#but yeah to make it clear: from the perspective of the living then people are dead dead

[prncssguya]

on hwang in-ho/front man, seong gi-hun and their dynamic.

first, idk why people are getting so upset at other people calling gi-hun dumb, we were told that in the first season. lol being bright is not his strongest trait but he has a good heart and we love that about him. however, he is still an idealistic gullible idiot with a gambling problem. except this time his gambling addiction is backed by a sense of justice and righteousness and he no longer gambles with money, he’s gambling with people’s lives. front man asked a good question at the end of the season, “did you have fun playing the hero?” can we even call gi-hun the hero of the story anymore? he gambled with people’s lives and front man showed him the consequences of his moral heroics.

front man only agreed to help gi-hun with his revolution when he mentioned about "small sacrifices for the greater good". i think he reveled in the fact that the “good guy” was willing to allow a few innocent people to die for the greater good to stop the games, which is exactly what the entire VIP theory is to rid the world of 'trash' to improve the world. notice how gi-hun's moral code and belief also changed, from being "nobody should die" into "yeah small sacrifice is okay as long it's for the greater good" at this point, he just proved that front man's belief is actually valid. AND he gets more of his own people killed in the pointless battle with the soldiers that they had no chance of winning. now he gets to feel responsible for all those deaths and the death of his friend and for whatever additional torture they cook up in the next games (as punishment for the escape attempt).

now on hwang in-ho, i believe he was once a good man and the story he told gi-hun was the truth. but in the end he lost a kidney, lost a wife, a baby, lost his money, got fucked over by the wrong people and got into serious debt and had to play this game to help his wife and probably it was too late to save her. he might have played the games like gi-hun but saw how ruthless and greedy people are and resolved that they don't deserve help

i don’t think in-ho wants/will kill gi-hun, but he wants him to understand things from his perspective and show him that his compassion for the people in the games is foolish. you can tell the frontmen (the old man and in-ho) are extremely fond of gi hun. not only did he protect their original front man when nobody else did, he then won the games and thus their respect as he is now as rich as them. he's no longer "trash", he’s an elite like them. i think they both actually kept tabs on him after he won (i wonder if they do that for all winners? inserting them with gps chips?) because they knew he had not used his reward money and in-ho wanted gi-hun to get on the plane and be happy with his daughter

there’s one interesting aspect of the games that makes front man such a complex character. the fact that they’re operating a organ transplant trafficking network. in a way, he’s creating some good to come from a really fucked up situation. but is it really for the good of others who desperately need it, people like his wife, like his brother? or is it just a money making scheme?

either way, i don’t think there is going to be a redemption arc for in-ho, he’s too far gone. we may get to see more of his human side if he manages to see jun-ho again. the only time we’ve seen genuine emotions from him was when he shot his brother like he seemed distraught

the real cliffhanger for me, is will gi-hun stay true to his belief that people can be good, or will he be forever changed into a villain and become the next front man…? after the events of this season i don’t see how his will doesn’t shatter. he’s witnessed how humanity consistently chose money over survival, he’s lost two close friends, his mother, abandoned his daughter. he has gained nothing from wanting to stop the games and this clearly feels like an origin story for the next front man. it’s clear the front man has won this round and i think squid game will either die with 001 or continue with gi-hun as game master

another thing i find funny that i don’t see many mention is how gi-hun is like the luckiest guy in the fucking world. but i don’t think him being alive this long is plot armor, it makes sense. the games exist for the entertainment of rich sadists who have so much money they don't know what to do with it (remember what old 001 said in s1 about life being no fun for both people with no money and people with too much money). and i’d imagine killing hundreds of poor debt-ridden fools year after year gets boring. especially when said fools are desperate enough to gamble with their lives because they think they can beat the system by playing better than everyone else and surviving and getting the money.

gihun is different because he got the money, got out, and still came back. not because he's unfeeling or because he wants more money, but because he's still convinced he can beat the system.

if you're a rich bored gazillionaire, would you rather watch some randos die or would you rather watch this exceptional idiot fail again and again until he learns that his ideals are meaningless and people are inherently greedy and equality is a myth and people at the bottom of the barrel don't get to question the system?

if you're an asshole gazillionaire, you don't want someone to challenge you and just get away with it. you want to hand them 45.6 billion won and make them go away quietly, traumatized, after breaking them psychologically by making them do horrible things until they understand they're just powerless "horses". if they insist on challenging you and your system and your beliefs (money = boundless power), you teach them a lesson and show them their place in the most manipulative and cruel way possible. if gihun dies right away, that's boring. so he can't die, he needs to suffer. he needs to concede defeat.

also, i find it funny how people are comparing hwang inho and gihun dynamic to hannibal and will graham. makes sense, their whole cat and mouse game, front man hiding his true nature from gi-hun the same way hannibal does, trying to corrupt the righteous protagonist, sowing chaos, testing him and observing his behavior like a lab rat, the crazy tension and staring contests, the gaslighting and manipulation. and with the fact that they think lee byung-hun looks like mads mikkelsen. i never put the two of them together but now i can’t unsee it lol

[vettelsvee]

letting oscar take your virginity to celebrate his win

(if this makes you uncomfortable please to deny or only write fluffy before/after!) love ur work sm

V CARDS GOODBYES | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar arrives home after winning his first ever Formula 1 race, so you think it’s the perfect time for you to celebrate and, also, to say goodbye to your v card ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Hope you like it anon! And sorry it's taken me almost a year I'm a mess 😭

WORD COUNT: 3958

WARNINGS: Smut (virginity loss, female receiving oral sex, fingering, p in v, protected sex, little bit of praising kink), curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Came to the conclusion after the latests Oscar fics I’ve posted that he's the most popular driver on my Tumblr page, so this is for all my Osc people out there! I'm always ashamed of posting smut (but still want to keep writing it) so I hope this is good enough for you to enjoy! Remember that your comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! Thanks for reading <3 (Also, thoughts on the new layout?) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The door of the apartment you shared in Monaco opened, and before Oscar could step inside, he heard excited screams that made it clear someone was more than happy about his arrival.  

Not only did your cat start rubbing against his leg while purring, but also you, his girlfriend, were hopping towards him, barefoot and wrapped in one of his McLaren hoodies, which turned out to be even bigger on you than you had expected when you decided it would be a great idea to steal it from your boyfriend.  

"You did it, Osc!” you squealed as you threw your arms around his neck. "Osc, oh my God, you won a race! Do you know what that means?"  

Oscar felt his cheeks turn red. Of course, he knew exactly what winning a Grand Prix meant, especially during his second season in Formula 1. However, all he did was shrug, as if his achievement wasn’t that important.  

"Yeah," was all he could say.  

"I’m so, so proud of you," you said in a trembling voice, standing on your tiptoes to cup his face in your hands.  

"I couldn’t have done it without you, even though you were here," Oscar replied sincerely, a hint of regret in his tone. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that you hadn’t been there with him throughout the whole process of stepping onto the podium.  

"I know you would have liked me to be there, and I would’ve loved that too," you replied, making a sad but funny face. "But it’s okay! I screamed at the TV a lot, so I guess I helped in some way… And I’m sure you’ll win more races and I’ll be there to see them all, so it’s not the end of the world!"

Oscar chuckled and pulled you close until there was no space between you. He allowed himself a few moments to hold onto you, gently running his fingers through your hair while you clung tightly to his shirt, pressing your face into his chest as if he might disappear at any second.  

"Hey… I have something for you."

Even though you whispered it, Oscar heard you perfectly. You bit your lip,. a telltale sign of nervousness he knew well, as you pulled away from him. Then, you quickly headed towards the living room, with the Australian following you, and grabbed a small book he had never seen before.  

Carefully, as if it were fragile, you handed it to your boyfriend.  

"Open it… I hope you like it!"

Oscar did as you asked. Gently, he opened what he soon realized was a photo album. It wasn’t just a collection of pictures of you from the past two years since you started dating. It was beautifully decorated. There were messages, and even reflections from your perspective about each memory you had built together.  

"I know it’s not a big deal, but since I was so bored with studying, I have to admit I procrastinated a bit and felt like doing some crafts, so… well, this was the result," you said hesitantly, as if you were confessing a crime, though a small smile crept onto your lips. "Maybe you were expecting something else, I don’t know, but I hope you like it. You could even take it with you whenever you have to travel, so you remember me and also add something else if you feel in the mood," you added softly.  

Oscar felt a lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. Although he was used to you being thoughtful, and he always tried to reciprocate, you somehow kept outdoing yourself.  

"Y/N, this is…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. More accurately, he didn’t know how to express them. "It’s incredible. Thank you so much."

You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which, as you both expected, quickly turned into something more desperate, fueled by your hunger for each other.  

Oscar’s hands found your waist beneath the hoodie, his fingers tracing invisible lines along your skin, moving up and down, even toying with the clasp of your bra. The only thing you could do was keep kissing him, tugging at his hair lightly and pressing yourself against his thigh, seeking friction to ease the growing ache within you.  

Then, you suddenly pulled away, more abruptly than Oscar had expected. Your pupils were completely dilated, your lips swollen, and your hair a complete mess.  

"Oscar…" 

"Y/N…"

"I want to do it."

Your voice was barely a whisper. Oscar’s eyes widened, surprised because, even though he perfectly understood what you meant, hearing you say it out loud was an entirely different feeling.  

"Bebe…" 

"I really, really want to do it, Osc," you repeated, more as a confirmation to yourself than to him. "Yesterday, you lost your v-card in Formula 1 with your victory, so… I was thinking maybe I could lose mine too."  

Oscar had known from the very beginning of your relationship that you had never been physically involved with anyone beyond a couple of kisses and teasing. At first, you had been insecure about telling him, worried about feeling ashamed, but Oscar had always made sure you felt safe and comfortable, promising you would only take steps forward when you were truly ready.  

Today, your words made clear that you finally felt like that moment arrived, and that filled Oscar with happiness not because you were about to have sex, but because it meant you were finally comfortable enough with yourself to take that step.  

"Are you… sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "You know we don’t have to rush anything… I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this just because, you know…" 

"I know, Osc, and I promise I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I weren’t sure," you reassured him, looking into his eyes as you ran your fingers over his hands. "I love you, and most importantly, I trust you. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and well… yeah."

"It’s just… I don’t want to mess anything up, Y/N. This is really important, and it should be perfect,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.  

You smiled, cupping his face and bringing him closer for a kiss.  

"It doesn’t have to be perfect as long as it’s with you, Osc.”

"Okay, but… if you change your mind at any point, you tell me," Oscar insisted. You laughed, rolling your eyes.  

"I promise, really."

Your lips met again, but this time much slower. Oscar took his time kissing you carefully, wanting to do everything right. He cradled your cheek with one hand to deepen the kiss, while the other wrapped around your back, guiding you gently toward the bedroom you shared.  

Once inside, he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath to avoid panicking, even though there was no reason to.  

You stood in front of him, looking at him with a mix of shyness and adoration that reminded him of your early days, when you just used to go out for coffee or to the movies back in high school.  

Oscar couldn’t help but look at you with an equally shy, yet utterly endearing, expression.  

"Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"I will, yeah."  

You didn’t need to say anything else since kissing spoke for you. You took your time, enough for Oscar to make sure you felt completely comfortable, enough for you to overthink just a little more before deciding if you really wanted to continue…  

*"I love you, Oscar…" you murmured between kisses. You tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it off, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.  

"I love you too, Y/N…" 

With nerves and hands shakier than he would have liked, almost as if he were the inexperienced one, he took hold of the hem of your hoodie and slowly lifted it over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.  

Oscar was surprised to see you in black lace lingerie instead of the usual shorts you wore around the house. He was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together before kissing him once again.  

Neither knew how long you were like this, but you both agreed that it had been long enough to discover that you needed more of each other.

Oscar ended up forcing himself to pull away from you and take a breath. A smile curved between his lips, which caused you, somewhat nervously, to giggle at the situation and hug him around the waist, pulling him closer to you while trying not to shove him away.

“Really, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Y/N,” the McLaren driver insisted once again.

“I've been looking forward to doing this for a long time, and I've been mentally preparing for it for a while,” she told him, trying not to sound uneasy. “I trust you, Osc, and there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“So...?”

“I want you to make me yours, Oscar. Today, tomorrow or whenever and wherever you want,” you whispered in his ear as sensually as you could.

“Y/N…”

“Oscar: I just want you to fuck me.”

You felt your boyfriend tense up after those words that had caught even you off guard. Instinctively, you brought your hand to the noticeable bulge under Oscar's pants, but when you tried to reach for the button to unbutton them, he pushed your hands away lovingly.

“No, honey, none of that for now. Today is your day, so let me do the work and just enjoy yourself.”

Oscar, without another word, took you by the chin and kissed you again for the umpteenth time that day. Now, your lips moved at a slower speed. You guessed it was because you noticed how one of Oscar's hands began to massage one of your breasts, giving special attention to the nipple. With the other, he lightly brushed your pussy, making you gasp when he decided to play with your clit.

“Do you like it, babe?” he asked in a tone of voice that showed too much excitement.

His fingers now delved a little deeper into your intimacy, those enveloping movements becoming a little faster.

“Yes, Osc...” you barely managed to answer.

That answer was enough for the Australian to stop immediately. You didn't even look him in the face. Oscar pulled away from you, leaving a quick kiss on your lips and starting a trail of kisses all over your body, stopping once he reached your lower stomach area.

“Y/N…”

His hands stood delicately on your thighs, which he was now kissing, closer and closer to your pussy. Your hair stood on end. Your breath was completely held, unable to breathe in case that put an end to it all, as if that would be enough for Oscar to finish whatever he was doing with you. 

“If anything we do tonight makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me please,” the Australian declared. “And, before your little head starts thinking nonsense: no, I'm not going to get mad at you because you don't want to have sex, okay? If you don't want to…”

“Oscar, look at me,” you cut him off, and the boy immediately listened to you: “it's you, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable with you and with anything you do to me.”

“Do you promise me, love?”

“I swear.”

Oscar nodded, grabbing your thighs again and dragging you to the edge of the bed so that his face was in front of your pussy, perfectly aligned with your entrance.

Without warning, he slid his tongue, flat, all over it with a slowness that was completely unbearable and that seemed that, rather than pleasing you, he wanted to kill you little by little. His movements were frantic; constant changes of speed, from faster to slower, and vice versa, that made his nose rub against your clit while his tongue seemed to do wonders with that dance.

When Oscar's tongue began to explore inside you, and his index finger, the one he used to show on camera every time he got a first position just like Sebastian Vettel did in his golden age, started a tortuous tour of your labia majora, you curled up shyly but instinctively. Your hands ended up tangled in his hair, forcing him closer to you at the same time your hips did the same.

“I think you're liking it, aren't you my little girl?” Piastri said, ending his oral contact with you and replacing it with his finger. His gaze was fixed on her, and you thought about why he hadn't done this to you before.

“Don't stop, Osc. For the sake of God, don't even think about stopping...” you gasped, becoming increasingly unable to articulate a word.

He didn't have to say anything else. After those words, Oscar slipped a second finger inside you. You let out a small gasp of surprise and he, without taking his eyes off you, laughed, your cheeks turning red almost instantly. Despite this, he kissed your thighs as he continued the back and forth with his index finger, adding his heart almost soon after while increasing even more the speed.

You felt that everything was going too fast, and the waves of pleasure that were flooding you were making you lose, more and more, the notion of time. You didn't know at what point, but when he decided to add his tongue back into the equation, without leaving the movements of his fingers inside you going straight to that spot that gave you the most pleasure, a strange sensation gripped the lower part of your stomach.

It was getting harder and harder for you to hold back your orgasm. You felt how your eyes were closing little by little, and your leg, too, to which Oscar put a little pressure on them to prevent them from closing.

“Come for me, love,” Oscar let you know. “Come on, Y/N, you've got it babe. Come on…”

And so you did.

Your back curved in such a way that your body, completely sweaty, could hardly keep on writhing as it was doing. You were moaning like you had never moaned before, and your boyfriend seemed to notice. A smirk of satisfaction and success began to break from his lips as he licked at your fluids, his mouth moving slowly now, over-stimulating your clit and making you incessantly.

The Australian rose and carefully positioned himself on top of you.

“I love you, Y/N, you don't know how much,” he said between kisses, making you taste yourself for the first time, but hopefully not the last one. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world... And the best girl in the world. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Oscar, don't…”

“Yes you are, Y/N, and I will not allow you to speak so negatively about yourself.”

After those last words, the driver pulled away from you slightly, trying yo give you some time to recover. Then, you looked at him taking what seemed to be a condom from the bedside table, which he carefully put on and immediately positioned at your entrance. 

You swallowed, while Oscar tried not to think about whether he was really going too fast.

·I don't want to sound weird, but... please, if you want me to stop, just tell me,” Oscar spoke as best he could, trying not to succumb to the nerves he felt about taking this important step with you. “I want you to be pretty sure about this since… Well, since there’s not going back…”

You said nothing. Instead, you gave him a slight nod with your head, still looking at him, which was enough for Oscar to enter you carefully, but without a previous warning.

He decided to stand for a while so you could get used to his length. You felt a little pain. You held back a scream, bit your lips and closed your eyes to do your best to make that feeling go away as soon as possible.

