like acid-covered butterflies, you're going to make it. You're going to make it! The delirious bubble of laughter peels from your parched throat, you can't help it. However, that laughter dies just as fast as it came. Just when you were going to pass that beloved city limit sign that seems just in arms reach now, your car hits the dark blue blur that launches itself in front of you. Your foot doesn't react quickly enough to hit the brake, but somehow you're violently stopped. Your chest hits the steering wheel, forehead threatening to follow suit if it wasn't for the seatbelt yanking you back just in time to save you from a concussion.

"Well, and who do we have here?" A male voice speaks out, way too calm for your own disorientated liking. "Hey pretty girl, didn't know if I'd see you again."

Again?!

You blink quickly, as a hand rubs at your bruising chest. In front of you, is . . Invincible. His color scheme is the same, black and blue, but he looks different. His ears stick out, and his hair is hidden away by his suit. His smile which you thought was charming and shy, is replaced with a sick stretched look. He bares all of his white teeth at you like a predator intimidating its prey. In your heart you know this isn't your Mark, it can't be. Not with the way he doesn't move a single centimeter of his body, he doesn't even look like he's breathing. The man is so quiet like he's waiting for you to freak out or scream, yet you disappoint him when you don't do either option. Boring, all you do is stare at him. Jaw slightly slacked, brain whirring a million microseconds a minute. His smile, however, doesn't waver. No, not at all; of course his pretty girl has always been smarter than any bimbo bitch that cried out when he flew through their bodies and ripped them to shreds in his hands.

It's what he loves- - no, it's what he was obsessed over back in his world. It was a shame you didn't last long in his care, and now it's like a higher being is rewarding him for his hard work here in your world to plant you in front of him so suddenly. He's glad the others didn't get to you first, who knows who he would have had to kill off his variants to get to you. He rounds to the side of the car so smoothly, your eyes watching his every step. A hand smacks down on the roof of the car, adding to the multitude of dents to its being. His other hand grips the handle of the driver's side door and pulls it off as easily as peeling off a sticker from its page.

He bends at the waist, his face invading your space far too close to your liking. He can smell the waves of fear and the new spike of adrenaline leaking from every pore of your body. Your natural scent mixed in is an addicting concoction that he never seemed to get enough of, you smell the same. You look just like the one in his home world. He hit the jackpot. You flinch at his movements, leaning far back in your car seat.

"Who are you?" Fuck you sound just like her. Your voice exhales so quietly, warmed breath fanning over the lower part of his face. Delicious.

The Invincible doesn't respond, doesn't even emote as much as that smile you start to grow unnerved of. It's unnatural, just like this entire day. Just like you don't know what the fuck even happened to get you to where you are now, staring in the face of a clone of your beloved Invincible.

[lazysoulwriter]

sand and stardust - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: slowburn, soft nostalgia, Pedro being in love™, behind the scenes of GOT, cultural pride, mentions of fame and fan love, married fluff, portuguese phrases, real soft and romantic. Pedro Pascal x Brazilian!actress

---

You met Pedro in the kind of heat that made your costume stick to your skin. The Dornish sun—well, the set lights pretending to be it—shone harshly against the gold jewelry hanging from your ears, and you remember adjusting your stance for the fifth time while someone off-screen yelled about shadows.

“You alright there?” came his voice, a little raspy, a little teasing.

You turned—and there he was, Oberyn Martell himself, giving you a crooked smile and holding out a bottle of water like he already knew you'd forget to stay hydrated.

“Só se for com você por perto,” you replied before you could stop yourself. (Only if you’re around)

Pedro blinked. “Wait. Was that Portuguese?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “What, the Chilean didn’t expect a Brazilian on set?”

And that was it.

A spark, a crackle, the kind of thing that doesn't burst into flames right away, but smolders for months. Pedro made you laugh between takes. You helped him with lines when he fumbled through Valyrian. He kept showing up early, claiming it was for “professionalism,” but he was always just waiting to catch a glimpse of you first.

By the time the Game of Thrones premiere came around, people noticed how close you were. But you weren’t loud about it. You never needed to be.

Years passed, roles came and went. You both worked on opposite ends of the world sometimes, but your roots were already tangled.

When Pedro got cast in The Mandalorian, he brought you to the set like a good luck charm. When you starred in a critically acclaimed Brazilian film, he showed up in São Paulo with flowers and a front row seat.

Your fans? Ferociously loyal. One Twitter thread called you two “the last real love story in Hollywood,” and someone else made a fancam that used a vintage filter and “Garota de Ipanema” in the background.

“I think they love us more than we do,” you teased once, scrolling through edits as you lay tangled in your shared sheets.

Pedro kissed your bare shoulder, still warm from sleep. “Impossible.”

There were still paparazzi sometimes, invasive headlines when they had nothing better to write. You’d get insecure—about the fame, the way the world looked at you, the pressure of being a “power couple.”

But every time, Pedro would find you, wrap you in his arms, and say something dumb in Portuguese like “minha estrelinha de Dorne” (my little star of Dorne) with the worst accent imaginable. And you'd laugh, because he meant every word.

Your wedding had been quiet. Just family. Just love. Just a Chilean boy and a Brazilian girl who met under fake sun and ended up building something real.

And years later, the fandom still posted your old behind-the-scenes photos like they were proof that soulmates were real.

They weren’t wrong.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[waepenwifestre]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[vampyre-daisies]

I've kept so many of my thoughts on this era in the drafts for fear of being labelled a 'hater' and being bullied out of the fandom, but everything I've feared and expected and complained about, it's all been crystallized in The Reality War.

I say this as someone who adores this show, who has held it close to my heart for as long as I can remember, as a Flux defender, as a Clara apologist, as a classic and nuwho fan, as a pronoun having, protest sign wielding leftist, and with the deepest of wishes for the show to be better. I HATE this era.

