#also projecting. let's not forget the projecting

[haru-kuneko]

From what I get from this statement, I think it's about how people tend to forget that you're not supposed to agree and put these villains to a pedestal. If I sort of miss something, kindly let me know (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

This kind of reminds me of this chapter from Jhonen Vasquez's comic "Johnny the Homi***al Maniac" (sorry I had to censor that in case Tumblr or anyone else finds it triggering) where this crazy fanboy hopes to work with Johnny as he "admires and relates to him."

Of course, Johnny, an actual criminal, doesn't want anything to do with him and was even willing to let the guy go. Once the guy starts describing his crimes, that's when Johnny starts losing it and gives him a taste of his own medicine.

It is kind of brutal but also cathartic given how even Jhonen Vasquez himself made this chapter as a response to certain fans who often project themselves through a character without actually understanding that "Hey! These villains exist so you'd learn to do better than these people."

Even if the villain is supposed to be the misunderstood and oppressed minority, they still are at the end of the day "villains" who choose to do bad things. Even if they were to agree with their views, they also end up being fooled themselves as some villains tend to be these unreliable narrators who could mold anything into the desired truth.

A good example of this is the White Rabbit from the 2025 DMC anime, though I also have issues with him given how hypocritical and dishonest the character is.

There's a common issue in fandom when people take the words and ideas of the villains as 100% canonical truth even though the narrative clearly shows those villains as wrong and incorrect.

[hamilton-here]

Heya, just another idea I want to drop in your inbox so I don’t forget about it. Lewis taking his famous girlfriend to the f1 premiere and the relationship has been secret before so eveyone is like wooooah they are dating???????! And he‘s supe protective of her (maybe also possessive when there’s men getting closer?) something like this, thank you

𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈, 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓈, 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I have around 17 requests to complete😫. Y'all were keen for me to open my requests oh my lordy. Requests are definitely gonna be closed for a while. I can't wait to watch the F1 movie this Sat. Anyway enjoy! Apologises if this is somewhat short 😞Lots of love xx

Summary: At a high profile premiere, Lewis Hamilton and his partner navigate the chaos of fame, finding strength in their private bond amidst the public spotlight.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was one of those mornings where the world felt slightly off-kilter with a strange, humming energy hung in the air, buzzing quietly just beneath the surface, like New York itself knew that today would be anything but ordinary. Even from the safety of the hotel’s lavish suite you could feel it, the weight of what was coming, the undercurrent of anticipation threading through your every breath.

The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the soft morning sunlight, its pale glow stretching lazily across the minimalist décor - cream walls, cool marble counters and dark wooden accents. It should’ve felt calming. It should’ve made you feel like you had time. But the walls seemed to close in, your thoughts ricocheting off them as the clock’s relentless ticking filled the silence.

You were standing in front of the mirror, unmoving, almost like if you stayed still long enough, you could delay the inevitable.

Today’s the day.

Your eyes flicked to the dress draped neatly on the back of the bathroom door, which was a delicate, fluid masterpiece in soft gold, threaded with a whisper of shimmer so faint that it only caught the light when you moved. It was simple, intentionally understated, but the thought of wearing it made your chest tighten. The fabric was like your emotions of serene on the outside, but inside you were vibrating with nerves, spinning with every anxious what-if.

What if you stumbled in front of the cameras? What if people didn’t like you? What if, stepping into the spotlight next to him, made you more than just his partner - what if it made you a target?

From the other room came the gentle rustling of fabric, the soft thump of shoes against carpet as Lewis moved around. His presence, even unseen, always brought you comfort. Normally, he was the calm in your storm. But today? Today was different. This wasn’t just another gala, another appearance where the world expected him to show up alone. This wasn’t even about racing. This was his movie.

The F1 movie. The one Brad Pitt had starred in; the one Lewis had poured years into as a producer. The project that blended Hollywood with the fierce, unrelenting world of motorsport. Lewis had worked for this and fought to shape it, to tell the story right.

And today wasn’t just the culmination of that journey. It was the day your quiet, sacred relationship was about to be placed in the centre of the world’s stage.

You’d both kept it hidden for so long. It was easy, in private. In hotel rooms, late-night phone calls, tucked-away vacations where no one could reach you. But now would change everything. You would walk out of that car, and the world would see you.

Your fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of your robe. Was this really happening? Were you ready to stop being invisible?

The sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom pulled you from your spiral. You looked up just as Lewis appeared in the doorway, framed by the soft morning light, and for a second, it stole your breath.

He wore his pale pink jacket, the one with the diamond-studded goat symbol glinting just below his shoulder blade. He hadn’t needed to say it out loud, but you knew exactly why he’d chosen that jacket. He was stepping into the premiere knowing exactly who he was. He wasn’t shying away from being seen.

Paired with sharp black pants and his signature sleek boots, he looked as effortlessly commanding as always, but you didn’t see Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion.

You saw your Lewis the one who remembered how you liked your coffee, who rubbed your back when you couldn’t sleep, who pressed quiet kisses to your temple when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

“How are we doing, love?” His voice was soft, but you could hear the edge of concern, the subtle way he was reading you like you were a puzzle he’d long since figured out but still studied, just to make sure.