“Y/N…”

“Go on, Oscar. It's all right…”

The boy nodded, and finished entering you with the same care. Little by little, his movements gained speed. You arched your back, moaning incessantly as she started feeling more comfortable with the depth of penetration, and Oscar hitting her in a spot that made her feel a pleasure that you feel in a way you didn’t know how to describe, but that felt good enough to make you never want that sex session to end.

“Does it feel good, honey? Are you enjoying my... cock... for the first time?” Oscar moaned, biting her neck. “Look at you… so desperate for me to keep fucking you…”

“Fuck, Oscar... this is a fantasy,” you gasped. “And you talking so... like… like this... God... Don't stop, please…”

“Never for you, sweetheart.”

Your moans became one, a melody that your neighbors were probably listening to but you didnt give a fuck. Your gazes could hardly be averted, and your words, getting dirtier and dirtier as much as your were embarrassed at first, were sounding louder and louder, as were your pleas.

“Oscar!” you shrieked as you felt Oscar's fingers press against you nervous bundle.”

“Love...” he moaned through his teeth. ”Don't stop moaning my name, please. You don't know how you're making me feel right now.

·And of course I'm going to make you feel so much better when we do this again,” you replied, choking with pleasure. As best you could, you sat up a little and wrapped you arms around you boyfriend's neck. “I want to do it again, Osc,” you made it clear. “I want us to do this every time we get the chance....”

You kept moaning his name, giving him promises you knew he would never break. He kept reassuring you and how good you were doing, speeding up his movements as he couldn’t stop playing with your clit, all of that while he kept telling you that you were his.

You couldn't contain it anymore for the second time that day.

“Fuck, Osc,” he stammered. “I think I'm gonna…”

“Let yourself go, honey,” the brown-haired said. “You can do it, love. Cum for me.”

Your orgasm came before you could say anything else. Oscar came within seconds of you, and as soon as he did he ended, he gave you a short kiss on the lips as he carefully pulled out of heyour and collapsed beside you. 

Oscar's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure with increasingly slower breaths. 

“You ok babe?” Oscar murmured after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding your head with a smile peeking out. “Better than ever, actually.”

It was then that it dawned on Oscar. Quickly, he sat up a little and saw what was under where you were still positioned. His heart began to race, and a pressure settled in his chest as he realized the light blue bed sheets were stained slightly with blood as was his condom, still on him and which he hadn't paid attention to because he just wanted to be with you cuddling after he'd made you lose your virginity.

“Hey, listen, love…” he started to say in a calm, but concerned tone.

You followed his gaze, and couldn't help but blush and die of embarrassment inside.

“Oh...” you spoke quietly, instinctively covering yourself with the sheets. “This... is normal. Well, I guess so…”

“Does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, denying it, though the look on your face seemed to say otherwise.

“Well… It's just a little... just a little sore. But it's fine, really. It happens when you have sex for the first time with someone.”

Oscar studied your face, and he knew you wanted to stop this conversation. You wanted to let it go and pretend everything was fine so you wouldn't give him any sign that you hadn't liked it, even though your moans and pleas seemed to say otherwise.

“Still, you shouldn't let it go.”

The Australian approached you and gave you a shy kiss on the forehead. Then he got out of bed, still naked.

·Where are you going?” you asked in a voice mixed with curiosity and nervousness.

“I'm going to get a towel with hot water to clean you up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already heading towards the bathroom while taking off his condom. As you heard the faucet turn on, and your boyfriend getting everything ready, you couldn't help but feel bad because, maybe, Oscar deserved better, and your behavior, what was happening to you now, was not what he deserved.

You forced yourself to stop overthinking because if there’s one thing you knew for sure is that Oscar loved you, more than sometimes you were conscious of.

Your boyfriend came back a few minutes later, and found you sitting on the bed, curled up on yourself and clinging to the sheets while still covering with them, as if you were afraid.

“You don't have to…”

“I know,” Oscar cut you off, offering you a small smile, “but I want to. So, please, just let me take care of you.”

Your eyes softened at his proposal, and you forced yourself to calm down as Oscar, with his gaze and his hands coyly on your thighs, asked your permission to spread your legs. You nodded, and he carefully ran the wet towel and hot water over your pussy, giving it little touches because he didn't want to risk it stinging or hurting any more because he really didn't know exactly how the female body worked after losing your virginity.

When he finished, he kissed her knee and sat down next to her again, also covering himself with the sheets so he could hug her and, more than anything else, try to reassure her and make her feel as good as possible.

“There, that's it, all settled. Now, let's stay here and rest.”

“Was it good?”

Oscar let out a small laugh from his mouth at your sudden question as he leaned over to you and snuggled into your shoulder. 

”You've been amazing, love,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Now you were both lying on your bed, looking at each other. “Are you okay now that… Did I hurt you? I need you to be honest with me... I should have asked you if you liked the pace I decided to take because, well, I’m not going to lie to you, I think I could have gone a little slower...”

You shook your head and didn't give him a chance to keep talking. Instead, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

“You don't have to worry about anything, Osc. It was far from perfect. So, from now on, I hope you win more races because from today on, winning sex has become a tradition that I hope we keep for a long time.”

Oscar laughed, knowing you were completely serious.

“We can make a tradition of this and anything else you want, love,” he buried his face in yours, and began to tickle your waist gently. “We can even have several rounds if you want, so… thoughts on that? Should we keep ready for a second round today?”

[poor-lost-umbrella]

ok, so someone probably pointed this out already but maybe not

*invincible season 3 spoilers ig*

idk, maybe it's too obvious but

i wanted to point out these parallel scenes

in season 1 it looked like cecil is being hard on new guardians, but after season 3 (and in general, from how he acts) it's very clear that it stems from him being hard on himself. he deeply cares about people's lives and often blames himself for any lost ones. he's obviously a very pragmatic person, but i think it comes from the time he spent working in the GDA and him observing the reality of the job, being "the guy that saves the world".

still, i believe he's atfected by every live lost, there's just no time and space for any mourning and in general focusing on the individuals. so he tries to at least minimaze the amount of damage caused.

it is also directly stated in the show that he doesn't like how he has to act, but he knows it's the most "logical" given the circumstances.

the decision he's making in the scene above is also parallel to him later deciding to implant the earpiece in mark's head - not ethical, but necessary in his opinion.

and i agree - mark has all the right to be mad at cecil for this in season 3, maybe he could be more understanding, maybe not, don't wanna get into that rn - but i can't help to understand cecil's perspective - he was training mark himself, he knows how he's power has increased and the damage he poses to the world.

still, i believe he cares about mark and debbie.

and since i'm already making a post about cecil - yeah, the decision to keep conquest alive behind mark's back was stupid, but he doesn't know nolan's alive to tell them about viltrum etc, so i also get the decision in a way.

that's the post, i don't wanna make it an essay and defend cecil too much

[esmedelacroix]

02 - Pleasure to Have in Class

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse,

fic radio ! Couldn't Make It Any Harder by Sabrina Carpenter

You caught yourself smiling when you walked into your dorm building. Not only because of your interaction with Ryomen in the library, but because after you left the library he insisted on walking you to your dorm building. Of course, you gave him a snarky response but he still insisted. The walk ended with him saying that you should go to one of his football games.

To which you replied with a 'maybe' knowing you probably wouldn't. If you want to be on the top, you need to study every second you can. "You know that's just not true right?" Suguru smiled while combing his hair with your bamboo brush.

"It makes plenty of sense to me," you replied throwing on a hoodie, "Is that my Ouai hair oil!?"

Silence. "No?" he smirked.

"Sugu!" you exclaimed angrily throwing a Jellycat at him.

"What? I gotta use your shit or I'll look more like a hermit Valorant player instead of an angelic fem," he reasoned.

You chuckled looking at him through your vanity mirror. "You're a troll," you cheesed.

"You need to let me borrow something from your closet then," you chided in mock annoyance.

"Deal," he swore, sealing it with a pink promise.

The two of you walked to campus's hot lunch spot, Sal's. Where you saw Shoko wave you over to a booth with her and her little[sorority term for little sis], Utahime. "Where's Gojo?" Suguru asked as he took a seat.

"Talking to his frat brothers about their game this weekend. He'll join us in a few," Shoko explained, gesturing towards the loud table behind your booth. You looked in the direction of the table to see that Ryomen was already looking at you. But he had looked away so quickly you didn't know if it was real. Did my mind make that up just now?

You looked away down at the menu in front of you. "Did you guys already order?" you asked.

"Yeah, we got your usual," Shoko answered moving aside for Gojo to sit.

"Hey, gang!" Satoru beamed as he took his seat. You all exchanged greetings and caught up.

"So are you guys coming to my homecoming game?" Satoru asked, grabbing one of your fries after clearing his food in record time.

You gave him a look and apologetically replied, "Can't, I have a case study to finish."

"Knowing you, it's probably due in two weeks," Satoru joked.

"So what if it is? It's never bad to get a head start," you instead. That was followed by a chorus of groans.

"_____, we love you and we would love for you to spend more time with us," Shoko persisted.

"Please, _____?" Suguru sang.

"Ugh, fine."

Your friends cheered and Suguru gave you an encouraging smirk. "I'm going to smoke," he purred slipping out of the booth. Shoko followed and they could be seen right outside of the window. They talked and shared a blunt. You hated it when they did that. The way they ruined their bodies to feel better. You always encouraged them to quit but at the end of the day, they were their own people. They could make decisions for themselves.

It still bothered you that you loved them so much and wanted to be in touch with them for as long as possible, but they had no problem shortening their life span for an hour-long high. Of course, you knew you were speaking from the perspective of someone who wasn't raking up student loan debt because your parents were paying for your tuition. You knew that if you ever needed anything financially, your parents would always give it to you.

So you had financial differences from your friends, but that didn't mean you didn't have issues of your own. If you didn't deal with your problems by smoking, why couldn't they do the same?

Maybe I'm being a spoiled rich bitch, you thought to yourself.

"You're zoning out," Suguru observed, poking at your leg and taking his seat next to you.

"Your breath smells," you commented, not changing your blank facial expression. He smirked and blew his breath in your face.

"Good god, Sugu," you retched theatrically.

You and your friends all talked about school drama posted on the gossip page and the game you would be going to together. Satoru revealed that he could get you the best seats nearly right next to the bench. He was the team's wide receiver and any team member could get tickets for friends. People always wondered why you and Gojo were such good friends.

Not many people knew that you and Gojo were from the same very high-class society in New York. They all assumed that you were hooking up freshman year. Which brought you many haters in your classes who were obsessed with him. You had known him for ages. You were never close in your youth, only seeing him in passing at social events.

When he discovered that you would be attending the same University, he went out of his way to befriend you. Since your overbearing parents were out of the way, he could be a friend to you. He understood you as a fellow 'rich snob.' Sure he had intensely pushed himself onto you but he eventually grew on you. The two of you got close very easily. What shocked you the most is that although you were good friends, you never like liked him.

You didn't have any sort of crush on him. You were scared you would, but none. Sure he was handsome but you just did not feel that way about him and vice versa. And that made you feel so comfortable.

In the middle of your conversation, Gojo's whole frat walked by. Ryomen bumped his fists with Satoru and gave him his extra pickles. "I don't know why he does that. I hate pickles too," Satoru sighed, rolling his eyes.

Ryomen nodded in your direction, "_____,"

You squeaked an awkward, "Hey," giving him a lopsided smile.

After he walks away Suguru immediately nudges your shoulder. Shoko and Gojo lean over the table excitedly. Even Utahime raised an eyebrow at you. "You didn't tell me you were friendly with Ryo~" Satoru sang as he wiggled his brows at you.

"_____, you make proud," Suguru smiled.

"Guys, it's not like that," you countered.

"Oh, but it is. Ryomen doesn't just say 'Hi,' to anyone let alone remember their names," Satoru explained.

"Well that's just rude," you accused.

"Or hot. Might I say sexy," Suguru teased.

"Might I add, assertive? I would say he's boyfriend material right Suguboo?" Satoru implored.

"Oh yeah, totally," he chuckled. Suguru and Satoru teasing was never a good concoction. They complete each other similarly to Toji and Sukuna's friendship. You knew by their reaction that you wouldn't hear the end of it.

Ugh, what did I get myself into?

The rest of the week went by smoothly until the multi-variable calculus test rolled around. Surprisingly, Sukuna, who you had just started noticing in class, sat next to you. He was early just like you.

"Are you ready for the test?" he asks, as he takes his seat.

You prepared yourself to give a confident answer. Truthfully you were nervous. Math was not your strong suit. Math has always made you feel stupid. You didn't need it for your major but you had an invisible academic pressure to be a well-rounded student and the best in every subject. It's what your parents would want.

Part of you felt oddly relaxed with Sukuna though. He knew you weren't the best at math. The tutors always made you feel dumb but he didn't. He didn't make you feel bad for asking a question that was obvious to him. He even played dumb and made mistakes of his own so you could confidently correct him.

"I'm . . . nervous."

"Well, don't be 'cause you've been doing very well. Because of me of course," he cockily added.

You rolled your eyes but smiled to yourself, "Thanks for helping me, Ryomen."

"Ryo."

"Whatever," you sighed.

The two of you chatted a bit having some surface-level conversation. The professor entered the room and passed around papers. Ryomen stayed seated next to you and didn't move to the back of the room. You convinced yourself it was nothing and he probably just wanted a good seat.

During the exam, things went good you remembered a lot from your tutoring sessions. Whenever you got stuck on a problem your legs bounced and you chewed on your pencil. Sukuna although obviously done with his test began to breathe loudly, and very slowly. Naturally, you followed. Whenever you panicked or wanted to give up because you were confused he told you to just breathe. He was always so calm around you. So it made you calm.

You finished the test though not feeling great about some problems, you felt better about the test as a whole. You could credit some of it to Sukuna sneakily changing his breathing for you and knowing what you do when you are about to panic. Just feeling his heat your shoulders and elbows slightly brushing, comforted strangely.

After the test, you both left the class walking side by side. "So how was that?" he asked.

"It was okay. Thanks for your help," you muttered.

"Of course, and uh, if it makes you feel any better, I did get above an 80 on my paper," he casually revealed.

"Oh my god!? Ryomen! That's amazing, I'm so proud of you," you excitedly exclaimed hugging him.

His heart skipped a beat when you said that. I'm so proud of you. He hadn't heard that phrase since his high school English teacher praised him for his perfect attendance senior year. He felt a bubbly sensation in his chest. You then realized you had hugged him and you immediately let go. His hand lingered on your waist for a bit before you both awkwardly let go.

"Sorry I do that when I'm-"

"No, it's fine," he assured.

You both walked down the hall in awkward silence with the et rising to your cheeks and ears. "I'm starving, do you want to go to Sal's with me?"

You thought for a second. You planned to go straight to your dorm to study. He needed to get a perfect score on your next paper since you had gotten a 97 on your last one. I can't let this boy distract me, you. thought.

"C'mon, it's just one meal. I'll pay," he persuaded.

You let out a deep sigh, "Fuck it, sure."

The two of you walked to Sal's and got a few strange looks from passersby. You got in your head about being seen with Sukuna. A fuckboy like him would only tarnish your reputation. What is that nobody student government member doing with him? That is what you imagined everyone was thinking.

"You know I just remembered I have an online meeting with a professor in ten minutes," you lied looking at your watch.

"At 1:32?" He questioned suspiciously.

"Yeah, he's weird about time stamps," you shrugged, "Don't let me stop you from getting lunch though."

You left quickly leaving him no time to question you further. Why did I do that? You asked as you walked to your dorm, biting your lip. It's fine. It's all good. Now I'll have time to study. I can't let him distract me. Your grades were getting a bit worse and you couldn't tell why. You spent almost all of your free time in the books.

You couldn't let yourself and your folks down because of a boy that probably felt the same for you as he thought for all the other girls he's gotten with. You were probably a dare or some kind of project to him.

You could let yourself get hurt. Again.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows @sukubusss @r33m-world @pelicanpizza @mykuronekome @linny-bloggs

comment to be added to the taglist !

[andcars]

ㅤ [ 𝗕𝗔𝗗𝗚𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗚𝗜𝗘𝗦 ]

premise. you're a singer invited to watch the formula one race. a lot of people think you aren't interested in the sport at all—which is kinda true. but you're really only here to root for one of the drivers.

prompt # ㅤmale reader, secret relationship, famous reader, [ "Take it slow—shit! You're eager" ]

tags #ㅤsemi-public sex, talked to like a princess; fucked like a whore, world champion daniel ricciardo, renault daniel ricciardo (but age of current danny ric), happy trails make a happy man, implied shoey, soft ending, semi-unprepared sex, saliva(?) play, licking, sweat kink (reader receiving), light body worship

wc #ㅤ2.3k

ㅤㅤFEEL FREE TO INBOX ME FOR THOUGHTS OR REQUESTS !

| MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

It’s a classic. You’re that guy who loves to be on the slow side of things—exploring different fields, experimenting shapes and colours, never sticking to a location—and he takes things almost too fast.

Everyone thinks that you don’t like sports—you don’t, truly. You need to make that clear. Yet, your eyes drift towards the lightweight car driving in odd loops. It’s just cars. Yet the sport is less about the facts and more about the heart, isn’t it?

The fact is: you’re soft spoken.

Your heart says: you yearn for the man on pole right now.

The black-yellow car passes everyone. From the Renault garage, you're watching with detached excitement. You're sure that the camera will catch you grinning wide yet looking confused most of the time. Still, the race was entertaining enough.