We need NEW voices, we need RTD and his cliquey upper management out, we need a writers room where creatives can share and workshop ideas not some singular self-styled "genius" who doesn't share his plans with anyone until the day he hands in the script. We need redrafts, not first drafts (by Russells own admission many of his scripts are released as first drafts). We need lower budgets, because when the show is made to minimise on expensive spectacle it is forced to carry itself on the quality of its writing.

The criticism that the show is too full of its own history has been characterised by some as hollow because 'every era references the shows past'. But the problem here is framing and purpose. Russell has explicitly stated his GOAL is to 'generate content' and 'social media storytelling'. Every few episodes need the big REVEAL. To the point that by Wish World I personally felt literally NOTHING at the Omega reveal. Something that had it happened a few years ago I'd have been thrilled about, I left the episode numb. Because we had Midnight, Fugitive!Doctor, Susan, The Rani, Poppy and Rogue in the previous four episodes alone. Most of which are framed with flashbacks and the grand 'moment of reveal' and audience teasing, and I just knew they'd never pay off satisfyingly, they're there for the sharable moment on social media.

Both season big baddies this era are defeated by a random laser beam with no established precedent. It's Davies-ex-Machina at its worst, The Last of the Time Lords is my least favourite finale for this exact reason (among many more reasons) but even that at least SET UP the means of its big reset.

Answer me honestly WHY Omega was in this episode. Because he doesn't tangibly DO anything, either thematically or narratively. The Rani's scheme could have been to summon a giant ham sandwich and the plot would have been unchanged. The reason it was Omega was because RTD wanted people to post about it and go 'Wow Thing I Know' and get a million headlines like 'Doctor Who Just Did Something CRAZY'. Omega is reduced to a big CGI monster with less than 5 minutes screen time because he isn't Omega, the interesting villain with motivations of his own, he is simply a vehicle for the name recognition of Omega.

This is Doctor Who as content. As IP. It is the MCU, or Star Wars, or any number of modern franchises, where the 'big return' and references come first and the plot is thought up around making them happen not the other way round.

This is just scratching the surface of the problems, not mentioning the hollow corporate politics that are a thousand steps back from where the show was in the Capaldi run. The botched messaging on extremely important topics that come across bordering on straight up right wing. The failings of consistent characterisation. The ways in which Kate Stewart keeps doing deeply deeply fucked up things (excuse me you MICROCHIP and TRACK your employees, some of which are MINORS???) and the Doctor refuses to comment. The narrative failings of season arcs. The way so many of RTD's scripts this era are direct retreads of episodes he already wrote. The endless behind the scenes nightmares. The eight episode seasons being fundamentally a bad fit for a show with this core premise. I could go on for hours.

There have been great episodes in this era, just as there have been in every era. But on the whole this has been one of the deepest low points for me. I love Ncuti, I love Millie and Varada and the whole cast and I will miss those that are leaving dearly... this is not their fault. But if the show gets cancelled (which it WONT, it will return to being low budget) I will not mourn it. It has been dead to me for some time.

Sack Russell T Davies. Sack Julie Gardner. Sack Jane Tranter. Sack Phil Collinson. Sack everyone who has led to this era of ouroborosing the shark.

Stefan Powell can stay <3 ily bbgrl - keep pestering the folks on set

[empty-movement]

GOGAI, GOGAI!!! COME GET UTENA KIBBLES

It's September 3rd. It's 1997. Princess Diana just died, and that's very important to lots of people. You, however, are chewing your nails to nubs waiting for the climax of Revolutionary Girl Utena's Black Rose Saga. It's going to air today.

But like any good fan, you're already one step ahead, because you've spent the last couple days thumbing through Animedia's September issue supplemental, the 100 page Duelist Bible. Strangely, it appears to be in English??? Wow! Thanks Nagumo for translating, Ayu Ohseki for Japanese editing, teasot for proofreading, and ME, FUCKIN' VANNA, for scanning and scanlating this massive booklet!

We've got duel summaries! We've got character design sheets! We've got a school directory! We've got THE DUEL RULES. We've got cast interviews! WE'VE GOT THAT CHU-CHU DOLL CRAFT GUIDE. Check it ALL out here, in the Something Eternal Bibliothèque! You can flip through it page by page here, or you'll also find on the page a link to a PDF version for your at home viewing/archiving needs!!

This gargantuan tome really gets it across that in 1997, you didn't have a fandom wiki or on demand viewing. If you didn't catch and record the episodes, a booklet like this becomes a critical tool for keeping track of everything that's happened up to now, and is also a way for the series creators to tap fans on the shoulder and draw attention to details they want seen but not explained in the show directly. For example, this drops at the close of the BRS, but points out Touga's sword isn't the same in Keiko's duel and in the opening sequence. A thing we don't see cashed in until MUCH later!

This has been a true and absurd labor of love on my part. I even rescanned the booklet from my originals because their quality (decades old lmao) was not worth scanlating. This took a ludicrous amount of time, and has been a main project of mine for over a year now!! I'm so happy to have gotten it done in time for the Something Eternal Watch-Along thread, and I really really hope everyone finds something cool and interesting about it! The really cool thing is this now completes the set of magazine supplementals by the big three magazines made for Utena during its run. We now have fully scanlated this, as well as Animage's June Utena Dossier, and Newtype's November Utena? (Oh My!) UTENA! Take a stroll through memory lane, be they yours or someone else's!

As always, if you like this kind of content, consider supporting us on Patreon! Especially right now, a holy grail acquisition is in the works that I will bleed to share with y'all. More on that later, lmao.

Revolutionize the World! Love, Vanna