You offered him a weak smile, brushing your palms down the sides of your thighs to ground yourself. “Just trying to get it together.” You glanced at the dress again, as if it might help settle your racing thoughts. “It just feels like something’s shifting, you know?”

Lewis’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he crossed the room in a few strides, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his touch warm, steadying.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he said, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, lingering there just a moment longer than usual. “They’re gonna see you the way I see you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the nerves still clinging to your chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know how to be someone people talk about. Someone they pick apart.”

Lewis gently lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His gaze, deep and unflinching, held yours like an anchor.

“They’re gonna talk, no matter what,” he said, his voice velvet smooth but laced with quiet certainty. “But I’m not letting them near you unless you want them there. You don’t owe anyone anything. We’re in this together, yeah? You’ve got me.”

The sincerity in his tone loosened something in your chest. You nodded, feeling the edges of your fear begin to soften under his steady gaze.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Together.”

Lewis’s grin widened, and he dropped his hand to your waist, giving you a little squeeze. “Damn right.”

The simplicity of the moment, his unwavering calm, reminded you of who you were doing this with. If Lewis was willing to walk through the fire with you, you could handle the heat.

By the time you both left the hotel room, hand in hand, the hum of New York City had sharpened into a tangible pulse that seemed to vibrate through the streets.

It was no longer just background noise, but it was alive, a persistent rhythm that reminded you of the weight of the moment you were walking toward.

The sleek red car waiting at the curb shimmered in the late morning sun, its glossy surface polished to the point where it mirrored the skyline. Even from a distance, you could hear the faint pop of camera shutters and the sharp, echoing shouts of paparazzi, though they were still just spectres at this point not close enough to suffocate you yet, but looming, hovering on the horizon.

Lewis guided you toward the car with quiet ease, his thumb brushing across your knuckles as though it was second nature because it was. You’d walked together like this countless times before. Grocery runs. Lazy afternoons. Late dinners when no one was looking.

But never like this.

Never where the entire world was waiting to see you.

He reached for the car door first, opening it smoothly and gesturing for you to slide in. You caught the softness in his expression, the way his eyes flicked over you like he was mentally checking every detail, not of your outfit but of you.

Are you okay? Are you ready?

You didn’t have to speak for him to know you were on the edge of unraveling. You settled into the car’s cool leather seats, the door shutting behind you with a soft, final click that somehow felt heavier than it should have.

Lewis circled the car, taking his time as though he was deliberately drawing out these last few seconds of peace. When he slipped into the seat beside you, the space immediately felt smaller in a good way. Like you could breathe again, but only because he was there.

The driver merged seamlessly into the pulsing afternoon traffic, the streets of New York sprawling past the windows in a blur of yellow taxis, glinting skyscrapers, and pedestrians that didn’t know, or didn’t care, what was about to unfold a few blocks away.

Lewis’s hand found yours again, his fingers slotting between yours with the familiarity of someone who had done it in the dark, in elevators, in back seats always with that same quiet certainty. But this time, you couldn’t stop the trembling in your palm.

He noticed immediately, his thumb starting to stroke gentle, reassuring circles over your skin without missing a beat.

And then, without hesitation, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. He lingered there. Not a quick, passing touch, but a moment, as if he could anchor you and absorb the nervous electricity humming beneath your skin.

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, that slight rasp curling around the edges like smoke. The kind of voice that always made your chest tighten, though it carried something more. Something protective. Something that felt like a promise.

Your throat tightened. You tried to smile, but you knew he could see straight through it.

“It’s just this is the first time. I’ve never had to -” you gestured loosely, as if the words themselves were too big to properly shape, “be seen like this. With you.” Lewis’s brow softened, his thumb pausing momentarily as he studied you, really looked at you.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to them,” he said, his tone quietly resolute, each word measured like he wanted them to sink into your bones. “Not today. Not ever. They don’t get to define you. You’re mine now. Let them write whatever headlines they want. What matters is what’s real. Us.”

The words weren’t suffocating or possessive in the wrong way they were protective, wrapping around you like armour. Like he wanted to build a wall between you and the sharp teeth of the outside world. You exhaled slowly, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. “You really think I can handle this?”

His lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that brought out the faintest dimple on his cheek the one you always loved catching when his guard was down. He leaned in, brushing another kiss to your temple, lingering there longer than necessary, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know you can. And you’re not doing it alone. We walk through that carpet together. Always.” It wasn’t just a line. It was a vow. One you felt settle deep inside you.

The rest of the ride passed in a pocket of silence - comfortable, grounding. Every few blocks, Lewis would squeeze your hand like a pulse check, a quiet I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. But the closer you got, the louder the energy became.

The muted hum of the city sharpened into the distinct roar of a waiting crowd. Even through the double-insulated car, you could hear the rising commotion followed by the blend of engine rumble, the faint blare of speakers, the excited calls from fans who had been camped out for hours just to catch a glimpse of the stars arriving.

Your heartbeat jumped as you caught your reflection in the tinted window. The way your makeup had been carefully perfected, the delicate shimmer of your dress catching in the sunlight, the slight tension still lingering in your jaw.

It hit you, suddenly, like cold water.

You were about to step out next to Lewis Hamilton. Not as a friend. Not as a PR plant. As his. Officially. Unmistakably.