With heart clenching corners, you watch as the man on pole defends his position from the others. And somewhere after, he fucks risks and breaks late—which apparently got him an advantage. At least that's what the overeager commentators were saying.

The race couldn't have gone quicker. You get to see quickly how fast your lover 'pits' (changing tyres, you think?). Apparently, it wasn't fast enough. Though from your perspective, it was pretty fucking quick.

Nonetheless, the race seems almost flawless. With the remaining laps lessening by the minute, he quickly advances

Speed wasn't really your thing. The greatest thing in life for you is the serene moments in the trail. As Daniel Ricciardo crosses the finish line, you know that you're the only thing that he slows down for.

"Here in Austin, Daniel Ricciardo wins home his first championship. An incredible race for the Australian driver." The loud commentator booms in your ears but you're almost crying from the happiness you see on Daniel's face.

The stupid cheek-to-cheek grin, the untying of his shoes, the absolute joy in his face for pouring champagne in his—Jesus, what is he doing?

It's truly official. You're dating a weirdo.

Soon, you're pulled away from the garage and being ushered to the media pen for an interview. You know enough that, technically, you shouldn't be here. But it was something about celebrity work that you are also being interviewed here.

"Lovely to see you on the paddock," someone said, you're unsure if they even know your name.

"Yeah." You nod at him, a bit awkward, "I've been following Formula One for a bit but not a lot. It's another experience watching it live."

"Have a favourite driver?"

It's obvious that he thinks you're clueless about F1. Which is, by the way, fair.

"Yeah, Daniel Ricciardo definitely has been one up on my list. Heard he's switching to Red Bull with Max Verstappen so uh, kinda excited to see how that goes."

Those bad ass scenes you watch in those POV videos feels like this. Little less music, though. Still, his face looks out of place as he listened to your answer. It might not be a lot but it's more than other celebrities' answers, you presume.

"Heard you're releasing another album," oh, so he does know you. "This is a new step for you—apparently it's more pop music than your usual R&B."

"Yeah, right," he's not even paying attention to you anymore, distracted by something behind you, "Think it's timed perfectly with me learning some new things in Formula 1, you know? Just new experiences and all that. But I have been a fan for quite a while, so it's still not that super new to me. Similar with pop."

"Well, you're not the only one here who's a fan, it seems."

Behind you, Daniel Ricciardo wears an over-exaggerated face, smile eye-to-eye and hands covering his squealing mouth. You have half the mind to punch him.

"Omagash-omagash-omagash-omagash!" He screeched, jumping up and down—to which you laugh at.

“Hello there,” he fanboys, as if you don’t let him spread your legs after races. “Hi.”

His hand is on his heart, acting as if he needs to calm himself, “I’m such a huge fan. I know all of your songs from heart.”

“Yeah? You wanna join me in my interview?”

Daniel gasps, stepping hesitantly as if it’s such an honor to be standing next to you. You think about how he should apply to some acting classes to improve.

“Welcome, Daniel,” you remember that his idiocy is being broadcast when the interviewer spoke again. “It’s an honor to watch you win your first Formula One championship. With the rollercoaster of a season—“ looking at him, he’s already looking at you—“would you say there were little miracles that helped you win tonight?”

The question is directed to Daniel. Daniel is directed towards you. It's almost embarrassing how he is just not listening to the question. You tried not to look at him but from the corner of your eye, he's screaming your name with just a gaze.

"Daniel?" He snapped to the camera.

"Yeah, sorry," he laughs. "Question... miracle? Sorry, what?"

Awkward air was attempted to be fanned by the laughter from the three of you. It was an attempt for sure. Daniel scratched the back of his head as the question was asked again. You weren't sure if you're dismissed from this conversation now.

"Think we all got little miracles around us. Still, the team did a good job from the crash in Monza. Think if they hadn't repaired it in good shape, I'd be driving a truck.

"Ah, I do have miracles right beside me though. You know, my loved ones," his eyes are addicted to you, "You know that, right? Feeling blessed when they're watching you succeed?"

You can't muster a proper response. If you rewatch this interview, you'd probably see your flustered face in the camera. To save yourself from spluttering, you just nod and say, "Yeah," while laughing.

God, you love this man.

A few minutes later...

Jesus, you hate this man.

"I know, just quickly," he's smiling and grinning against your skin as he hastily takes off the rest of his suit. His tank top is left on while his pants are pulled down to his knees.

A groan leaves you for the sake of your pride. "Sure you can't wait to the hotel room?"

He's shaking his head in your neck. A sharp bite just underneath the collar of your top comes in. "Mm, you know I love you too much. And our post race brief will be shit to handle, babe."

It's embarassing how quickly you can forgive him just from the tone of his voice. It's rich and deep, vibrating against your skin. He sounds straight out of an erotic book. His short breaths, the warmth of the air and the feather like touches only amplify the arousal fogging the storage room.

It's small. So you can safely say you're suffocating in horniness.

You feel it more than anything else. His hot cock is grinding against your clothed ass. The hem of the underwear being pulled with each thrust of his dry cock against you—shit.

"Daniel," you push him off, "I'm not fucking you dry."

"You aren't," he tells you. You look at him and you can see the playful turn of his mouth. He doesn't say another word. Yet, his eyes briefly glance downward, a lick of his lips, and a tilt of his head is enough to tell he wants a blowjob.

Jeez. Both amusement and the gutteral urge to suck his cock fight inside of you, "You know that my saliva isn't enough, right?"

He laughs. Defeated, he pulls a small bottle of lube from his race pants. First of all, they had pockets? Second of all, when the fuck did this man decide to be this prepared?

"You're a tease," you reach for it—immediately denied as he used his height against you.

Daniel shakes his head, letting out 'tsk's. Before you could retaliate, he places his hand on your shoulder and lulls you down. The slow push to your knees and the view of his proud smile is a sight to cum to. His cock twitches in agreement, most likely loving to see you sink down like a slut awaiting for a reward.

There's no time to complain (not like you want to, anyways). Your lips are eager to part and mouth at the head. The taste of his win is still on him. Victory, champagne, and sweat is all you get just from this. He moans when your tongue plays at the frenulum on the underside of his cock.

His hips buckle, causing you to gag out of surprise. Hand now on your hair, he controls the pace as he rubs the head of his cock on your tongue repeatedly.

"Fuck..." he groans, lost in his own pleasure, "You suck cock like a fucking slut. If only your fans could see how you wanna get fucked by me so bad."

He's purposely teasing you when you can't speak. Both hands on your head, he's fucking deeper into your throat. "Shit, yeah," he moans, "Smart mouth only for sucking my cock, baby. So fucking good just like this."

Every thrust he does, he fucks himself deeper and deeper in your mouth. You're getting intoxicated by his musk and the way his happy trail brushes against your nose. It's like he's trying to bury you between his legs so that he could keep you as his cock warmer.

"Good fucking boy, God..." he throws his head back, enjoying how your throat tightens around him as your tongue rubs all it can around the shaft.

You're caught off guard when he pulls all the way out. "Mmph... Daniel," you pant, "Shit. Fuck."

His cock is dripping with your saliva. You try not to moan at the sight but you're ogling it anyways. With a hand on his cock, he slaps it on your bottom lip and a small whine escapes.

"Like that?" he asks as if he doesn't already know the answer. "So fucking wet already, I should just fuck you like this."

He runs his mouth faster than his car sometimes. Pulling yourself off the floor, you meet his lips. It’s hungry and almost devouring. As if it was recited, you both find yourselves with your back to the wall and a leg around his waist. The last remains of your clothes are gone. He’s pressing against you, his cock just barely teasing your rim.

“Daniel?” you breathe his name in the kiss. He lets out a breathy moan in response—“Shut the fuck up and fuck me”

That gets the message delivered. Daniel laughs as his lips pull away to trace his tongue around your face. It’s like his own technique. He laps at the sweaty skin, completely unbothered and rather entranced. He’s pouring more lube around his cock and using the rest on his fingers. 

The clock is ticking. You let out a groan when two fingers enter you suddenly. The push is more pleasurable than painful. He feels warm around you and the vents in this room isn’t enough to cool you both. It’s hot. He’s fucking you quickly while grinding his cock against your thigh like he wants more.

Your face is drenched. In any scenario, you would tell him off. But like this, he’s breathing heavy against your skin. You can hear him groan and grunt as if he’s the one getting off from this. You briefly get reminded of the dog you always wanted. Maybe comparing your boyfriend to a dog isn’t the best idea.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, resting his mouth by your earlobe, “I’m gonna put it in, yeah? Gotta rush.”

He just wants to stick it in.

"Danny, wait—fuck! Slow down..."

Your legs try to close around him—his hands hold your knees up to fix the position. You’re probably going to fall. He wants to hold you up like this, fuck you like this, keep you on his cock just like this.

The stretch had your head hitting the wall. It burns just the right way. Daniel is acting like a virgin with how much he’s enjoying all of this. You’re not sure if it’s because of the lack of preparation or the thought that you would be caught any time.

Either way, he fucks you much more animalistic than before. You’re not a moaner, but your breathing gets heavier as little punched out moans escape your parted lips. He fucks you too fast-too rough. Every thrust has your body jumping. 

“Good fucking boy,” Daniel moans, “so pretty, so fucking tight. Letting me—yeah, shit…”

Whatever he says doesn’t matter. He’s blabbering nonsense as he’s getting close. All the teasing, all the non-existent distance, all the cameras only increasing his arousal for you. It all comes out in his frantic pace.

“You’re gonna make me fucking cum!” Both of his arms secure your waist, holding you like he would with a toy. “Gonna make me cum so quick. Such a good slut—my favourite boy.”

You associate the drawn out groans with him cumming. His movement slows, opting for deeper thrusts. A hand comes down to jerk your cock to your own completion, shaking from his eagerness.

His name is on your tongue when spurts of cum leave. It’s embarassing how you dirty both of your torsos with your spent.

Daniel’s laugh is vibrating through your skin. You wince when he decides to give a playful nib at your earlobe. “Sorry,” he lies, kissing the back of your ear like it would heal you. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

Trying to find the words are hard. “You—you act like you only date me to fuck me.”

He memorised your joking tone along with the taste of you. “Well, you only date me to fuck me too.”

“No,” your legs slowly drop, “I fuck you to get more exposure in sports.”

@delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @jamie2305

FOOTNOTE ────── finally broke out the writing slump w/ this one ! hope i reach the riccy d's girls w this one . cuz uh, me too

[aingeal98]

No one asked so feel free to ignore this, but I think it’s a little bit reductive to view Willis as an abuser when nothing really states that in pre-flashpoint comics.

Like Cathrine getting “drug abuser” pushed onto her while her introduction just called her sick, and Willis being a criminal (working illegal street gambling), and getting painted as an abusive father/husband, paints a ugly picture on people’s bias towards poor families.

It’s kinda how people assume Steph was dirt poor like Jason when she’s stated she’s from the suburbs multiple times. (And while there are suburban ghettos it doesn’t really seem like her financial situation was ever as dire as Duke and Jason’s growing up.)

Very true! I do agree with all of this tbh. There was classism involved in how Catherine's initial illness went from just "sick" to drug use, and same for Willis. When I knew nothing about Jason except from reading wikis, batfam fics and Cass comics, I just thought Willis had always been the way Lobdell wrote him, and then when I actually read Jason's Robin comics I was like hm. That's a bit odd, maybe there's something I'm missing because he seems pretty absent but that's like. It. Jason clearly cares about him! But he can't be around because Batman and Robin need to be a thing.

Since then I've read a lot of good meta from Jason fans on the topic, most of them were along the lines of what you're saying, pointing out the classism at play that's always damned Jason since he was first rebooted from a circus kid. However I've also seen good meta about Robin Jason's anger towards abusive men, and how bitter some of his speech is, that made me a bit more open minded towards the idea of bad dad Willis. I don't really mind when fans want to explore how Willis may have contributed to that mindset Jason had, but it crosses into ick territory for me when they use it as an excuse to prop up Bruce, who's canonically a much worse father. Ultimately I think what it comes down to for me is if the headcanon is done in a way to reinforce the classism at play in the narrative, or if it's aware of what Jason's up against and not trying to paint Willis as naturally abusive due to being poor and a criminal. YMMV on whether the person writing the meta/fic manages to land the headcanon well, but whereas before I used to have a "ew" gut reaction to seeing bad dad Willis, nowadays I'm willing to wait until I've read the full meta/fic to decide if I like it or not. In the comics though? Yeah fuck that, no thank you. I don't trust them to do it in a way that doesn't glorify Bruce for "saving" Jason from a doomed destiny.

It's interesting that you brought up Steph though because I do see her, Jason and Duke as three different perspectives of growing up Not Rich in Gotham. Jason obviously had it the worst, dirt poor. I do think Steph was meant to be in a bad financial state at the start of her appearances, despite living in the suburbs. But there was a clear progression in the comics of her and Crystal getting better and more stable, which is an interesting contradiction of Dixon's. He hated women and poor people and it showed in how he wrote Steph, but he also liked Steph, as much as he could like a female character while being so misogynistic. So she was given the rare opportunity to escape from the poverty he initially wrote her in, to be one of the 'good ones' who worked hard and got out. And then DC killed her, because even if she managed to make it out of poverty, she couldn't escape from being a girl.

And then there's Duke, who's from the Narrows and who's dad was a non union worker at one point (the monologue Duke gave about the shadow crews was so good PLEASE dc give me more of that Gotham worldbuilding from Duke's pov). There's so much there that still hasn't been fully explored and I'm hungry for more because despite everything going on during Zero Year, when we first meet him he and his family seem stable. It's almost like a reverse of Steph, where location wise he's in a poor area of the city but in terms of how his house looks like it seems fine! Whereas Steph is in the suburbs but her house initially looks... not great. So I'd put him at around the same level as Steph financially just based on living in the Tracy Towers and what we know of his parents careers, but with a much less toxic family situation, which meant that they were probably more secure in their finances even when the Riddler was around pulling some fuckshit. And obviously after the Joker attack he's in the foster system and then in the Manor and then living with a cousin. I need DC to give us more on the Thomas family like we don't even know if his dad is well or still Jokerized! And he stands to be such an interesting contrast to both Steph and Jason. Robins two four and six, three different ways of growing up in Gotham when you're not rich as hell, the similarities and differences between them... I don't trust DC to write it well but I want it all the same.

This turned into a big ramble lmao but thank you for the ask!

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

I really want the show to go into more detail about Husk's backstory as an overlord, partly because I feel like it's something the fandom is kinda glossing over and partly because it's lowkey one of the biggest obstacles that a Husk/Angel relationship would have into overcome.

'Loser Baby' emphasises the similarities between Angel and Husk's situations, but it also (probably deliberately, since Husk is the one leading it) brushes aside one of the most major differences between them.

Namely that when Husk tells Angel that he's not the only one who sold his soul, he's not just singing about himself.

Husk sold his soul to Alastor, yeah (or lost it at least, which amounts to the same thing), but he also traded in souls. He was that “psychopathic freak”, and was operating fro long enough to achieve Overlord status.

And, honestly? Having your soul owned by Husker back in the day probably sucked.

The one benefit of soul contracts for the person selling their soul is that they seem to get a fair amount of say in how the contract is written.

Angel's contract, for example, apparently has a clause stating that he's only under Valentino's jurisdiction when he's in the studio. (Which, btw, puts a whole other spin on why Val is so pissed when he moves out of studio accommodation and into the Hotel.) And Val is apparently bound to that. Even though he's pissed off and actively wants to put Angel in his place, he can't make any moves against him in the club.

Equally, since most overlords seem to be associated with a specific location/industry, you can generally choose who your working for and therefore roughly what kind of stuff you're gonna be doing.

In practice there seems to be a lot of manipulation and coercion going on on the part of the Overlords making these contracts— they're not fair by any means— but the sinners signing them are theoretically at least guaranteed the right to a (somewhat) informed choice and some control over the deals they make.

Having an Overlord who uses human souls to pay his gambling debts, however, completely undermines all that.

Imagine going into work for your job running the roulette games at the casino only to be told that the boss played a bad hand in a game with Valentino, and so you're a sex worker now.

Or being traded to someone who has you fighting turf wars for them, and realising that your contract doesn't have any clauses to protect your personal safety because you only signed up to be a bartender.

Or selling your soul for a job near your home and family so you can guarantee their protection, only to be traded to someone whose territory is on the other side of the pentagram.

Husk is a victim of his own addiction, yeah, which is one of the reasons why Angel relates to him. But his backstory implies that there must be a significant number of people out there who were also victims of Husk's addiction, and may not be as sympathetic. Dude basically owned other people as property (… we have a word for that) and then literally played games with their lives.

And like, I'm not saying he hasn't changed. He seems more empathetic on the show than his backstory would imply, and apart from anything else, he's had a pretty clear object lesson about what it's like to be on the receiving end of that sort of thing. (Ngl, I'm pretty sure one of the reasons Alastor keeps him around is because he's the type to find the irony amusing.)

But like, he's in this place where he can relate to Angel Dust's situation, while at the same time probably also being able to relate to Valentino and Alastor's perspectives (although I doubt he was quite as bad as Val to work for).

And I'm curious as to what would happen, later in the series, if the gang met someone who had sold their soul to Husk at one point. Someone who would also be able to relate to Angel's situation, but with Husk as their version of Valentino.

[pastafossa]

When Heather said Muse and Daredevil are the same, just “underdeveloped boys hiding behind masks, trying to make it look more sophisticated”, do you think she might have a point? (Personally, I don’t — I think she’s speaking from a place of ignorance + trying to process her recent trauma + feeling some understandable anger. Also I think this is good indicator — and purposeful by the writers — that Heather doesn’t actually know Matt that well and their relationship won’t last much longer)

Eager to get your perspective — imagine me with my face in my hands, kicking my feet and giggling

NO BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT THIS, CAUSE I CLOCKED THIS TOO.

I think there's multiple things being brought together, a lot of which you caught here.

Going to put this under a see more cause it's a slightly longer dissection of this part of the episode.

DDBA thoughts beneath the cut.

"Underdeveloped boys hiding behind masks, trying to make it look more sophisticated."

If we compare this to the last time she brought this up, there's been a clear shift in perspective. Before, she was curious about the 'why' with vigilantes and masks - does the mask allow vigilantes/antiheroes to be their true selves, or is the mask about hiding those true selves, creating some sense of separation? She wanted to talk to Daredevil, even Frank Castle about it. Now, she seems (to me at least) to be working through her own trauma and anger, yeah - anger at Muse, yes, but at Daredevil too, because to her, at least right now, she's latched onto, 'Muse was a horrible person who wore a mask to hide his identity, which means horrible people wear masks. Therefore the people wearing the masks are the problem because if they were doing what's right, they wouldn't need to hide.'

It doesn't matter to her brain right now that Daredevil saved her life. He's part of the problem - especially since she just saw Daredevil at his most violent. I think with time she'll be able to process that and recognize it eventually, in the way that someone bit badly by a dog will often come to recognize that not all dogs are bad. But they're going to be afraid of dogs for a while, or maybe even forever. Especially if their sole experience with a dog is getting bit.

But if we set all that aside and just take the statement at its base value: she's both right and not, I think. We know how people are. We know how Muse is, calling his slaughter an 'art' and not just, you know, serial killing. There would absolutely, in this universe, be insecure, chest-thumping, underdeveloped dudes who'd slap on a mask so they can run out and beat people up and see themselves as heroes. But in reality they just like being violent, and the mask DOES help hide them from consequences.

But she's also wrong by applying it overall/to the masked vigilantes in general. Not just because of Matt/Daredevil, but because of people like Hector earlier in the season. With Hector, that was one of the whole plot points: he was (RIP) doing it because it's the right thing to do, and because he wanted to help. Matt, arguably, does what he does for the same reason: because it's the right thing to do. Hell, Frank isn't even hiding behind a mask for all that she included him on her list earlier. He's not calling it sophisticated, or hero work. He's doing it because he believes this is the only way to solve the issue.

They aren't playing at being sophisticated. What they are doing is trying to save lives in an inherently broken, corrupt, inherently unjust system: a system that killed Hector despite him being found innocent, a system that would rather spend more money jailing a hungry guy than feeding him, a system that allowed Muse to kill 60+ people before anyone noticed, a system that elected Fisk despite his loooong list of crimes. It's a system that will literally kill you if you help the very person the system is trying to crush, like Hector did. The mask is an added layer of protection so that they can keep doing what they can to help. It's not about 'allowing' them to be violent in the way the statement implies.

And the strongest evidence of that? If all crime stopped, they would give it up.

Frank would go into retirement.

Matt would hang up the suit.

And Hector would have been at peace.

That's something about the street level heroes. They're not up there. They're down here in the dirt with us. They're the ones who hear a woman get grabbed in an alley. They're the ones walking by the corner store when they hear someone pull a gun inside and demand money. They're witnessing all of this firsthand. And I don't think you can call them all underdeveloped boys playing at being heroes without acknowledging the reality that that the person being robbed in the alley needs a hero, because the system sure as hell isn't all that interested in doing anything about it.

And I think that's sort of where they're going this season. What they're leading us to. Because that's the reality that Matt's been struggling with - the system is broken. So what do you do when you have the ability to stop some of that suffering? Do you turn away and hope someone fixes it? Or do you fight?

We know what Matt's answer is, what Hector's was. And I'm not convinced it's the wrong one.

And I think you keyed in on how this relates back to their relationship: Heather doesn't know Matt all that well, not really. None of them do, really. Heather loves the image of Matt that he's shown to her, of course, but it's a false one, an incomplete one. That's not her fault, since Matt has been lying and frantically trying to hide that side of himself to her, and he also clearly hasn't been exploring his stance on various ethics with her like the regular debates he had with Foggy and Karen in the past. I do think the relationship's destined to blow up, though whether that might get mended in S2 is anyone's guess, but I just am noooot getting the feeling that relationship's going to be able to survive the fallout once she realizes just how much Matt has hidden from her.

[shiiro-arts]

Thank you so much for replying to my previous ask in such detail (I loved it and really, really appreciate your efforts 🙏)

I just started rewatching the anime and I saw the focus they kept on Lisanna hence my doubt. From Erza I felt it was more of a sibling type dynamic (that Erza sees Natsu and Gray more as her younger brothers) but they really pushed the Lisanna narrative in the beginning. And given the way he reacted differently to Lucy and Lisanna like becoming flustered with Lisanna I wondered.

Please do talk about the killing himself part too.

I love reading your analysis!! Thank you so much for your hard work ❣️ (Feel free to push in NaLu scenes that show it their bond more obviously)

Hi!! I'm happy you liked it, I'm going to try and talk about Natsu and Lisanna a little bit more and then I'll start with the whole killing himself thing. (following this post)

I think the reason they focused on Natsu and Lisanna at the beginning is because a lot of studios/mangakas have the need to create a couple, even better if it's an MC. And pairing Lucy and Natsu up from the beginning doesn't make any sense, they just met and didn't know each other.

Lisanna is a really important person to Natsu, although they hardly interact anymore.

She supported Natsu when he first came to the guild and became his first friend. Not only that, she helped him with Happy, hence the whole wife and husband thing, they represented a family.

Natsu is not as stupid as they make him out to be, he knows what marriage is, exclusivity to a partner

and things only adults are supposed to do.

He knew what Lisanna meant by "we'll get married in the future," and if she had never "died," NaLi would have made sense.

But it happend, Lisanna "died" and Natsu had to get over her. This doesn't mean forget her tho, as I said, Natsu LOVES his family and friends, forgetting about lisanna just because she died would not make any sense. It takes time to accept death, and after Igneel's disappearance, the death of lisanne hit him, HARD.

The only thing he could do was getting over her, but not forgetting her.

And that's when Lucy comes into the picture.

She keeps bumping into him, buys him food for "no reason" and talks all mighty and good about his family, basically, she gives him good vibes. He takes her to FT and for some reason she follows him everywhere and before he knows it, he wants to partner up with her.

This is development by natsu's part, he is ready to open up to new people (Lucy) and pretty much they become attached to the hip, because "she is nice", yeah, that's his reason.

Lisanna wasn't meant to come back, mashima himself said so, the only reason they brought her back was because the animation staff preasured him to because they liked her. NaLi is not happening because Mashima never had anything planned for her, and I'm not saying this because I'm a NaLu fan, it's just facts. Thats why she is so useless in the manga, because mashima doesn't know what to do with her. She is just there.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Let's beging with the whole suicide thing

I want to clarify that this is MY PERSPECTIVE, you might agree or disagree with me and thats completely fine.

Let me beging with one thing, and that is that natsu IS NOT SUICIDAL.

He wants to live his life at the fullest and he looks forward to the future.

Then why do I say he wanted to kill himself? because when lucy "died", he was so full of grief that he just didn't care any more.

One thing that they make clear is that the demons of zeref, once awaken, have only one thought in their minds: KILLING ZEREF

Lucy's "death" is what awoke END, Natsu felt so desperate and he was so full of grief that he literally abandoned his humanity.

She was gone and he blamed zeref, because if he had never started the war, she would be alive, that was enough for him to abandon his morals and look forward to kill someone.

Now comes the important part: his confrontation with grey

This part is really important because it shows that Natsu is aware of his actions.

If he really was completely possessed by END, then he would not have hesitated and warn grey about getting out of his way, he would have just killed him and keep going, but Natsu warns him several times

Until he doesn't give a damn anymore and attacks him.

Natsu was adamant about going after zeref and killing him, but he is also aware that if he does so, he will die. Zeref told him so himself.

But lucy is dead, so he just doesn't care anymore.

Igneel talked to him about looking at the future

But Lucy wasn't in that future anymore, so he can't look forward for it, because it died the moment Lucy did. if she wasn't in it, why bother? He knew that killing zeref was killing himself.

Gray literally saved Natsus life confronting him

This whole panel is foreshadowing to Lucy dying and Natsu wanting to die because of it

[anonmousegosqueak]

Everyone in the 141 (and special guests from KorTac) have something vaguely supernatural about them. (This is a long one so buckle up <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠> )

Price can calm people down really well. That doesn't sound weird at first but there are many situations where he shouldn't be able to. It only works if he's putting a hand on someone's shoulders, and soldiers have reported a 'balm like effect' when he does so. (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Gaz is similar but minus the shoulder thing, if anything physical contact agitated the other person.(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Roach's helmet has wire antenna attached to it, but only when he wears it. This happens with every helmet he wears, antenna will just appear when you blink. He also has survived stuff he shouldn't be able to, got out of a blast relatively unscathed where he should've been a scorched corpse.⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙

Ghost straight up disappears in dark corners. Like he fell in the void or something. The entire team just lost him once for an hour. Then Gaz looked over his shoulder and he pushed himself of the wall and out of the corner he was last seen in. They all swore to Price that he wasn't there before, but he just gave one of those 'Yeah, definitely believe you...' nods. ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ

Soap can tell the worst joke known to man and most will still find it funny. But there is always exactly one person that won't get it. Whenever Soap is doing dumb and his accent really comes out someone/something is playing the bagpipes. Maybe it's coming from a speaker, maybe it's coming from person but it always happens. Everyone thinks Soap is paying someone, Soap thinks someone is just following him around with a bagpipe. I thought of which he finds flattering. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Other soldiers swear that the few times Horangi has bitten into and enemy soldier that his teeth were strangely sharp. Same with nails (that look more like claws) popping out of his gloves. His clothes are always usually pretty intact minus general scuffing from being on a battlefield. (⁠=⁠｀⁠ェ⁠´⁠=⁠)

König never takes of his hood (did you know it's actually a t-shirt?). Which doesn't sound too odd, privacy is fairly important in their line of work. But whenever he lives it up no one can ever see any facial features, it's like a void. Minus the occasional mouth peeking out to eat something. A recruit swore they saw König lift it up once and there was nothing there besides the big shape of a mouth and eyes. This same recruit also had a deathly high fever so who knows? ┐⁠(⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠)⁠┌

I mean, I think you literally wrote it perfectly. I dunno what to add so I'ma just write what it would be like from the perspective of someone experiencing all these things.

John- one second the world feels like it's ending, bullets flying, death everywhere. You can only watch another person die right in front of you so many times before you wonder when it's your turn. Right as you think it's all over, a warm presence washes over you. It's not even clear what happens at first, you just feel... Safer. Yeah the adrenaline is still very much there but it's calmer, less intense. It's only when you see that smile that everything seems to click into place. You're still breathing, heart still pumping, you're not on the field right now. You're alright, soldier.

Kyle- I think it's a similar effect but not exactly the same. While Price can help calm someone down, Gaz can basically make someone... Smart? A solid hand on your shoulder and it feels like the cloud in your mind is cleared. Like you can think again, remember what you were doing and how to do it. Strategies are back and everything seems more clear and doable. You know what you're doing and y'know what? You *can* do it.

Gary- Roach... Roach is bug. Nothing else to say. You could literally give him the helmet you were JUST WEARING and somehow once he's put it on it'll have those silly little antennae on it. Don't ask questions, just let him be bug. AND HE'D NEVER BURN TO DEATH SHUDDUP

Simon- I think at this point the 141 no not to ask questions. Yeah at the beginning it would freak the Sargent's out but at this point they're used to it. Can't find Lt? Eh, he's in the shadows somewhere. Relax, he'll show up when he wants to. If you can't find him that means he doesn't want to be found.

(⁠☞ﾟ⁠∀ﾟ⁠)⁠☞

Horangi (I'm sorry I can't call him Kim, it sounds wacky) - I think it kinda became a rumor amongst recruits, "yeah Horangi is actually a tiger irl". It was a joke and all, everyone took it like that, especially when someone was talking about Horangi biting a guy's throat out, but uhh- yeah that actually happened. I mean König has been bitten enough that he'd literally believe it, even if he didn't see it. Also Horangi purrs. The end.

König- imagine you're just eating lunch, looking at that one huge, spooky guy who never takes his mask off, and he pulls it up slightly to take another bite of his sandwich and... There's just nothing. Darkness. Like deep shadow that can't be illuminated. The sandwich literally disappears and he pulls the mask back down, only giving you a little look before turning back to whatever paper he wants reading.

Okay that's all! I've been feeling slow today (I haven't slept well since... Ever) so it might not be top notch. Hope you enjoy anyways!

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

9.1: STEVE & BUCKY

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Steve tries to convince his oldest friend that he is making a mistake.

Word count: 666

Warnings: Bucky being dumb and oblivious.

Steve found Bucky hidden away in the gym the next morning. He cornered Bucky while he was aggressively curling his biceps with a couple of dumbbells.

“Buck?”

Bucky ignored him, focusing on his weights in his hands.

“Bucky, will you stop for a minute?”

“What, Steve?” he snapped, face softening slightly after seeing Steve’s disappointed expression.

“Bucky, what’s going on with you and Cricket?”

“Nothing, nothing‘s going on with me and Cricket.”

“What happened to your birthday gift?”

“Which one?” Bucky moved to the punching bag, motioning to Steve to secure it for him.

“You know what I mean.” Steve held the bag securely in his hands as Bucky put his weight into the first punch.

“She didn’t get me a gift,” he grunted, throwing his fist at the bag again.

“What?” Steve was surprised by his response. “Cricket. I was talking about Cricket.”

“Yeah, so was I,” he answered, punching the bag again.

“Bucky, didn’t you talk to her in the kitchen? I saw you follow her there. Didn’t she explain?”

Bucky stopped punching the bag, his chest heaving with exertion. He looked at Steve, his eyes filled with uncertainty and conflict. “Yeah, she explained exactly what she thought.”

Steve frowned, not understanding Bucky’s responses. He watched Bucky’s expressionless face as he repeatedly struck the bag he was holding. He knew his best friend well enough to know that things hadn’t gone well between the two of you. “She didn’t tell you about-”

“She was perfectly clear, Steve. She made it crystal clear about how she feels about Priya, and I’m done. I’m done trying to act like everything’s normal. She’s constantly judging her, making me feel like Priya isn’t good enough for me. What does she want from me?”

Steve could see the pain and frustration in Bucky’s eyes as he continued to vent his feelings. He knew that your feelings towards Priya were causing a strain on your relationship, but he also knew that Bucky loved you deeply. 

“Buck, Cricket loves you.”

“Then why doesn’t she support me?”

“Bucky, are you really this dense? Do you really not see what’s right in front of you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “What’re you talking about Steve?”

“Cricket loves you, Bucky. She supports you in her own way. Are you too blinded by your own insecurities to see it?”

Bucky scoffed. “She has a funny way of showing it.”

“Bucky, maybe you should talk to Cricket again. Try to understand where she’s coming from.”

“I’ve tried, Steve. I’ve tried to talk to her, to make her see things from my perspective. But she’s so stubborn, so set in her ways. She just can’t accept that Priya is a part of my life now.”

“Bucky, maybe it’s time to make a decision,” Steve suggested, desperately. “You can’t keep living in this limbo, caught between two people you care about. You need to figure out what’s truly important to you.”

“Don’t worry Steve, I made my decision.”

Steve frowned. “What do you m-”

“Oooh, so is this where the boys wonder are hiding these days? Cap,” Sharon interrupted the conversation, nodding at Steve before turning to Bucky with a small smirk. “Sarge.”

“How’re you Sharon?” Steve asked amiably.

“Stark sent me down here with this intel, he suggested we check it o- hey!” Sharon exclaimed as Bucky snatched the mission brief from her outstretched hand.

He flipped open the file, balancing it on his vibranium palm, scanning the printed words and wiping the sweat off his furrowed brow.

“Buck?” Steve questioned.

“I’ll take this one.”

“You and Cricket?”

“No, I’ll go with Sharon. You don't need to get Cricket involved.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now why don’t you let me finish up here and I’ll join you,” Bucky glanced pointedly at Sharon, “in the hangar bay in two hours.”

Steve sighed, staring at Bucky’s back for a few moments before following Sharon out of the gym, knowing that he wasn’t going to be successful with his conversation today.

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Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious @noonespecial90 @browneyedgrli @vicmc624 @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx @sashaisready @sebastians-love @belleofthebooks @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321 @love-isnt-greed @hhiggs @winters1917 @blackhawkfanatic @calwitch @learisa @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lillianacristina @mostlymarvelgirl @wintercrow @buckitostan @crist1216 @bisexualnikkisixx @robynjasp @brairslair

[freshl6ve]

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄⁷

⭑.ᐟ : 𝐀𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. I was lounging on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, when a sudden knock at the door startled me. Confused, I set my phone down and got up, walking over to the door.