When the car finally pulled up to the curb, your heart felt like it was lodged somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Through the safety of the dark glass, you could see them. Hundreds of people. Dozens of cameras. The flashes had already begun, stuttering white sparks popping like fireworks as they homed in on the unmistakable car.

You gripped Lewis’s hand tighter, your pulse hammering in your wrists. He turned to you, his thumb brushing firm, grounding strokes over your skin. His eyes softened, but his jaw was set with a quiet line of resolve.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting your chin gently so you couldn’t hide from him. “I’ve got you. You ready?” Your breath trembled on the inhale, but you nodded. “Yeah.” His lips tugged into a slow, knowing grin. “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about.”

The car door swung open, and Lewis stepped out first, unfolding to his full height in a smooth, commanding motion that instantly drew every pair of eyes in his direction. The collective hum of the crowd exploded into cheers, gasps, the frantic whirl of camera shutters cranking into overdrive.

He moved like he owned the moment as it was unhurried, deliberate and as if the carpet had been rolled out just for him. Even the late morning sun seemed to bow to him, its bright rays catching on the pale pink jacket he’d chosen for the day, the fabric shifting in soft glimmers as he moved.

The diamond-encrusted goat symbol shimmered like a crown on his back. It wasn’t loud, more intentional. The greatest. And he knew it.

The outfit alone would’ve set social media ablaze but paired with his effortless charisma—it was like gravity itself bent toward him.

And then he turned back to the open car door. To you. His hand reached out, palm up, fingers open waiting for yours. There was no rush. No spectacle. Just an invitation. Step into this with me.

His hand wasn’t just a gesture it was a lifeline, a quiet anchor against the roar of the crowd. It was Lewis, saying without words, you don’t have to face this alone.

Your heartbeat so hard you could feel it in your teeth. But your hand moved to his like it always had like it belonged there. The moment your skin touched his, the world seemed to shift. The gasps from the crowd sliced through the noise in sharp, staggering waves.

“Wait is that -?”

“Who’s she?”

“Lewis brought someone?”

“Are they…are they together?!”

The murmurs surged, building into something uncontrollable, like the spark of a match dropped into dry grass. The media scrambled reporters elbowing for position, photographers tripping over each other to capture the shot that would headline a thousand news feeds.

You stepped out carefully, your heel meeting the carpet with delicate precision, but you felt weightless, unsteady under the sheer force of the moment. The noise blurred with shouting, cheering, cameras flashing so rapidly it felt like lightning was fracturing the air around you. For a heartbeat, you wanted to retreat, to fold back into the shadow of the car.

But then Lewis’s hand. His grip, warm and solid, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your knuckles. You looked up, your breath caught in your throat. And he was already looking at you. His expression wasn’t tense. It wasn’t forced. He looked proud. Unapologetically proud to be here, to be standing with you. There was no hesitation. No doubt. He wanted this. He wanted you with him. Seen with him.

His hand slid to the small of your back, his touch protective but gentle, guiding you forward onto the iconic red carpet, step by step, as if the rhythm of his body would keep you steady.

And it did.

The cameras clicked, reporters fired off questions that tumbled over each other in desperate waves.

“Lewis! Who’s your date for this event?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Lewis, can we get a quote? Is this serious?”

You could feel the weight of the world pressing against your skin, their curiosity a heavy, sharp thing. But Lewis never faltered. His hand on your lower back was warming, his voice calm, smooth, but with a quiet finality that settled over the crowd like a closing door. “A while now,” he said simply, his gaze flicking back to you with a softness that felt like home. “We’re happy.”

And somehow, those two words made everything else fade. The noise. The flashes. The rush of adrenaline.

You were here. Together.

And in that moment, you realised it didn’t crush you like you thought it would. You didn’t crumble under the pressure. You felt steady and protefted. Seen but not exposed.

Because Lewis was right. They could write whatever they wanted thought what mattered was what was real.

You leaned in just a fraction closer to him as you both posed for the cameras, the rhythmic flashes sharp and unrelenting almost starting to blur into the background, like a metronome you could finally find comfort in. The noise, once deafening, began to soften at the edges as you found your rhythm by his side.

Your arm slid into his, a natural tether and Lewis subtly adjusted his stance, shifting his weight just enough to tuck you closer against his side. It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t for the cameras. It was instinct, Lewis’s silent way of making sure you knew you were his and that he wasn’t about to let you drift, not even an inch.

The photographers barked instructions with increasing urgency, their voices stacking over each other in a chaotic medley.

“Lewis! Look here!”

“Over the shoulder, please!”

“Give us that smile, champ!”

“Just one more this way!”

Lewis accommodated them, turning when they asked, angling his body toward each flash in controlled movements. But you noticed something else, he kept glancing back at you. His attention never fully left.

Even when he posed, even when he smiled for the lenses, his body was never squared away from you. He was always slightly turned toward you, his hand tightening around your waist, his thumb sweeping soft, deliberate patterns against your dress. Like a quiet promise, like a claim.

The longer you stood there, the more you felt the initial hurricane of media attention settle into something more manageable, almost rhythmic. The sharp staccato of the camera shutters became predictable. The crowd’s gasps softened into murmurs. The disbelief settled into fascination.

You’d survived the peak. The rest, you could handle.