I reached the door, opening it slightly to see who was there. A feeling of uneasy recognition washed over me as I saw Chris standing in the doorway, an expectant smile on his face.

I rolled my eyes and walked away from the door, already feeling annoyed by his unexpected arrival. Chris followed me in, closing the door behind him.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he said, grabbing my wrist and stopping me in my tracks. “What’s with the sudden switch up? You were all up on me last night, what did I do, ma?”

I spun around to face him, fixing him with a serious look. “Putting your clothes on me and leaving your shit around my house is what you did,” I repeated firmly, the annoyance clear in my voice.

I crossed my arms over my chest, continuing to glare at him. “I literally got in an argument with Matt because he thought I was sleeping with you,” I added, my annoyance and defensiveness rising.

Chris looked mildly surprised at my revelation that Matt had been over. “Matt was here?” he echoed, his eyebrows raised.

I nodded, still scowling. “Yeah, he was. He wasn’t happy to see me wearing your clothes,” I retorted, the sarcasm evident in my voice.

Chris chuckled, a cocky smirk on his face. “Aw, did little Matty-boy get jealous?” he teased, clearly amused by my situation.

Chris took a step forward, his hands reaching for my waist. “Let him,” he said, his gaze locked on mine. “He’s just mad ‘cause you look better in my clothes than his, ma.”

Chris’s hands on my waist pulled me closer to him, my resolve weakening as he neared. “Stop, Chris,” I protested weakly, the proximity and his nearness making it difficult to resist him. “God, you make it so difficult…”

Chris pretended to be clueless, looking down at me with an innocent expression. “Why?” he asked, his hands still on my waist.

I let out a frustrated sigh, gathering my thoughts. “You’re a player,” I began, staring up at him. “I know I should be staying away and I know you’re nothing but trouble.”

I continued firmly, raising a finger between us. “We can’t happen,” I stated firmly, my voice determined. “And we’re never going to happen, ‘cause I’m not going to be another victim of whatever game you’re playing, Chris.”

Chris’s smirk stayed in place, not even fazed by my words. He leaned down, his face only inches away from mine.

Chris leaned down even closer, our faces almost touching. “Just remember,” he said, his voice suggestive, “you were the one who wanted to kiss me last night.”

He moved his head even closer, his breath warm against my face. “Don’t let Matt’s words get to you,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

I swallowed, trying to hold my ground. “Matt only wants what’s best for me,” I countered, my voice weaker than I wanted it to be.

Chris chuckled, his hands tightening their grip on my waist. “And what if what’s best for you isn’t what Matt thinks?” he asked, his lips hovering just above mine.

Chris pulled me even closer, his voice sultry and persuasive. “Maybe I’m what’s best for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. “And Matt’s just talking down on me so you’ll have this perspective of me as a horrible person. It’s true I’m far from perfect, but everyone’s got a story and reasons behind it, don’t they?”

Chris’s tone turned softer, less teasing. His hands loosened their grip on my waist, still holding me close but with a gentler touch.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving mine. “People can change you, ma. I’m not the same person I was five years ago, or even a year ago. And maybe… just maybe you can change me too.”

Chris moved his mouth from my ear down to my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “Just drop the hard act and live a little,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my sensitive flesh.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun,” he continued, his voice a seductive murmur. “And I can show you a whole lot of fun, ma…”

Despite my better judgment, I found myself melting under his touches, his words both tempting and dangerous.

“Chris…” I protested weakly, my resolve weakening as his lips continued their path along my neck.

Chris’s lips continued their path down my neck, his words a husky murmur against my skin. “Matt doesn’t have to know,” he whispered, his voice low and sultry. “It’ll be our secret, ma.”

His mouth moved down my neck to just under my jawline, his kisses gentle yet persuasive.

“You’re a big girl who can choose her own decisions without someone else making them for you,” he murmured between kisses. “So decide wisely.”

As Chris continued his trail of kisses down my neck, my thoughts began to spin, a mix of desire and guilt flooding my mind. I knew that I was about to make a decision that could have serious consequences, and yet… I couldn’t bring myself to push him away.

I thought to myself, This is my decision. Whatever happens from here is on me. I own it all. Not Matt, not Chris… Me.

The realization of my own agency hit me even harder, and any last trace of resistance faded. I knew what I was about to do was risky, and there were definitely going to be consequences, but at that moment… I didn’t care.

I raised a hand, my fingers tangling gently into the soft strands of Chris’s hair. Not pulling him away, but instead holding him closer, surrendering to the moment and my own impulses.

I tilted my head slightly to the side, granting him more access to my neck. Chris chuckled against my skin, his breath hot and heavy.

“There you go,” he crooned, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Let yourself go, ma. I’ve got you.”

His hands gripped me tighter, his mouth now trailing over my collarbone. I gasped softly, my fingers clenching his hair as my body arched against his.

My mind was reeling, caught between the heady rush of desire and the cold reality of what I was doing. But in the heat of the moment, it was difficult to think clearly.

Chris’s mouth continued kissing, the sensitive skin there responding to his every touch. His hands roamed over my sides, up my back, and down to my hips, their grip firm yet gentle.

“Don’t think,” he murmured against my skin, picking up on my internal struggle. “Just feel, ma.”

His hands moved from my hips to my chin, gently tilting my face up to meet his.

Our eyes locked for a brief moment, both of us seeming to hesitate. But then Chris leaned in, his lips descending on mine in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Fuck it felt wrong, and yet so right at the same time. I found myself melting into it, my body responding to his even as my mind screamed that this wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to hate him, to resist him, to not fall for this.

Yet here I was, returning his kiss, my body quivering under his hands as the guilt and pleasure warred within me.

Chris’s lips left mine, moving down to the opposite side of my neck. At the same time, one of his hands moved to the back of my head, his fingers tangling into my hair as he pulled my head to the side to give him better access.

The combination of his mouth on my neck and the slight sting of my hair being pulled made me gasp, a moan escaping my lips despite my best efforts to hold it in.

Chris chuckled against my skin, his free hand gripping my hip. “That’s good, ma. Let me hear you.”

He gave my hair another gentle tug, his lips continuing their path down my neck. I couldn’t help but let out another soft moan, this time louder and more desperate than the last.

As the moans escaped from my lips, a sudden realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. This wasn’t right, I couldn’t keep doing this.

“I can’t,” I gasped, pushing weakly at his chest. “I can’t, Chris. We can’t do this. I can’t…” I repeated, my voice quivered with both desire and fear.

Chris paused, his lips leaving my neck as he looked down at me with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He didn’t fight my hands as they pushed at his chest, instead taking a small step back, giving me a bit of space.

But he didn’t go far, his intense gaze never leaving mines. “Why not?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur. “Is it cause of Matt?”

My gaze held his, my voice firm despite the conflicting feelings surging within me. “No. It’s got nothing to do with Matt right now,” I answered, my hands still pressed against his chest. “This is a bad idea, and we both know it.”

Chris just watched me silently, his hands now at his sides. But his gaze was intense still, those blue eyes holding mine trapped. After a moment, he spoke, his voice a deep murmur. “Why is it a bad idea?” he asked, his tone curious and sincere. “What makes it so wrong?”

My voice grew quieter, the fear and uncertainty evident in it. “Because I don’t want to be another trophy to you,” I confessed, my words barely above a whisper. “And I don’t know where you’ll be in the morning, or who you’ll be with… and I can’t… I can’t handle that.”

Chris just looked at me, his expression unreadable. I could see the wheels turning in his head, processing my words. After a moment, he took a small step forward, closing the distance between us again.

“So you’re just going to assume the worst?” he asked quietly. “That I’ll just toss you aside like a piece of trash?”

I bit my lip, a mixture of shame, fear, and disappointment flooding through me. “Can you blame me?” I responded, my voice shaking. “You’re not exactly known for sticking around long-term, Chris. You don’t even remember half the girls you’ve slept with. How am I supposed to believe I’ll be any different?”

Chris’s gaze stayed locked on mine, his expression hardening, almost defensive. He slowly pulled back from me, his hands moving to his pockets.

He was quiet for a moment, before a bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re just always gonna see the bad side of me, huh?” he muttered, his tone a mixture of hurt and annoyance. “You’ll never believe that I might want to change, will you?”

I felt a pang of guilt and sadness in my chest, the truth of his words stinging. “Chris, I do believe that you want to change,” I said quietly. “But you can’t blame me for being hesitant. You have a track record, and I’m sorry, but that’s not exactly easy to forget.”

He gave a harsh laugh, bitterness lacing his words. “Right, right. My track record. Always gotta bring it back to that, don’t you?” He took another step away from me, clearly hurt and frustrated by the direction this conversation was going.

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “You know how I feel about people like you,” I said, my voice firm yet soft. “You did this yourself, Chris. You can’t be upset at me when I push you away, when I’m scared of being hurt.”

Chris’s expression darkened, frustration and anger mingling in his gaze. “Then stop letting fear get in the way of what you want, for once in your life,” he spat, his voice edged with annoyance. “God, you just let what Matt says get to your head too much. Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

I turned away from Chris and walked over to the coffee table, picking up his hat and jersey from it. The anger and hurt fueling me, I walked back over to him and shoved them against his chest.

“Here, take your shit and go” I said, my voice cold and hard.

His expression darkened even further as he took the hat and jersey from me, gripping them tightly in his hands.

“So that’s it, huh?” he said, his tone a mix of anger and resignation. “You’re just going to push me away again? Ignore your own feelings because you’re too scared to give in to them?”

I felt a pang in my chest as the words left my lips, but I had to do it. I had to shut him out, push him away before he had a chance to break me.

“Just go, Chris,” I said, my voice firm though the sadness was edging through. “I can’t do this right now. Just go.”

Chris just nodded in response, a bitter smile on his face. He turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing heavily in the silent room.

As he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at me one last time. “You know where to find me if you want a quick fuck,” he muttered, his voice hard and bitter.

“Fuck you!” I spat, anger and hurt bubbling over. “Just leave, get the hell out of here!”

He paused, a mix of anger and hurt flickering across his features, but he said nothing else. He opened the door and was gone, his absence leaving a cold void in the room.

I felt the anger and pain wash over, the reality of what just happened crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I walked over and sank down onto the couch, burying my head in my hands and cursing myself for letting things get this way.

The silence in the room was almost deafening, the only sound being the clock ticking away the seconds in the corner. I felt a mix of emotions swirling in my chest—anger, hurt, disappointment, and guilt.

“God dammit,” I muttered to myself, clenching my fists in frustration. “What have I done?”

As I sat in the silence, the memory of last night came flooding back. The way he had listened to me, how kind and caring he'd been, even as I was telling him about the worst moment of my life.

I felt a pang of guilt as I realized that I might have been too quick to judge him, that maybe I'd let my fears and insecurities get the better of me. Maybe this time, he was telling the truth.

But the damage was already done, and now maybe Chris wanted nothing to do with me ever again.

TAGS: @st6rify @jetaimevous @certifiedstarrr @slvtf0rchr1s @l3sbiancvnt @wh0remikasas @r0s3luvr @emely9274 @mimiluvzpicklez @courta13 @talia-unknown @ivysturnss

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 10 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix part x part xi

part x (huddling for warmth)

The automatic doors hiss shut behind you, straining against the wind, and even though it’s cold enough inside the lobby to see your breath, you can’t help breathing a sigh of relief. “We made it.”

Tomura’s been leaning against you for most of the walk from the train section. If he’s relieved the same way you are, he’s shivering too much for it to show. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

“No,” you admit. “We’d have been in trouble if the walk was longer, though. It got really cold out there.”

“It’s really cold in here,” Tomura mutters. “Are you sure they have the heat on?”

“They have to, for the pipes. It’s just not on very high.” In the time since you and Tomura left, the building’s gone from being wide awake to being on what you can only call life support. The elevator panel is dark, only some of the lights are on, and the only sound you can hear other than your breathing and Tomura’s is the howl of the wind. “Is it just me, or – uh –”

“This is fucking creepy,” Tomura agrees. “Like the start of a horror movie or something.”

You were split on how to feel about the situation – some part of you that never grew out of being in high school a little excited about being snowed in with the guy you like, the rest of you wondering how you’ll feel about that when neither of you have showered in a couple of days. What Tomura just said puts it in perspective. “You know how people are always really dumb at the start of a horror movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s not do any of that stuff.”

Tomura cracks a grin at that, and his lips split and bleed. “Sounds good.”

Not being horror-movie dumb starts with keeping away from the windows, because that’s where it’s coldest. It also starts with getting in contact with somebody who can help. Tomura has a friend who has chains on his truck and a snowplow he can attach to the front of it, but his friend lives all the way out of town, and it’ll be hours before he can make it in. Once Tomura’s gotten the ETA – sometime past midnight – the two of you set your phones aside to conserve battery. The power’s still on, for now, but you don’t want to be caught off-guard if it goes out.

“Now that we called for help, we have to stay put,” you say. “The people who go running off into the storm always die.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough to go out there again,” Tomura says. He’s shivering a little less now that you’ve cleared out of the lobby, with its open spaces and floor-to-ceiling glass doors. “What about food? Nobody I work with keeps snacks down there.”

“You couldn’t pay me to go down in the basement right now,” you say. “People up in my pod keep food around. And heat rises, so we should head up there anyway.”

You have to let go of Tomura to climb the stairs, which is when you realize just how long you’ve been holding onto him. You started out with your arm around his shoulders, but he’s taller than you are, and by the time you pull away, it’s slid down around his waist. The reasonable part of you is wondering why he didn’t tell you to let go sooner. The high-school part of you is deciding that guys’ waists are more attractive than you thought they were.

Neither of those parts of you are going to help you survive a horror movie, or being snowed in with the guy you like. You focus on finding food.

The head of the Acquisitions department keeps a stockpile of gourmet instant ramen in his office, and he’s always offering it to people. You don’t think he’ll mind if you steal two packages, and you can always apologize later. Add in water from the electric teakettle in the breakroom and some hot sauce and soy sauce packets you stole, and it’s a decent dinner. The two of you eat it huddled up in the waiting room outside the department heads’ offices, sitting in two uncomfortable chairs and ignoring the couch.

You’re not sure why you’re ignoring the couch. The two of you slept on the couch together at Toga’s movie night, albeit on opposite ends, and sitting there together when you’re wide awake and trying not to freeze is the smart thing to do. Even in your coats, it’s still cold in here, and you should try to conserve body heat. It makes sense. It all fits in with surviving a horror movie. You can’t get the words out of your mouth.

“Am I going crazy, or does it feel colder in here?” Tomura asks, after you’ve both set your empty containers of soup aside. “It’s colder.”

“Maybe because we ran out of soup.” You definitely felt warmer while you were trying not to burn your mouth. “I have hot chocolate packets at my desk. Or I guess we should probably make coffee –”

“If you mix hot chocolate and instant coffee, it’s like a mocha,” Tomura says. You blink. “Magne says so, anyway.”

Hot chocolate mix and instant coffee. “I’ll try anything once. I’ll be right back,” you start, and Tomura gets to his feet. “No, you should stay.”

“People in horror movies always split up, and that’s when they die,” Tomura says. “I’m coming with you.”

Whether it’s gotten colder or not, the lights have definitely gotten dimmer, and the air is still and moist. Tomura walks close enough to you that you keep bumping into him, and finally you put your arm around him to hopefully control the number of times you run into each other. You go to the break room first, since it’s furthest away, then stop by your desk for the hot chocolate mix. “My Secret Santa got me a hot chocolate bomb,” Tomura says as you walk back. “Have you ever had one of those?”

“No. They look fun, though,” you say. That’s why you got one for him. “Have you tried it yet?”

“Yeah. It was good.” Tomura’s carrying the instant coffee can and the cups you grabbed. He watches you over them. “Would you get something for somebody that you hadn’t tried to see if it was good?”

You get a weird hit of foreboding. “I mean, I think people usually just go off the list,” you say. You take three or four hot chocolate packets and stack them up on top of the coffee can and cups. “And I don’t think they try the stuff. Spinner didn’t try that limited-edition eyeshadow palette he got for Aiba, did he?”

“No.” Tomura snorts. “She still thinks it’s her boyfriend buying her the stuff. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” you say. Then you think about Aiba’s boyfriend, who you run into at the copy machine every so often. “Wait, has he ever gotten her anything that wasn’t tea?”

“He only gets her stuff he likes,” Tomura says. You wouldn’t have expected him to be that tapped in to office gossip. “Don’t look surprised. There aren’t many of us down there and it echoes like crazy. I pick things up even when I don’t want to.”

“They’ve been together for a while, right?” you ask. Tomura nods. The two of you reach the waiting area and you lift the supplies out of his arms, then tap the electric teakettle to get it working again. “It’s kind of sad, then. That her coworker with a crush on her cares more about getting her what she likes than her boyfriend does.”

You realize Tomura’s staring at you. “Not that that’s a reason to break up or anything.”

“She edits all his YouTube videos for free,” Tomura says. “Not that that’s a reason to break up. Or anything. Stop looking at me.”

You return your attention to the hot-chocolate in a hurry. “I should send him to talk to you about this shit,” Tomura continues. He sits down on the couch. “Toga’s advice is always insane, and I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything, either,” you say. “Except if you like someone, you should notice what they like instead of trying to get them to like the stuff you do.”

The teakettle clicks, and you pour water into each of the cups, stirring them one at a time. “Okay. Moment of truth. Does it taste like a mocha or not?”

Tomura takes his cup but doesn’t raise it to his lips. “Are you going to sit down or just stand there?”

There’s space next to him on the couch. You settle down into it before trying a sip of the doctored hot chocolate. “It’s – not bad. Not a mocha, but not bad.”

“Not as good as a hot chocolate bomb,” Tomura says. “You should try one sometime.”

So he liked it. You feel the familiar rush of triumph that’s come over you every time you’ve gotten positive feedback on a gift you’ve given him, even if it was indirect. Usually you’re not sitting next to him when it happens, though. Usually you’re not so close to him finding out. “Maybe I’ll put it on my Secret Santa list next year.”

The two of you drink in silence, and you come to the conclusion that Tomura’s right – it is getting colder in here. Even the hot chocolate, scalding when it went into the cups, can’t hold onto the heat for long. Without meaning to, you find yourself huddling closer to Tomura, your winter coat rustling awkwardly against his. Tomura drains his hot chocolate in one last swallow that must burn the hell out of his tongue, then turns to you. “Come here.”

You cough on your last sip. “What?”

“In movies. People always freeze to death because they don’t share body heat.” Tomura’s averting his eyes from yours again, his face flushed. He’s still wearing your hat. “Come here. And unzip your jacket.”

He’s unzipping his. You unzip yours, too. Tomura gestures for you to come closer, still averting his eyes, and once you’re within reach, he pulls you awkwardly in against his chest. With your jackets both unzipped, his body’s warmth is all too inviting. It only makes sense for you to settle closer. Tomura’s tense at first. As you relax into his arms, so does he.

You remember waking up at one end of Toga’s couch, remember how the first thought in your head was that you were at the wrong end. You were supposed to be at the same end as Tomura, wrapped up like this, because he hates the cold and you knew you’d be able to keep him warm. You wanted to be what he’d reach for first. Like you are right now. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“It’s close,” Tomura says. You’re wondering what else he could be after when his gloved hand finds yours, covering it completely. “We’re killing this horror-movie thing.”

“Unless there are monsters,” you say nonsensically. In your defense, he’s holding your hand. “If there are monsters, we’re in trouble.”

“We’ve still got it.” Tomura’s voice goes softer, losing just a hint of its harsh edge. You remember this from the movie night, too – remember that it wasn’t a sleep thing, remember that it was just a sign that he was comfortable, at ease. You’ve never seen him be that way without his friends nearby until now. “If you can protect me from Yamada and the stupid Grinch song, you can handle a few monsters.”

“Sure. I’ll just sing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer until they lose their will to live,” you say, and Tomura laughs. You haven’t heard him laugh before, and your face flushes when you realize just how much you like the sound. “You’re right. Monsters have nothing on me.”

“On us,” Tomura corrects. His voice sounds calm, but his hand is shaking slightly where it covers yours. You shift your grip and lace your fingers through his. “We’ve got it.”

His hand settles in yours, steadying so quickly that it’s hard to believe it ever shook in the first place. You tuck it into place against your chest and let your head fall against Tomura’s shoulder. “Yeah. We do.”

<- part ix part xi ->

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

I was thinking of if we'll get to see everyone's thoughts on the ROs in game (everyone being mostly Nour and Luca, since we know Farah probably won't like anyone out of spite for being the reason her sibling is around less) and was wondering

We've seen Parim's reactions to the ROs if he'd lived, but what about Aurora and the twins?

Sorry it took a while to finish answering this one! But thanks for your patience! ❤️ :) You’ll get Luca’s thoughts on them, but Nour’s and Farah’s wouldn’t be until either very late end game or in the epilogue. 🤔 But as for the other siblings:

Kieran:

Ember: >:/ *Sigh*….Does this mean I’m gonna start having to refer to them as my brother/sister-in-law? Castor: You may ignore Ember; he forgets his manners, as he is apt to do. I…admit I had my reservations at first. Though, seeing the two of you together quickly assuaged me of them—they seem to complement you well; the night to your day. One cannot exist without the other. With the way they look at you, doubtless they’d agree. Aurora: I hope you understand this union will not so immediately soothe tensions between our respective countries—though I see now that Parim and I had little else to be concerned about. Even were I a stranger, it would take little more than a glance to see how much you clearly adore the other. Your peoples may take more convincing, surely, but I trust you two are the perfect pair to do it. My sincerest congratulations, MC.

Nihm:

Ember: I tried grilling them—what? Don’t look so offended; I’m your older brother, I’m supposed to grill them—and they were so nice about everything that I ended up feeling like the one being put on the spot. :( Castor: That word you call them—I admit I’m unfamiliar with it. What does it mean in solaran? A Luna moth? I see. That makes sense then—I heard them calling you their sunbeam, among other such similar nicknames, earlier. Moths are drawn to the light, yes? ….Apologies, was I not supposed to know that? Aurora: I admit I am impressed with how quickly they’ve ingratiated themselves to the nobles here. I suspect they’ll have little more trouble in winning over the public’s opinion as well. They’ve won over mine, and that is not something so readily accomplished.

Lilith/Lucien:

Ember: Where do you even find these people—ow! What? I can’t say they’re weird? They’re weird. Yeah, whatever—‘pot calling the kettle black’—shut-the-fuck-up. You might be grown now but don’t think I can’t still hurl you into the Thiss. Liken the two of us in such a way again and I’m feeding you both to a crocodile. Castor: Strangely enough, the two of you seem to get along like two sides to the same coin. I swear I…hm. No, never mind. I am happy for you. Doubtless you both must be as well. I should think their rather evident devotion to you is largely unparalleled. They’ve little sense of discretion in such matters, it seems. Aurora: You do know this match likely isn’t going to be particularly well-received by the public, yes? As long as you’re aware; I don’t mean to dampen what should be a felicitous union for the two of you, but I only want you to have realistic expectations. Though, I should think it would do the public a great deal of service in turning their long-clouded opinions by seeing how clearly your Starfellan betrothed adores you, and you them. Though perhaps you might convince them to put a shirt on. Honestly.

Samira:

Ember: I’ve heard the court gossips talking about her before. Well, if she’s going to be my sister-in-law, do let me know if anyone gives the two of you any shit. I don’t mind slipping a scorpion down someone’s tunic. What? Don’t look at me like that. Fine—something non-venemous, then. Like a skink. Or a garter snake. Or a handful of beetles. Castor: I should think the court could benefit from a perspective like hers, though I’m sure most of the nobles would disagree. She’s always done well by you, and it’s clear she loves you like you are already family. I look forward to greeting her as a sister-in-law. Aurora: Hm. And you understand how such a match is apt to be received publicly—her being well beneath your station? And you are prepared to defend such a match? (lips curve in the barest hint of a proud smile) Very well. Then you may count on me to defend it as well.

Aurynn:

Ember: (he’s too busy choking on his own laughter to speak) Castor: (though it’s far less obvious than with Ember, you realize with growing dismay he is also struggling to mask his amusement) No one is laughing at you, MC. Ember, knock it off. I must admit, though—I took him for the type to make eyes at any pretty face, no? You must have done quite the number on him—he seems to have eyes for little else but you, now. Aurora: I would offer you my congratulations, though I fear this would be too preemptive on my part—so perhaps it would be more apt to offer you my condolences instead. I take it you’ve yet to tell your mother? Mm. Well. I don’t envy you.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ your idol answers your call

I-800-LOVE-YOU | nishimura riki x male!reader

pairing: niki x male!reader

genre: fluff (silly ni-ki)

word count: 1.6k

notes: couldn't wait so i had to do another round for ni-ki AAAAAAA i love him sm guys 🥺

After a lively fan meeting, you grapple yourself with self-doubt and curiosity, ultimately dialing ENHYPEN Ni-ki’s number, unsure of what to expect.

You fiddled with your phone as your fingers moved through the virtual keys. Contemplating, you bit your lip while burying yourself in deep thought.

Should I expect him to personally answer? you thought to yourself. He's probably messing with me, another thought fluttered through your mind. Is this really it? The final realization hit you hard.

With a hesitant push, you dialed the number that was given to you. You didn't even know why you did it, but curiosity propelled you forward.

Out of all the people inside that hall, why you? Why had that idol paid attention to you? Was it because of how you looked? How you spoke? A myriad of reasons swirled in your mind, but it was never too late to—

"Hello?"

You jolted in shock and nearly tossed your phone onto your bed. Fortunately, you had pressed the loudspeaker, allowing the somewhat familiar tone to resonate through the room.

"Hellooo~" the other person tried again, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

"Ah, um…"

"Ah, um?"

"I-it's me… The guy from—"

"Yeah!" Ni-ki hurriedly responded, catching his breath before attempting to regain his composure. "I-I mean, I wasn't… waiting or anything. Ahem."

"Oh." You spoke, surprised by his abrupt tone change, but strangely, it didn't bother you.

Ni-ki felt a surge of cringe as he realized he had come off too dismissive. "I-I meant I had something to do… But it's good to hear from you."

A smile crept onto your face. You probably misunderstood what the young idol meant, so you let that small bit go unnoticed.

"Busy?" you asked, genuinely concerned.

"As a bee," Ni-ki answered quickly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Bzzzzz~"

You laughed as you heard him starting to speak gibberish from across the line. Little did you know, your laughter triggered something in him—an unexpected flutter of butterflies dancing within. Just folly, he thought, but the feeling was undeniable.

"Don't laugh at me. I am busy as a bee," Ni-ki insisted with mock sass.

"I know, I know, you're a performer and all."

Both of you fell quiet for a moment, caught in a comfortable silence. It was a raw bit, something rarely captured in dramas—the unspoken thoughts lingering between you.

"Let me get straight to it." You shifted in your chair. "Why did you want me to call you back?"

Ni-ki spun around in his chair, searching for a reasonable answer but struggling to articulate his thoughts. "You just… seemed different to me. That's all."

Although you found his answer somewhat vague, you had to believe it. There was probably no other reason, but you were willing to accept anything over nothing to satisfy your curiosity.

"Hmm. Is it because I'm the only guy there earlier?"

"What do you mean? There's us—"

"You're from a boy group. It's not really commonplace, so I understand." You spoke, drawing from your earlier life experiences.

"Ah yeah. But no!" Ni-ki leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat to emphasize his point. "I just wanted to get to know why someone like you was there that day."

Another curious answer from Ni-ki made you tilt your head.

"It doesn't seem strange to me," he continued. "I just wanted to know why you're a fan."

You smiled, beginning to understand his perspective. You were well aware of how much idols valued their fans, but this was close enough to make you melt into a puddle.

"Actually," you tried to speak clearly through the phone. "I just got into Korea. Back home, I was caught up in a lot of things. And before that, I wasn't really familiar with you guys."

Ni-ki's surprise was palpable. "You're not Korean?"

Now, it was your turn to be shocked. "Wah… That's the part you're surprised about?"

"I mean, you looked cool," he mused, trying to recall how you had appeared earlier. "You were definitely there to tease me, trying to catch my attention and stealing it from my other fans." He chuckled, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

"Hey!" You defended. "I wasn't really doing anything!"

Ni-ki laughed loudly, attempting to ease the atmosphere. "I was kidding."

A brief silence followed.

"You really looked quite different, so I had to take the chance," he said earnestly.

You contemplated his words. Ni-ki seemed like a young guy who probably never truly got to enjoy his teenage years. It must have been endless practices and recitals, training and such. You couldn't even fathom what he had to endure all those years before meeting him.

"So you wanted someone to be friends with, hmm?" you ventured, surprised at your own boldness.

"That and… I don't really like talking to just anyone," Ni-ki sighed. "It may get me hate, but sometimes, people feel too comfortable with me. It bothers me that I can't move without people constantly trying to get a hold of me."

You listened carefully as he spoke, his words revealing a sincere longing for companionship. Despite the uncertainty, you found yourself wanting to lend an ear.

"I get it," you replied after a moment of silence.

"Yeah."

"Then I'll lend you my own ear. Or whatever you want."

Ni-ki's face lit up with pure gladness. As he heard your words, he leaned closer to the phone. "Then be my fan."

You quirked your brows at this unexpected request. "Huh?"

"You said you really weren't an Engene as much as you want to be, so I'll challenge you to be one. Maybe someone solely supporting me. Yeah?" Ni-ki said, trying to frame it as a challenge.

You pondered for a moment before arriving at a conclusion.

"Fine. I'll be a fan."

Ni-ki raised his hand triumphantly. "No wait! Something better. I've got one!"

You waited, curious about what he might come up with this time.

"Let's get closer with each other. How about that?"

You were taken aback. Was he trying to hit on you, or was this some kind of prank? Surely he wasn't joking at this hour?

"Ni-ki, right? Are you okay? How can a fan be—"

"Just keep me company," Ni-ki smiled, his sincerity shining through. "I would love to have a new face keep watch over me."

You tried to process the ridiculous idea but all you could do was agree and comply with his whimsy.

"You sure it's okay?" you asked cautiously. He was a popular idol, after all. There were too many caveats to befriending someone this famous.

"We'll be fine," Ni-ki reassured you, wanting you to trust him. He aimed to prove himself reliable in moments like this.

You thought for a long while, weighing your options. All of that led to an answer you had already predicted.

"Sure." You smiled. "I'll be your friend, Ni-ki."

"Nishimura Riki." He stated proudly. "That's my full name."

You chuckled lightly. "I knew that. I've read tons of guides about you guys."

Ni-ki rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his face. "Sure. But you've got the actual me here right now. Let me be your guide. Hmm?"

You thought again, but this time, it didn’t require much deliberation. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

"Call me whatever you want," Ni-ki offered.

"Ni-ki still sounds cool."

"You don't think it's boring?"

"I think it's uniquely you. Ni-ki."

Ni-ki smiled as he heard his name from your voice. It felt like a sweet haven to him.

"Then I won't bother you anymore tonight," Ni-ki said, preparing to let you rest.

"That's alright. You should go rest too," you replied, sending your regards. "Thanks for answering."

Ni-ki brushed his hair back as he heard your gratitude. "I just had the phone in my hand; you were very lucky."

You chuckled. "Whatever. Goodnight, Ni-ki."

"Goodnight!" Just then, he heard the beep signaling the end of the call.

"Aish! I tapped too early!" You muttered as you slipped your finger toward the end button. "He probably thinks I'm inconvenienced by his call! Ughhh!"

As you thought about that awkward end call, it was a separate situation for Ni-ki.

"Wait, I hung up on my ear?!" Ni-ki exclaimed, clutching the skin flap of his left ear.

Heeseung laughed as he watched Ni-ki fumble with his phone, pacing around the room in confusion.

"He's totally going to think I got bored! Hyung, help me out!" Ni-ki plopped down on the soft couch, bouncing Heeseung from the other side.

"Yah!" Heeseung wailed. "Ugh. Don't dwell on it too much. You did pretty good."

Ni-ki scratched his head, contemplating whether he should call you again.

"Don't even bother; the guy was already confused as to why you liked him," Jay chimed in from a seat away. "It's best if you talk together somewhere outside. A nice meal would be a good treat for him, no?"

Ni-ki looked at Jay, a smile creeping onto his face. "That actually sounds nice. Thanks, hyungs!" he clasped his hands together, acting with a respectful bow as he exited the living room.

Left to their own devices, Heeseung and Jay settled into the couch Ni-ki had just vacated.

"He clearly had the hots for that guy the moment he saw him," Jay said, cracking open a pack of chips.

"Love at first sight, I guess?" Heeseung smiled at the memory, diving his hands into the cheesy snack in front of him. "God, that's good. Mmhm."

"Hopefully, he can be honest with the guy," Jay remarked, munching away. "He needs someone to be his emotional support right now."

Heeseung turned to Jay, a questioning look on his face. "Don't we all?"

Jay chuckled. "Just let him be. We've got his back if things go south." He tapped Heeseung's back reassuringly.

Heeseung smiled, reflecting on how Ni-ki was growing up each day. It was a thought that warmed his heart, and he hoped for the best for his friend.

HEHE I HOPE YOU LIKED IT YALLLL

| masterlist! | previous | next |

[mistakesandtragedies]

The Static Between Us - James Marriott X Will Lenney’s Sister

Title: Static Between Us
Genre: YouTube RPF, Romance, Slow Burn, Secret Love, Angst with Fluff
POV: 3rd Person Limited (mostly from Will’s sister’s perspective)

Warnings: none

Chapter 1: The Reunion

The group chat had been chaotic for weeks. Every five minutes, someone was sending cursed memes or half-baked plans for the weekend, most of which were promptly ignored. But somehow, against all odds and flaky YouTuber schedules, it all came together.

Will’s house was full of noise—laughter, clinking bottles, the occasional screech of a chair dragging across the hardwood. His sister leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her drink and quietly watching the chaos unfold. She didn’t know all of them that well—George she’d met a couple times, Jack seemed nice, and there was someone else she hadn’t seen yet. Someone she definitely knew.

She didn’t want to seem weird about it, but James Marriott had a very specific energy in his videos—brooding, dark humor, weirdly hot in a way she’d never admit to her brother. Seeing him in person was… jarring. Taller than she expected. Quieter. Something about the way he stood just outside the main circle, observing before jumping in, made her stomach buzz.

And then he looked at her.

Not like a full-on stare—just a glance, a flicker of eye contact—but it was enough to make her immediately look away and pretend to read the ingredients on a bottle of lemonade.