As the red carpet stretched onward beneath your feet, the moment began to shift. More arrivals. More distractions for the crowd. The cameras still followed your every move, but the focus, the suffocating intensity, began to fracture as other stars and drivers made their own entrances.

Familiar faces from the paddock appeared of drivers Lewis had competed against, traveled with and known through seasons of brutal races, podiums and near-misses. They came with easy handshakes, claps on the back, brief but genuine embraces. You could see the years between them, etched in their shared smiles, in the casual way they joked about the season, the film, their own cameo scenes.

You recognised some of them instantly, men whose names had been etched into the sport alongside Lewis’s, their histories tangled with his through championship fights, victories, and heartbreaks. Some were younger, just beginning their legacy, still wide-eyed on carpets like these. Some were the old guard, battle-worn but still magnetic.

As the press scattered between the stars, the Hollywood elites, and the racing royalty, the energy on the carpet shifted from tense spotlight to curated chaos. Lewis’s world now your world started to fill around you.

And still, through all of it, his hand remained anchored at your back. Firm, steady, a quiet signal that even amid the waves of familiarity, the interviews, the handshakes, you were his fixed point. His centre.

You watched the ease with which he navigated the room graceful but unyielding, the kind of practiced charisma that came with years in the spotlight.

Yet, despite his seamless flow through conversations and greetings, his focus circled back to you in loops. He would smile, laugh, speak in that rich, grounded voice the cameras loved but his hand never drifted from your lower back, his thumb still brushing those slow, grounding circles against the fabric of your dress.

And then just as you were beginning to relax you felt it.

Lewis dipped his head slightly, his breath grazing the delicate curve of your ear, his lips barely brushing your skin as he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, “Stay close, yeah?”

The softness in his voice didn’t hide the edge beneath it a quiet possessiveness threaded through the words like silk over steel. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a question.

It was a promise.

A directive.

An unspoken tether.

You nodded, a subtle but certain movement, your breath catching as a shiver ghosted down your spine from the intimate brush of his lips against your ear. “I will,” you whispered back, the words slipping out on instinct. It didn’t matter where he went. Interviews, photos, greetings you would follow.

For a while, the two of you moved in seamless tandem.

Lewis eased through interviews with practiced charm, answering questions about the film, about his producer role, about the legacy of Formula 1 and the authenticity the movie promised to deliver. His voice dipped into passion when he spoke about motorsport how much he cared about telling the story right, about honouring the sport’s culture.

You trailed just a step behind him, your hand never far from his, your presence wrapped safely within the invisible border Lewis’s body seemed to create around you.

Drivers passed by some offering friendly nods, some casting knowing glances toward Lewis with subtle smirks that said so this is the secret girlfriend, huh? - but none dared to push too far.

Most of them knew better.

Until he arrived.

The man appeared almost out of nowhere sliding easily into the edge of your space, wearing a polished smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His event badge was flipped backward, his credentials unreadable, and his approach lacked the caution you’d grown used to seeing from others around Lewis.

He wasn’t familiar. He wasn’t part of the F1 world. But he was curious. Too curious.

“So,” he started, his voice laced with that smooth, false charm that made your stomach twist, “must’ve been hard, huh? Keeping him all to yourself all this time?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness. You opened your mouth, unsure whether to offer a polite deflection or to retreat entirely.

But he didn’t give you the chance. “A man like Lewis?” His gaze raked over you in a way that made your skin prickle. “I’m surprised the secret lasted this long.” His tone wasn’t overtly inappropriate but there was something in his delivery, something too casual, too invasive, that made your pulse spike.

You instinctively leaned away, shifting your weight to subtly create space, searching for Lewis with your peripheral vision. You didn’t have to search long.

Suddenly Lewis was there.

His presence enveloped you in an instant, a wall of calm, immovable certainty. His arm curled around your waist in one smooth, possessive sweep, pulling you tightly against his side as his other hand rested firmly on your hip.

The air between you and the man closed like a slammed door.

Lewis didn’t speak at first. His silence - that silence hung in the space like a loaded chamber. And when he finally did speak, his voice was so controlled, so disarmingly calm, that the warning beneath it landed like a thunderclap. “She’s with me.” Three words. Quiet, steady, but wrapped in steel.

The man faltered. You watched it ripple across his face a slight shift, a flicker of discomfort, as if he’d miscalculated how far he could push. Lewis’s posture didn’t change. He didn’t bare his teeth. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

His message was carved into the taut set of his jaw, the protective cage of his arms around you, the sheer weight of his presence pressing into the man like an invisible wall.

Back off. She’s mine.

The man’s bravado crumbled just enough to reveal the hesitation beneath. He raised his hands in mock surrender, a forced laugh tumbling out as he tried to soften the edge of the moment. “Didn’t mean to overstep. Just making conversation.”

Lewis’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Conversation’s over.” The dismissal was soft. Lethal. Final.

The man lingered for half a second too long, then retreated mumbling something about catching Lewis later, slipping quickly into the crowd like a man who knew he’d overplayed his hand.

Only after the man disappeared entirely did Lewis’s grip on you soften just slightly but his arm didn’t fully release you. His thumb resumed its slow, soothing circles against your waist, like he was wiping away the residue of the unwelcome attention.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice now velvet-soft, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as his focus narrowed solely to you. Your heart was still racing, your adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, but you nodded, pressing into his side with a small exhale. “Yeah. I’m good.” Lewis didn’t rush you. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slid from your waist to your fingers, lacing them together tightly, a deliberate act that sent a silent signal to everyone else.

You were his.

Unmistakably. Unapologetically.

His.

The possessiveness wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t about control more about care. It was about making it impossible for anyone to mistake what you meant to him.

Even as the photographers continued to call out his name, even as the press still lingered nearby, you felt safe.

And as Lewis guided you forward with that quiet, magnetic certainty, you realised this wasn’t just about stepping into the spotlight. It was about stepping into it together.

The velvet ropes and the relentless flashes of the red carpet finally gave way to the grand entrance of the theatre, and with each step inside, the roar of the crowd outside began to dissolve into something distant, like thunder fading over a distant hill. What had moments ago been a hurricane of noise camera shutters, reporters shouting, fans crying out Lewis’s name softened into a low hum, gradually swallowed by the thick walls of the grand hall.

There was an invisible threshold, one you crossed almost without paying attention it, where the world outside - the headlines, the speculation, the careful curation of public image no longer followed. It all slipped away, as if you’d passed into a different universe where none of it could reach you.

Inside, the theatre was awash in soft, amber lighting that shimmered faintly off the marbled floors and stretched upward into soaring ceilings etched with intricate moldings. The grandeur of the space wrapped around you, not in an overwhelming way, but like a protective cocoon, shielding you from the weight of the spectacle you’d just endured.

Plush, uniformed ushers moved through the lobby with quiet efficiency, their voices hushed as they guided arriving guests toward their seats. There were no shouting reporters here. No cameras shoved inches from your face. No strangers inching closer, pushing boundaries.

Just calm.

Just the low, steady murmur of conversations and the gentle rustle of expensive fabrics as people drifted toward their places. It felt like exhaling for the first time all evening.

For the first time, you realised how tightly you’d been holding your shoulders, how shallow your breathing had become under the heat of the public eye. You felt the weight begin to lift, inch by inch, like your body was finally giving you permission to exist again without bracing for impact.

And through it all, Lewis’s hand never left yours.

If anything, his grip had tightened the moment you stepped inside, the second the velvet ropes disappeared behind you. It was as if now finally he could drop the armour he’d worn outside, the polished composure that had kept him steady in front of a thousand lenses. Here, in this sliver of quiet, he could relax. And with that release, his instinct wasn’t to let go of you it was to hold you closer.

You followed the usher as they guided you toward the front of the theatre, past rows of important names and famous faces, past whispered greetings and exchanged nods. Of course, your seats were front row. There was never a question.

Lewis gently tugged you toward your seat, and the moment you sank into the velvety embrace of the plush chair, it felt like you were landing after free-falling all night. The contrast was striking of the weightless buzz outside against the grounded stillness now settling over you.

Lewis dropped into the seat beside you, his body shifting with a long, measured exhale, as though this was the first time he’d allowed himself to breathe deeply since stepping out of the car. And then, like muscle memory, his hand found yours again fingers lacing together like they belonged there, like they always belonged there.

“This is going to be a good time,” he murmured, his voice low, softer now that he no longer needed to project for microphones or entertain the crowd. It was no longer the carefully measured public version of himself. This voice was only for you unfiltered, unguarded. The words, simple as they were, wrapped around you like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves.

You turned your head toward him, your gaze catching the curve of his lips, now curled into the softest hint of a smile not the practiced one he wore for photographers, but something smaller, warmer, real. His dark eyes had lost the sharp glint he carried on the carpet; now, they were calm, drenched in quiet affection.

And in that moment, the tension that had gripped your shoulders, the racing pulse that had thudded relentlessly in your chest it all started to melt away.

The headlines didn’t matter now.

The whispers didn’t matter.

The speculation didn’t matter.

Inside these walls, it wasn’t about what the world would say tomorrow. It wasn’t about trends or social media frenzies or dissected footage. Here, it was just you and him. The rest of the world could wait.

The lights dimmed gradually, the soft amber glow fading into a deeper, velvet darkness, until the only light remaining came from the enormous screen flickering to life. The chatter in the theatre dissolved into silence, like a switch had been flipped, and the quiet reverence that filled the room was almost sacred.

As the opening sequence of the film began, you shifted instinctively, your body leaning toward Lewis like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head came to rest against his shoulder, the fabric of his pale pink jacket soft beneath your cheek, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne clean, fresh and uniquely him.

Lewis welcomed you into him instantly, his arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you into the warm, protective curve of his body. His hand splayed wide across your upper arm, his thumb brushing lazy, almost absentminded strokes along your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

It was comforting. Yours.

You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear steady, unhurried, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

His touch wasn’t performative anymore. It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for the curated narrative the world was already racing to write.

It was just Lewis holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to fill the moment with more promises or empty reassurances. His presence was enough. The weight of his arm around you was enough. This was the truth of who he was not the man in front of the flashing bulbs, not the headline, not the legacy.

Just Lewis. The man who kept you close. The man who made sure you were safe. The man who had never once let go of your hand since you stepped out of that car.