“You good?” Will asked, suddenly appearing at her side. He looked exhausted already and the night had barely started.

She shrugged. “Yeah. Just people-watching. Your friends are feral.”

Will snorted. “They’re not my friends when they start wrestling in the living room. You’re the one who wanted to come.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wanted a night off. I didn’t know it’d be WWE: Creator Edition.”

Will laughed and wandered off, distracted by whatever fresh chaos was happening. She was about to disappear upstairs to take a breather when someone cleared their throat behind her.

“You survived the kitchen invasion,” came a deep voice, dry and slightly amused.

She turned around and there he was—James. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, drink in hand, looking effortlessly disheveled.

“Barely,” she said, trying not to sound breathless. “I was considering retreating to the pantry.”

“That’s where the true introverts hide.”

She smiled. “Good to know. I’ll set up camp there next time.”

They stood in silence for a second. Not awkward, exactly—more like… charged.

“I’m James, by the way,” he said, holding out a hand.

“I know,” she replied before she could stop herself, and then immediately wanted to dissolve into the floor. “I mean—I’ve seen your videos. Will talks about you.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “All good things, I hope?”

She hesitated. “Mostly. He said you once made a three-minute video out of spite.”

He looked proud. “Ah. The classic.”

And just like that, the tension eased a little. He didn’t seem thrown off, and neither was she—at least, not visibly. But inside? Chaos. Full system reboot.

They kept talking, and the party around them blurred into static. James asked about what she did, what she liked, if she’d always been into music or if it was just a phase. His voice was low, steady, like everything he said was half a secret. She didn’t notice how close they’d drifted until someone yelled for a group photo and the spell broke.

As everyone gathered in the living room, she caught James glancing at her again. Not obviously. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But she did.

And later that night, lying in the guest room staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way his voice dipped when he said her name, or how his fingers brushed hers when they reached for the same bottle of water.

It didn’t mean anything.

Probably.

Chapter 2: Side Glances

Morning came in with grey skies and the smell of burnt toast. Someone—probably Jack—had decided to make breakfast and clearly did not possess the necessary skills. Will’s sister padded downstairs in an old hoodie, still half-asleep, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with anyone until she’d had caffeine.

James was already in the kitchen, of course. Hair messy. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Mug in one hand, phone in the other, leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just haunted her dreams all night.

“Morning,” he said, without looking up.

“Hey,” she replied, voice scratchy from sleep.

She grabbed a mug and started pouring herself some coffee, pretending like her hands weren’t slightly shaking. She hadn’t stopped thinking about their conversation from the night before. Every line replayed itself in her head like a voice memo on loop. Every little glance. Every pause.

“You survived the pantry-free sleeping arrangement?” James asked, giving her a half-smile.

“Barely,” she said. “No emotional support snacks.”

He chuckled into his mug, then nodded toward the table. “We’re doing the kind of breakfast where no one’s really awake enough to speak, if you’re interested.”

“I live for that vibe,” she said, following him over.

The rest of the table was a zombie lineup. Will was scrolling his phone with one eye open. George was slumped against the wall. Jack was happily munching on something vaguely resembling toast and humming to himself. No one really spoke, and she was grateful for it.

Except James kept catching her eye.

Little things. Like when someone made a joke and he’d look to see if she was laughing. Or when their hands brushed again, and neither of them pulled away quite fast enough. He didn’t say much, but his presence was constant. She could feel him without even looking.

Will didn’t notice. Too tired. Too distracted. Which was good, because she didn’t even know how to explain it—this thing that wasn’t a thing. Not really.

Later, when the weather cleared up, they all went for a walk through the woods near Will’s place. James ended up walking beside her without planning to, just slightly ahead sometimes, like he didn’t want to be too obvious. He made sarcastic comments under his breath. She laughed more than she should’ve.

At one point, someone behind them tripped, and everyone turned around. She didn’t see who it was—because James instinctively reached for her arm, steadying her before she could stumble too.

It was a quick touch. Casual. Probably nothing.

But her heart didn’t get the memo.

They kept walking.

And when James looked over his shoulder at her a few minutes later, eyes soft, lip twitching into the smallest smile—

Yeah.

She was in trouble.

Chapter 3: Late-Night Talks

The house was quiet in that strange post-party way—like all the energy had burned out and now everyone was recovering in their own little corners. Will had passed out on the sofa mid-FIFA game, Jack was upstairs editing, and George had muttered something about a Discord call and vanished into the Wi-Fi void.

She couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it was the caffeine. Maybe it was the fact that every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the way he looked at her like he knew something she didn’t. Like he was waiting.

She grabbed a hoodie and tiptoed downstairs. The garden door was open just slightly, letting in a breeze that carried the faint scent of smoke.

He was out there.

James stood near the back of the garden, leaning against the railing of the deck, cigarette between his fingers, face lit faintly by the glow of his phone screen. His hoodie was zipped up to his chin, and for a second, he didn’t notice her.

Then he turned.

“Oh,” he said, surprised but not startled. “Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head, hugging the sleeves of her hoodie. “Too much going on up here.” She tapped her temple, then hesitated. “Mind if I join?”

He gestured to the spot beside him. “Garden insomnia club’s open to new members.”

She stepped out onto the deck, the cool air biting at her skin, but it felt nice. Calmer. They stood there in silence for a moment, the smoke curling lazily in the air between them.

“Didn’t peg you as a smoker,” she said softly.

James glanced down at the cigarette like he’d forgotten it was there. “Just now and then. When the brain won’t shut up.”

She nodded. “Relatable.”

He exhaled slowly, not looking at her. “You’re not what I expected.”

That caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Will’s always been very… Will. Loud. Fast. Unfiltered. I assumed his sister would be the same. But you’re—”

He paused, searching for the right word. She turned toward him slightly, curious.

“Quieter,” he finally said. “Not in a bad way. Just… I dunno. You listen before you talk. You notice things.”

Her heart did that annoying stutter-step thing again. “I think I’m just better at blending in than standing out.”

James looked at her then—really looked at her. “You’re not exactly blending in.”

It hung in the air between them, soft and unexpected. She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just stared at her shoes for a minute.

Then he said, quieter, “I’ve been trying not to be weird.”

She blinked. “Weird how?”

James flicked the ash off the cigarette. “I don’t know. It’s just… you’re Will’s sister. There’s a whole unwritten rulebook about that, isn’t there?”

Her chest tightened. “Do you think he’d care?”

James gave a humorless laugh. “Will? Absolutely.”

There was something about the way he said it that made her heart sink. Not because he was wrong—but because it meant he’d already thought about it. Which meant he’d already considered the thing she hadn’t even dared say out loud.

“I just don’t want to screw up the dynamic,” he added. “Not sure he’d be thrilled if I started getting… distracted.”

“Are you distracted?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He looked at her again. This time, the silence stretched.

“Yeah,” he said.

Just that. One word. No follow-up. No clarification. But it was enough to leave her breathless.

The cigarette burned down to the filter. He stubbed it out on the edge of the railing and tossed it in the bin.

“I should get some sleep,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “You coming in?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… a minute.”

He paused like he might say something else, then turned and disappeared into the house.

She stayed outside, heart pounding, air cold against her cheeks.

Distracted.

So was she.

So badly it hurt.

Chapter 4: Glitches

The next day was slow. That lazy, in-between kind of day where no one really wanted to leave but also no one knew what to do. Will had resorted to organizing a makeshift “content brainstorming session” just to keep people from melting into the sofa.

It was chaos. Someone suggested fake beef. Someone else tried to pitch a mukbang but got shouted down. James just sat on the armrest of a chair, sipping tea and quietly roasting everyone in the group chat.

Will’s sister stayed quiet for most of it, half-listening, half-scrolling through her camera roll. She hadn’t realized how many random pictures she’d taken the night before—some blurry, some candid. She was halfway through deleting duplicates when she hit play on a video she didn’t remember taking.

And there it was.

A 12-second clip. Just a quiet pan across the living room, probably from when she’d been recording something dumb. But her phone had lingered—just long enough to catch James in the background.

He was looking at her.

Not just looking—watching. Everyone else was laughing, distracted, but James was focused, eyes soft, jaw tense like he was thinking something he didn’t want to say out loud. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t exaggerated. It was... real.

She held her breath as she watched it again.

And again.

And a fourth time, because she hated herself.

Then she did what any self-respecting emotionally confused person would do: she deleted it. Immediately. No backup. No cloud. Just—gone.

And of course, as soon as she did, regret hit her like a freight train.

“Everything alright?” James said quietly beside her, and she jumped.

“Jesus—sorry,” she laughed awkwardly, locking her phone like it was holding national secrets. “Yeah. Fine.”

James raised an eyebrow, not buying it, but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “You looked deep in thought. Existential crisis, or just regretting your life choices?”

“Little bit of both,” she muttered.

He smiled.

And then Will called out, “Oi, lovebirds, we filming or what?”

She froze.

James didn’t.

Without missing a beat, he rolled his eyes and shot back, “You wish, mate.”

The group laughed. She didn’t. Her heart was hammering too loud.

It wasn’t like Will knew. He was just being Will. Loud, dumb, joking Will.

But suddenly, the line between pretend and real felt thinner. Like if she wasn’t careful, it’d snap.

That night, she lay in bed, replaying the video in her mind. Even though it was gone, she could still see it clearly. The look in his eyes. That quiet little moment no one else noticed.

And she wondered—

If he saw it too.

Chapter 5: Avoidance Tactic

It started the next morning.

She came downstairs to the sound of a kettle boiling, hoping for another casual “insomniac garden chat” moment. But James wasn’t there. Just George, humming tunelessly and microwaving leftover pizza like it was a perfectly normal breakfast choice.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

“‘Sup,” George said, not looking up. “James already dipped. Said he had editing to do.”

That made her pause.

Editing? At 9 a.m.? After staying up till 2?

Weird.

But she brushed it off. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe the late nights were catching up to him. Maybe she was reading into everything like a walking Tumblr post.

Still, it kept happening.

At lunch, James sat at the opposite end of the table.

During filming, he paired off with George without saying anything.

When she passed him in the hallway, he smiled politely—too politely—and kept walking.

It wasn’t cold exactly. It wasn’t even rude. It was just distant. Careful.

And it hurt.

Not in a dramatic, romcom-heartbreak kind of way. More like… a steady little ache. A dull pinch every time he didn’t look at her. Every time he made a joke that wasn’t meant for her to hear. Every time he chose silence over connection.

She tried not to let it show. Laughed at everyone’s jokes, kept her voice light. But inside, her brain was screaming:

Did I imagine it?

Did I scare him off?

Was it just a moment? Was I just a moment?

She caught him watching her once. Just once. She turned too quickly and their eyes locked—only for a second. And he looked away faster than she ever thought possible.

By day three, she was officially spiraling. She told herself it was fine. That it didn’t matter. That it was just a silly crush, and she was being dramatic. But every time she caught a piece of his voice from another room, her stomach twisted.

Eventually, she cornered Will in the kitchen. He was trying to open a jar of something aggressively red and failing.

“Hey,” she said, casual. Too casual. “Did James say anything to you?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“I don’t know. Just… he’s been kind of quiet.”

Will gave her a look. “He’s always quiet. It’s his whole thing.”

“No, like—different quiet.”

Will smirked. “You got a crush on him or something?”

She nearly choked. “What? No. Obviously not.”

“Relax,” Will said, laughing. “Just asking. You’ve been weird.”

You’ve been weird.
He’s been distant.
It’s all weird.

That night, she didn’t stay up late. Didn’t go outside. Didn’t try to catch his eye.

Let him avoid her.

It was easier than hoping.

Chapter 6: Jealousy Game

The group decided on drinks that night—proper pub energy. Not content creation, not forced fun. Just pints, playlists, and pretending they weren’t all chronically online.

She hadn’t planned to dress up, really. But something in her snapped when she caught James, once again, ducking her gaze at breakfast. If he was going to pretend like the garden didn’t happen, fine. Let him.

She put on eyeliner that made her eyes sharper, lips a little glossier. A cropped black jacket over a strappy top. Something that said, I’m fine. Thriving, even.

James didn’t say anything when she walked downstairs. But he saw. She caught it—just a flick of the eyes. A blink too long. Then he turned to George and started talking like she wasn’t even there.

Fine.

At the pub, things got messy fast. Jack was making rounds like he owned the place, and Will had somehow ended up in a heated argument with a bartender over crisps. She found herself at the bar next to someone not from their group—a friend of a friend, apparently. Ollie. Cute. Tall. The kind of smile that made you lean in.

So she did.

And maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent. Maybe she laughed a little too loudly. Maybe she leaned on the bar just right when Ollie complimented her jacket. But it worked.

Because James looked.

Not just a glance—he watched. From across the room, pint half-raised, face unreadable. Like he wanted to say something and was fighting himself not to.

She tried not to show how much she liked that. The power of it.

But then Ollie leaned in too close—just to ask about her drink—and James stood up and walked outside without a word.

She followed him five minutes later, heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to break its way out.

He was leaning against the pub wall, hands in his jacket pockets, breathing visible in the night air. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside him, like they were strangers again.

“You okay?” she asked finally.

James let out a sharp breath. “Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turned toward her. “You know what it means.”

She folded her arms. “So I can’t talk to someone now without it being a thing?”

“That guy was practically climbing over you.”

“Oh, now you care?”

James flinched.

And there it was. The thing she wasn’t supposed to say. The truth he hadn’t been ready to face. But it was out there now, hanging between them like smoke.

“I’ve been trying not to,” he said, voice low. “Care. It’s not easy.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

“Why?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

James shook his head. “Because it’s you. Because it’s Will’s little sister. Because I don’t want to be the guy who screws everything up.”

“You’re not screwing anything up,” she said, softer now.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the pavement like it held all the right words.

Inside, she could hear the muffled bass of whatever bad pop song the pub had queued next.

“Do you like him?” James asked suddenly.

“Ollie?”

James nodded, not looking at her.

She waited a beat.

“No,” she said. “I just wanted you to notice.”

His eyes met hers, sharp and sad and honest.

“I always notice,” he said.

But then the door opened, and Will stuck his head out, drunkenly yelling something about kebabs and cabs and where the hell they’d disappeared to.

And just like that, the moment vanished.

James stepped back into the noise. She stayed there a second longer, pulse roaring in her ears.

He noticed.

She wasn’t sure if that made it better—or worse.

Chapter 7: The Song

Two days after the pub, the house was quieter again. Everyone was too hungover or emotionally scorched to do much. Will had disappeared to film a collab, Jack had taken George into town, and for once, it was just the two of them.

Her and James.

The silence was awkward. Not thick, exactly—more like a space carefully padded around the truth they weren’t touching. They moved around each other like chess pieces, like everything was about to tip one way or another.

She ended up in the spare room, where Will kept an old electric keyboard. Mostly as a joke. Mostly for George to mess around with when he was bored. But she sat down in front of it, ran her fingers over the dust-flecked keys, and let herself play.

Soft at first. Just chords. Gentle, moody, unresolved. Then something started forming—a melody she hadn’t planned. Her fingers knew what she was feeling before her mouth could admit it.

She didn’t even hear James come in.

But she felt him. In the doorway, arms folded, just watching.

“You wrote that?” he asked, voice low, almost careful.

She didn’t look up. “It just… happened.”

James stepped in slowly, like he was afraid he’d ruin the moment. “It’s sad.”

She finally looked at him. “It’s honest.”

He nodded, came to stand beside the keyboard. “What’s it about?”

She played one chord again—soft and uncertain. “You.”

It was a risk, saying it out loud. But at this point, pretending was exhausting. She couldn’t keep bottling it all behind half-smiles and late-night glances.

James didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he sat down next to her. His shoulder barely touched hers. He was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Play it again?” he asked.

So she did.

This time, she added more. Let her voice come in, barely above a whisper. Lyrics that weren’t planned. Just… felt.

“You don’t say it, but you mean it
You don’t look, but I still see it
Caught in silence, stuck in scenes
Where I’m everything
And nothing in between.”

The last note hung in the air.

James didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just breathed.

When she finally turned to look at him, his expression had cracked open. No jokes. No walls.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said.

“Then don’t.”

That broke it.

His hand reached for hers on the keys, fingers curling just barely, like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed.

She looked down at them. His hand over hers. Warm. Real.

It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t some grand gesture. But it was more than silence. More than fear.

The song still echoed faintly from the keyboard, unfinished.

So were they.

But for the first time—

She didn’t mind.

Chapter 8: A Line Crossed

The next morning felt different.

Not dramatically. Not like the whole world had flipped upside down overnight. But something in the air had shifted. Charged. Fragile. Like a wire pulled just tight enough to hum.

She saw James in the kitchen before anyone else was awake—again. Same hoodie. Same mug. But this time, he looked up and didn’t look away.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she answered, voice softer than usual.

She stepped in, grabbed a mug without breaking eye contact, and stood beside him like they were tethered to the same unspoken thing. He didn’t touch her, didn’t even reach out—but the space between them felt owned now. Marked. Changed.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “You?”

He smirked. “Trying not to overthink a song.”

“Too late for that.”

They shared a look. Quiet. Knowing. Sweet in a way that made her chest ache.

Then Will’s voice boomed from upstairs, shattering it like glass.

“Kettle better be full or I’m suing someone!”

James stepped back immediately, like a reflex. Like the moment had teeth.