You could hear the film continuing, the hum of engines, the dialogue, the familiar cadence of the racing world but your focus drifted, your heartbeat syncing with his, the velvet darkness cocooning you in the most intimate of silences.

Because this wasn’t just the premiere of a movie. This wasn’t just another milestone in his already illustrious career. This was the night Lewis chose to pull you into his orbit not in pieces, not in fragments, not as something to be tucked away in the shadows and it wasn’t about being his secret anymore.

And what struck you most what melted something in your chest was the quiet realisation that he had always been preparing you for this, gently, without pressure, until you were ready to walk beside him in full view of the world.

The media would dissect the two of you.

The photos would flood the internet.

The world would spin its stories.

But none of it mattered in this moment.

Because the most important headline had already been written in the curl of his fingers around yours, in the warmth of his breath against your hair, in the steady cadence of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

You were his. And maybe you always had been.

And as you nestled just a little closer to him, your eyes softening as you allowed yourself to exhale completely, you knew this wasn’t about surviving the spotlight.

It was about standing in it together and that would always be enough.

By the time the film ended, the velvet seats were now empty, the grand theatre slowly slipping back into quiet as guests trickled out into the cool New York evening.

The buzz outside was still alive reporters lingering for scraps of commentary, fans clinging to barricades for one last glimpse, but Lewis had expertly guided you out through a private exit, a warm hand at your back the entire way, keeping you tucked close to him, away from the chaos.

Now, the hum of the city wrapped around the car as you both sat cocooned in the soft leather seats, the tinted windows blurring the flashes into distant glimmers that felt too far away to reach you anymore.

For the first time all night, the silence wasn’t filled with tension.

You sat with your legs tucked toward him, your body turned just slightly, head resting back against the seat as you let yourself really breathe long and deep, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade from your bloodstream. The noise outside, the relentless clicking of cameras, the flashing bulbs they all felt so far away, like they were happening to someone else, far removed from this intimate, quiet moment you now found yourself in.

Lewis’s hand was still in yours. Always in yours. His thumb was still brushing that same, familiar rhythm against your skin, a quiet tether that had grounded you all night, the gentle movement providing a sense of calm you hadn’t noticed you’d been needing.

He hadn’t let go, not once.

You looked over at him, your gaze tracing the softened curve of his jaw now that he wasn’t wearing the weight of the room anymore. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders had unraveled. His posture more relaxed, but his eyes those deep, thoughtful eyes still flickered to you like he couldn’t quite stop checking, like some part of him still needed to make sure you were okay.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice now stripped of the polish he’d worn on the carpet. This wasn’t the voice he gave the cameras. This was the voice he saved for you.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I think I am now.”

Lewis’s lips quirked into that half-smile, the one that always made your heart skip a little. “Told you we’d be alright.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your head tilting against the seat as you studied him, the memory of the night still warm on your skin. “I was so nervous,” you admitted, the honesty slipping out easily now, safe in the privacy of the car. “I thought I was going to faint when I stepped out. I thought maybe I’d embarrass you.”

His brows drew together instantly, his thumb pausing its rhythm to grip your hand a little tighter. “Embarrass me?” His voice softened with disbelief, the very idea of it clearly throwing him off. “You didn’t embarrass me. Not for a second. You -” He trailed off, searching for the words, his thumb resuming its soft circles, grounding you in a way that only he could. “You were perfect.”

You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, a soft flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with the cameras or the crowd. “You really think so?”

Lewis’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you like he wanted to etch this version of you - tired, glowing, real into his memory forever. “I know so.”

The car slowed as the driver turned onto a quieter street, the city’s pulse dimming to a soft murmur as the chaos of the premiere faded into the distance. The night air slipped through the cracked window, cool against your skin, fragrant with the distant scent of rain and city life.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty it was full, wrapped in the comfortable weight of shared understanding. The light outside seemed softer now, more intimate, as though the world had dialled down, just for you two, to let you breathe.

Lewis finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “They’re gonna talk, you know. They’re gonna write their stories.”

You nodded, your heart steady now. “Let them.”

He smiled at that, proud and soft all at once. “That’s my girl.”

His words settled in your chest like something permanent, something you wanted to hold on to. He didn’t need to say more everything he had already said, everything he’d done, told you more than words could. The car pulled up in front of the hotel, the quiet rumble of the engine slipping into stillness. The driver moved to open the door, but Lewis squeezed your hand once more before you moved, anchoring you there just a moment longer.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze locking with yours, the weight of the words settling between you, grounding you even deeper. “For being with me. For walking through that with me.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten in a way that almost took you by surprise. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your lips as you whispered, “Always.”

There, in the soft glow of the streetlights, in the quiet safety of the car, you allowed yourself to close the distance between you and him just a little more. His lips, soft and warm, brushed gently against yours before he pulled away, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to capture every second of the moment.

You lingered there, your face still inches from his, the rush of the night finally settling into something you could hold onto.

His brown eyes stared into yours almost like a plea. His hand slid to your face, cupping your cheek as if to remind you that this wasn’t for the world it was just for the two of you.

Soon enough, Lewis’s lips found yours again, this time with more certainty, more passion, more everything. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he was savouring the feeling of having you this close, finally able to love you without the weight of the world on his shoulders. His thumb traced the line of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, and you melted into him, letting him pull you closer, hands finding his neck, your bodies aligning with ease.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Lewis’s forehead pressed gently against yours. “You’re mine,” he murmured softly, almost as if reminding himself.

“I’ve always been yours,” you whispered back, feeling that truth settle in your heart.

And as you walked toward the hotel, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles against your hand once more, you knew with certainty -

You’d walk through it all again.

[corviiids]

let me tell you it is literally mind-boggling the kinds of dumb awkward bullshit you can get away with if you project enough confidence. forgetting someone's name is a certified awkward situation but if you don't falter at all, look them in the eye, laugh at yourself (A LITTLE), and go "im so sorry, could you remind me what your name is?" like 9 times out of 10 they will laugh right back and go "yeah it's ebony dark'ness dementia raven way" (substitute their name) and move on because you have to remember this is a human experience basically everyone understands, and if you don't let it be awkward they will just accept that this is part of being a person. and if they're a dick about it then they're a dick which is something that happens sometimes in all situations not just awkward ones and therefore is a risk you can't completely mitigate anyway. and the great thing about this technique is you just have to PROJECT confidence, you do NOT have to feel it, and nobody can tell if you are screaming nonstop in your brain the entire time because they're not IN your brain, and if you're me you can also spend the entire interaction going "this could be a tumblr post later" and they can't tell that you're doing that either.

[thecorefrisk]

Um, here’s my suggestion to the DP fans who want to only DP content… why not make your own tag??

I’ll probably sound passive aggressive when saying this but I understand. It’s super frustrating trying to find content for one fandom and then seeing completely different content.

Why not make a ‘dp only’ tag? That way anyone could find any sort of Danny Phantom only content without having to scroll through countless of other works to get to it.

I get it, it’s much more easy to put up a wall than build a bridge but creating an entirely new tag for yourselves can also be a rather constructive choice!

(My only question is… why is this an issue now rather than earlier? Is this something a lot of DP fans have been already thinking or it more so a recent thing??)

—

Edit: I posted something similar in the comments and I have a reblog up for anyone to see but I’ll say it here as well! This post was likely founded in my own hurt!! I personally think it felt entitled for me to say, someone else said it sounded condescending. Those two things don’t exactly contradict each other!!

(But the condescension part might’ve been just my lack of understanding of how my words come across to others due to the autism thing, but y’know, no excuse unless my entire family also happened to die before I wrote this. Which did NOT happen if you’re wondering, I’m just scared they will and that’s like, super different.)

I have had a history of being pushed out of things and spaces in which I should’ve been accepted into (ex: autism spaces, other fandoms, friendships). I was trying to ‘nice’ and also give my own opinion at the same time. (A skewed opinion.) I knew the whole discourse made me feel… bad but I didn’t know where it came from and I just posted this in an impulsive decision.

Not necessarily to go ‘ha! Losers!’ But to put up sort of shield to defend myself. So, I am sorry. For the condescension and for the passive aggressiveness. I already knew that was a problem in my speech but I didn’t realize it was THAT bad.

Uhh, let me review the things I did wrong. (I like lists.)

First off, I disregarded a group of people’s feelings for my own. Second, I decided to ‘bring up a solution’ that was more so a half assed compromise which was likely already someone else’s suggestion as well. Third, I also just so ‘happened to forget’ that the DP tag… WAS your tag. That you should be able to go through it without someone else shoving content from a different fandom in your face in all directions.

I mean, if I want my feelings to be heard, I should be hearing other people’s feelings too. It’s not fair for me to bring up my own opinions, expect them to be taken as seriously as anybody else’s, and then not give that treatment. And also I should probably learn impulse control?? I think I have a grip on it unless I feel hurt. Otherwise I’m fine.

It was probably, to me, that the post I first saw about it made it feel like people were going ‘…get out?’ (The post I saw was one asking for people to exclusively use the DP x DC tag for those kinds of posts. Which, in itself, is actually not a bad idea and would allow for further freedom as people are allowed to be separate but connected to the DP fandom and perhaps even the DC fandom.)

Basically, I was projecting my own past trauma onto this random person who just felt frustrated they had to scroll past what felt like a million posts just to get to the fandom they wanted to see. And the kind of posts they saw, might’ve not been the kind that they wanted to see at all which is even more frustrating. They likely wrote in a moment of frustration and it kind of came off as such in their writing. But that doesn’t mean that my reaction is their fault in the slightest.

It means I had a reaction to something I felt was hurtful. I’ve written this line before but when I sat down and actually thought about it all it felt all the truer. ‘They aren’t trying to give you a bad time, they are having one’. I made it about me— which was not cool of me.

So, again, I am sorry. I hope this comes across as me actually taking accountability for my actions and not another passive aggressive fat amount of text like I fear it will be.

Thank you, though! To the people who were so, so nice in the comments. You weren’t, like, mean to me about this even though I was sounding pretty bratty. Some were a little frustrated but it was in a way that I could understand and your hearts were all in the right place. Because even though this seems very small— a fandom having a space on Tumblr to be able to see their own content— it gives people a place where they can meet people who like the same things and even make friends out of it. And you also expressed your thoughts in a way that I could get! Which was super sweet, thank you so much. :>

Mwah, mwah, love you!! 🫶🏼

[parnashiamparapio]

Forever their's.