And just like that, the wire snapped.

By the time Will thudded down the stairs, James was halfway across the room, mug in hand, back to his usual self.

Will barely noticed, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Why are you both up? Gross. Go back to bed like normal people.”

She forced a laugh, but her pulse was thudding.

All morning, James kept his distance.

All afternoon, they barely spoke.

And that night, after everyone had gone to bed and the house was dark, she heard a knock on her door. Soft. One beat. Hesitant.

She opened it to find James standing there.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered.

She stepped aside without a word and let him in.

He didn’t touch her at first. Just stood in the center of her room, jaw clenched, like he was holding something in with every fiber of his being.

“I feel like I’m hiding in my own skin,” he said, voice shaking. “I don’t know how to be around you and not want more.”

“Then stop pretending,” she whispered.

He moved then.

Just one step. Then two. And suddenly his hand was in her hair and his mouth was on hers and the world shrunk to this.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t desperate.

It was slow. Careful. A hundred unsaid things passed between them like sparks.

But it was also real.

And real meant consequences.

Afterward, when he rested his forehead against hers, she whispered, “What now?”

James didn’t answer right away. His fingers were still wrapped in hers.

Then: “I don’t know. But I’m not letting you go.”

She closed her eyes.

The line was crossed.

And there was no going back.

Chapter 9: Slipping

They didn’t talk about it the next morning.

James left her room before the sun came up, like a ghost—quiet footsteps, no creaky floorboard missteps. She lay in bed after the door closed, staring at the ceiling with her heart still thudding in her ears.

It wasn’t regret.
It wasn’t shame.
It was fear.

Because it wasn’t just a kiss, or a moment. It was a shift. And once something shifts, pretending it didn’t becomes exhausting.

Will was already awake when she came downstairs. He looked up from his cereal like he’d been waiting to interrogate someone.

“Morning,” he said slowly. Suspiciously.

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You’re being weird again.”

“I just woke up.”

“You’re blinking weird.”

“I—what?!”

Will pointed his spoon at her. “I know you. Something’s going on.”

She deflected. Rolled her eyes. Made a sarcastic comment. It worked. He dropped it—for now. But the seed was planted, and she knew Will well enough to know he’d water it until it bloomed into full-blown investigation.

The next few days blurred.

Little things started to slip.

James made her tea the exact way she liked it. George raised an eyebrow.

She laughed too hard at a dumb joke he made. Jack looked between them, suspicious.

James sat next to her on the couch, knees brushing, and didn’t move. Will narrowed his eyes.

She could feel it unraveling.

The secret. The tension. The space they’d built between glances and soft words—it was slipping. Cracks forming. Pressure building.

Late one night, she caught James in the hallway. Just the two of them. Lights low. Everyone else asleep.

“We’re not being subtle anymore,” she said.

He leaned against the wall, looking wrecked with want and caution all at once. “I know.”

“They’re going to figure it out.”

“I know.”

She hesitated. “Maybe we should tell him.”

James exhaled, long and slow. “You think he’d take it well?”

“I think he’d take you by the throat.”

“Fair.”

They stood there for a beat. The weight of it pressing in from all sides.

Then James said, “I’d risk it.”

She looked at him.

“What?”

“I’d risk it,” he said again. “Will’s friendship. The fallout. All of it. If you said this was real.”

She stepped in, barely breathing.

“It is real.”

James didn’t kiss her that time.

But he reached for her hand.

And held it like an anchor.

Still slipping—but together.

Chapter 10: The Discovery

It happened in the most cliché way possible.

Will walked in without knocking.

One minute she and James were sitting on her bed, shoulder to shoulder, watching dumb videos and trading those slow, lingering glances they had no business sharing. The next minute—door swings open. Will barges in, hoodie half on, holding his phone like he was about to show her a tweet.

And then he froze.

James jumped up. Like literally jumped. Her laptop slid off the bed and landed on the floor with a dull thud. She just sat there, completely still, like her soul had momentarily left her body.

Will’s eyes flicked between them. Once. Twice. Then they narrowed.

“...What the fuck is this?”

Silence.

“Are you kidding me?” Will’s voice climbed, low and sharp. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

James opened his mouth. Closed it.

She stood up slowly. “Will—”

“No, no, don’t ‘Will’ me,” he said, backing toward the door like the room physically repelled him. “You—” he pointed at James, “—are my friend. And you—” his voice cracked slightly when he looked at her, “—are my sister.”

She felt it in her chest like a punch.

James finally spoke, his voice rough. “We didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

Will laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh, sick. You’re in love, aren’t you? You’ve been sneaking around behind my back and now what, I’m supposed to congratulate you?”

James stepped forward. “I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

“But you did,” Will snapped. “Both of you did.”

She tried to reach for him, but he stepped back.

“I told everyone you were off limits,” he muttered. “I trusted you, man.”

James didn’t look away. “I never saw her as some off-limits rule. She’s not a possession.”

That didn’t help.

Will’s fists clenched. “Don’t talk to me like you’re noble.”

She stepped in, voice calm but shaking. “Will, I didn’t plan this either. It just… happened. We tried to ignore it. But it’s real.”

Will stared at her for a long, long time. His jaw tightened. Then he said, quietly, “I can’t even look at you right now.”

And then he walked out.

The silence he left behind was loud and cruel.

James looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe go after him.

But she shook her head. “Not yet.”

She sat back down on the bed. Stared at the spot where Will had stood like it might still echo.

Everything they’d tried to protect—the secret moments, the careful glances, the soft songs—it had all led to this.

Discovery.

And now came the fallout.

Chapter 11: Fallout

The house was quieter than it had ever been.

Not the comfortable quiet of late nights or lazy mornings—but the heavy, brittle kind. The kind where no one knows what to say, so they say nothing. Even the floorboards seemed more cautious.

Will didn’t speak to either of them the next day.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t explode again. He just… shut down. Detached. Walked past her in the hall without looking up. Answered James with single-syllable replies if he had to answer at all. Otherwise, it was like they didn’t exist.

George and Jack noticed immediately.

“You two fight?” George asked, tone light but eyes sharp.

“Something like that,” she muttered.

Jack, who’d never been subtle, raised an eyebrow at James across the kitchen later that day and said, “You piss off the big man?”

James didn’t answer.

The day dragged.

No one filmed anything.

No one joked around.

And Will stayed holed up in his room, editing, gaming, ignoring every knock on his door—including hers.

By nightfall, she couldn’t take it.

She stood outside Will’s door again, fists clenched at her sides, then knocked softly. “Will?”

Silence.

“It wasn’t a game,” she said through the wood. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. But I’m not going to say sorry for falling for him.”

Still nothing.

She sighed. “You can be mad at me. That’s fine. But I need you to understand this isn’t just some fling. I love him.”

That last part hurt to say out loud.

Not because it wasn’t true. But because the person she needed to hear it the most was the one least willing to.

A beat of silence.

Then: “You should’ve told me,” Will said. Quiet. Muffled. But there.

She leaned her forehead against the door.

“I know.”

“I could’ve dealt with it,” he continued. “If you’d just told me. But instead you lied. For weeks.”

“I was scared,” she whispered. “Scared I’d lose this. You. Everything.”

Another pause. Then: “You still might.”

That cracked something inside her.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But she felt it building. Like a storm waiting just beyond her ribs.

Back downstairs, James was waiting in the living room. Sitting on the floor, head leaned against the wall, eyes closed like he hadn’t slept in a year.

She sat down beside him, slow and quiet.

“He spoke?” James asked without opening his eyes.

She nodded. “A little.”

They didn’t talk for a while. Just leaned on each other in the dark, letting the weight of it all settle between them.

“We broke it,” James said eventually. Voice raw.

She took his hand.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it was fake enough to stay hidden forever.”

He looked at her.

“You still think it’s worth it?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

Even with the silence. The guilt. The hurt.

Especially with the hurt.

Because nothing that real comes without a cost.

Chapter 12: The Ultimatum

It took two more days before Will finally cracked.

They were all in the living room, pretending to watch something none of them were actually watching—some chaotic group video Jack had picked purely to fill the silence. James was stiff beside her on the couch, arms folded, legs angled away like he wasn’t trying to take up any space.

Will sat in the armchair, hood up, scrolling through his phone with surgical disinterest.

No one spoke.

Then Jack said, casually, “So when are you two gonna stop pretending we didn’t all figure it out already?”

She froze.

James blinked.

Will looked up slowly. “Are you serious, mate?”

Jack glanced around. “I mean, c’mon. It’s been awkward as hell for a week. George literally placed bets yesterday.”

George raised a hand. “Still think Will punches James before the end of the month.”

Will stood up.

Not storming. Just… done. The quiet, dangerous kind of done.

“I can’t live in the same house while this is happening,” he said flatly.

Her stomach dropped. “Will—”

“I’m not saying you don’t feel something. I’m not even saying I don’t get it. But this isn’t a movie, alright? You’re my sister. He’s supposed to be my best mate.”

“I still am,” James said softly.

Will turned to him. “Then why didn’t you act like it?”

No one said anything.

Finally, Will exhaled and looked at her.

“You’ve got a choice,” he said. “You can have him. Fine. I won’t stop you. But if that’s what this is… I need space. You need to move out.”

She felt it in her chest like a free-fall.

Move out.

As in leave.

As in no more late-night films, or chaotic group dinners, or music spilling through walls while George remixed TikToks in the next room.

James sat up straighter. “She doesn’t have to do that. We’ll figure something out—”

“No,” Will cut in. “You don’t get to make this easy.”

Then he left the room.

Just like that.

The quiet afterward wasn’t awkward anymore.

It was devastating.

She didn’t look at anyone else. Just stood slowly and walked upstairs, one step at a time, until the walls felt like they were pressing in.

James came up a few minutes later. Found her standing by her window, arms crossed tightly around herself.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “Not really.”

“I’ll leave,” he said. “If it makes this easier for you.”

She turned sharply. “No. Don’t do that. This isn’t about who leaves. It’s about what we’re willing to give up.”

James nodded, jaw tight. “So what now?”

She looked at him. At his eyes, his hands, the way his presence always grounded her, even in chaos.

Then she said it—clear, certain:

“We stop hiding. And we find a way to make this work, even if it means starting over somewhere else.”

James didn’t hesitate.

“Then I’m with you.”

And just like that, the choice was made.

Not easy.
Not painless.
But real.

Chapter 13: Leaving

It rained the morning she packed.

The soft, misty kind that made everything feel slower. More final. James helped in silence—folding clothes, unplugging chargers, stuffing vinyls and notebooks into boxes like he was afraid one wrong move might break her.

Will hadn’t spoken to her again since the ultimatum.

George offered to help, but the look James gave him made him back off fast. Jack lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching like it physically hurt him not to make a joke.

“This is so dramatic,” Jack muttered eventually. “Feels like a Netflix original but with more hoodies.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll survive.”

Jack gave a mock salute. “Only just.”

The car was small. Barely enough room for her things. James crammed the last box into the back seat while she zipped her jacket with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling.

She turned for one last look at the house.

Every corner of it was memory-soaked—late-night snacks in the kitchen, singing with George in the hallway, arguing over film edits with Will, that first accidental touch with James on the stairs. The garden. The keyboard. The song.

All of it.

Then she saw Will standing on the porch.

Arms folded. No expression.

She met his eyes from across the driveway. For a long second, nothing passed between them. Just rain.

Then he gave her the faintest of nods.

Not forgiveness.
Not approval.

But maybe—maybe—a truce.

She blinked hard and turned away before the tears could fall.

James didn’t speak until they were on the motorway.

“You okay?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I will be.”

They drove in silence for a while. The rain streaked down the windshield like punctuation marks in a sentence neither of them could finish.

Finally, she looked at him. “You sure about this? About all of it?”

James glanced at her. “I left a lot behind for this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached across the gearshift and laced his fingers with hers. “And I’d do it again.”

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Their silence finally felt like something safe.

Like a promise.

Chapter 14: The New Normal

The new flat was smaller.

Two rooms. One cracked window. A living room that doubled as a studio if James moved the coffee table. No George snoring on the couch. No Will yelling about bad takes. No chaotic kitchen battles with Jack’s questionable “culinary experiments.”

Just them.

It was quiet.

But not in a lonely way.

James thrived in small spaces. He strung fairy lights across the ceiling. Set up his mic stand next to her bookshelf. Left his socks absolutely everywhere. And she let him—because it meant he was there.

They got used to each other in new ways.

Waking up tangled in the sheets. Grocery shopping while arguing over crisps. Cooking meals that were sometimes disasters and sometimes perfect, but always theirs.

Still, she missed it. The house. The noise. Will.

He hadn’t reached out.

Not directly.

But she caught him liking a photo on her Instagram—the one James took of her sitting on the fire escape, hair tangled, laughing at something off-camera. She’d stared at that like for ten full minutes.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

James noticed, too.

“You gonna call him?” he asked one night.

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

He nodded. Didn’t push.

Instead, he went to his mic, flicked on the switch, and asked her, “Wanna hear something I’ve been working on?”

Always. “Yeah.”

He started to play. Something soft, familiar.

It was her song.

The one she’d played on Will’s keyboard weeks ago—except now it had layers. Strings beneath the chords. A low harmony she hadn’t known it needed. His voice, gentle and raw:

“You were a whisper in a room of noise
A quiet maybe wrapped in choice
But I’d cross every line I drew
Just to stand in this silence with you.”

She closed her eyes.

This was the life they had built. Not loud. Not perfect. But true.

She walked over as he finished the last note, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

“You wrote that for me?”

James turned in her arms, smiling against her hair. “I wrote it with you.”

They stayed there like that for a long time.

Not needing to speak. Not needing to fill the space.

They were the quiet in the chaos now.

They were the new normal.

Chapter 15: Homecoming

It was Will’s birthday.

That’s what did it, in the end.

She wasn’t planning to go. She’d even told herself not to. Too messy. Too soon. Too much that hadn’t been said.

But when the group chat blew up with plans—Jack’s terrible cake ideas, George threatening to DJ, the invite extended to both of them—her heart stuttered.

And then came the message.

From Will.

Just two words.

Come through.

She stared at her phone for five solid minutes before showing James.

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to?”

“I think I have to.”

So they went.

Back to the house. Back to the kitchen with the dodgy drawer. The living room full of memories. The creaky stair that gave them away once. Everything felt smaller somehow—but warmer, too. Familiar in that way only a first home after heartbreak can be.

Will answered the door.

They all froze for a beat.

James cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Will stared for a moment. Then stepped back. “Get in here before I change my mind.”

It wasn’t forgiveness.

But it wasn’t nothing.

The night buzzed. Drinks poured. Music played. George did DJ, and somehow it worked. Jack’s cake was an abomination, but it was eaten anyway.

And then, later—quiet again.

She found Will in the kitchen, staring out the back window like he was watching a memory.

“Still hate him?” she asked gently.

Will exhaled. “Depends on the day.”

She smiled. “That’s fair.”

Another pause.

Then he looked at her—really looked at her.

“You’re happy?”

“I am.”

Will nodded. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

It hit her harder than she expected.

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him. And for the first time in what felt like years, he hugged her back properly.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I missed me too.”

They laughed. Soft. Healing.

Later that night, when she found James in the hallway, he looked up like he’d been holding his breath since they arrived.

“Well?”

She smiled.

“He’s not gonna punch you.”

“Relief,” James deadpanned. “I like my jaw how it is.”

They left together, hand in hand, into the soft night air.

No more secrets. No more slipping.

Just love, hard-earned and fully known.

And for the first time since it all began—

It felt like home.

Epilogue: One Year Later

The video was unlisted.

It didn’t drop on a Tuesday. No premiere. No clickbait title. Just a soft thumbnail of two intertwined hands resting on a piano.

She clicked “upload” with shaking fingers.

And waited.

It wasn’t for subscribers.
It wasn’t for clout.
It was for him.

And for them.

The video opened with her voice, barely above a whisper.

“I never planned to fall in love with my brother’s best friend.
But I did.
Quietly.
Fiercely.
Secretly.”

Then the music started.

James’s song—their song—played underneath clips from the last year. Grainy shots from the flat. Her laughing in the kitchen. James asleep on the floor with a guitar across his chest. Train rides. Rainy walks. A blurry, accidental photo of Will hugging her outside a café, both of them laughing too hard to breathe.

No edits. No flashy cuts. Just truth.

The final frame faded to black, and her voice returned.

“We risked a lot. Lost things we didn’t want to lose.
But love doesn’t wait until it’s convenient.
And when it’s real—you fight for it.

This is us.
Quiet. Messy. Loud in all the right places.
And somehow, still standing.”

Then the title screen.

“Secretly Yours — A Love Story We Lived”

She didn’t look at the comments.
Didn’t refresh analytics.
Didn’t need the numbers this time.

Because behind her, James wrapped his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

“You’re really brave, you know that?”

She leaned into him. “Took me a while.”

He kissed the side of her head.

And then Will walked in holding two coffees and a croissant between his teeth like a dog with a prize.

“I assume that’s for me?” he asked through a mouthful, eyeing the video screen.

She laughed. “You watched it already, didn’t you?”

Will shrugged. “I might have cried a little.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I laughed. But, like, emotionally.”

They all collapsed on the couch, limbs tangled, hearts lighter.

No more hiding.

No more waiting.

Just love.

And a story that—finally—wasn’t a secret anymore.