Pairing: vminkook x reader.

Contains: psychotic behaviour, a lot of smut, possessiveness, obsession, yandere behaviour, gore, killing, oral sex, rough sex, threesome, three men sharing same woman. Rich vminkook, countryside girl. Forced proximity, clit play, riding, possessive behaviour. Mention of death.

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Summary: A young woman from the countryside, comes to the city of seoul for study - at her aunts and beckmes an obsession not only one but three deadly, insanely handsome and rich bachelors. They will do anything to make her theirs. Either With their wealth, charm, and determination. They will stop at nothing to bring her into their lives, even if it means shattering her innocence and leaving her forever changed. Forever their's even if it includes - killing people.

Chapter eight.

I stretched my arm softly, a soft groan left my mouth. My back is hurting badly. I have been typing on my laptop for three hours, writing down the project. The deadline is near and I wanted to give the best. I shared a mutual conversation with jungwoo — only slight conversation.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I know the fact that I do anything stupid then others will face the consequences. And I don't want that.

My grandma is still being treated and her surgery is going on. They have been keeping checks on her and I'm glad. At least they are good at this. Knowing the reason I can't rely on anyone except them. They can handle the expense and everything. I want to work hard so i can pay them off. I feel burdened.

Not to mention, their small touches never stop. Sometimes they throw me on their bed and devour me until i forget how to breathe.

They would touch me and clean me gently, they would cuddle me after the sex. Taehyung mostly stays in the mansion with me. He would touch me, shower with me and clean me up. He asks me about my day and has a small talk with me.

    He always listens attentively to what i say. Even my words are hatred.

Whenever Jungkook sees me, his lips are on mine. Jungkook doesn't care about his own pleasure, he doesn't care if he comes first— he cares if i did— several times. He also never leaves me dirty, he washes me up, dresses me up, and brushes my hair.

Jungkook makes amazing hair styles.

Taehyung would call the maids to bring food when I'm too sore to move.

Recently i got to know from Jimin that aunt and min-ah has been shifting to New York. And they have been dealing with their business there. I don't know if it's true or not.

But I don't think they care about their mother at all — let alone the sister.

No matter how much i run, from myself and my feelings for them. In the end it's always me and my thoughts. I can't help but feel a little vulnerable when I'm with them.

Not all girls like heroes. I was fated to be bonded with the Villains. Who'll put me ahead of everyone — including themselves.

They are extremely compulsive, their emotions, temper and love.

I sighed softly, and rubbed my temple feeling a headache forming. I grabbed menstruation cycle pills — i feel like I'm close to my periods. Which is good.

I have been taking pills.

Birth control.

These bastards whenever they are intimate, they fill inside me. If i get pregnant then it's worse, worse to leave them.

I opened YouTube and saw a few slides of cupcakes. I love cupcakes — back then i used to make it with my grandma. The sudden cravenness was overwhelming.

I opened my desk and take out a small diary, i wrote so many small recipes to make instead of eating snacks. I went downstairs. I was currently in black soft sweater and a pair of grey sweatpants. 

I greeted the maid softly not wanting to scare her as her back was facing me. "Can you tell me where the baking things are?" I told her specific things about the cupcakes. She smiled softly and nodded. She placed all the things on the kitchen marble.

It was almost 7:45 pm, but anyways.

I gently talked with her while baking and mixing the batter. Asking how long she has been working and other things she loves to do etc etc.

"Can you pass me the butter miss?" I spoke softly without turning around. When i heard nothing i frowned and looked behind.

"Want this?" Jimin held the butter in his hand. I nodded and looked at him. Jimin walked towards me. Jimin was in black simple black t-shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans. And black cap on his head. His silver chain showing.

"Why are you dressed in all black?" I couldn't help but ask, Jimin handed me butter and put it inside the bowl. Mixing the cupcake batter. Jimin said nothing and leaned on the kitchen marble and looked at me.

"You know what time is it right?" He asked looking at me.

"Yeah? Around 8?" I said like a matter-of-fact tone.

"It's time for dinner and You're eating these cupcakes. "

"I was craving it."

"Crave me, instead."

I glared into his dark eyes and he smirked.

"I'd rather crave cupcakes than you." I grumbled under my breath and mixed the batter. I cracked an egg and mixed it. Jimin came behind me sneaking his arm around my waist pulling me closer to his chest — snuggling against my neck. Inhaling deeply.

"You smell so good, always do." Jimin mumbled against the skin of my neck. "Jimin, let go. I'm working." I tried to wiggle out from his grasp.

I can feel him grinning against my neck. "Am i distracting you, angel eyes?" He pressed my bottom against his bulge. I take a sharp inhale. "Feel that?" He whispered against my ear, kissing the back of my ear.

These guys are always horny.

I slightly pushed him away, and grabbed the baking container. Applying oil and butter paper, i pour all the batter inside the container and put it inside the convection microwave. And applied the limit — i hope it turns out yummy.

Jimin opened the chocolate, he was about to eat it. I gasped softly and snatched it away — "hey, you can't eat this. This is for the cupcake topping." I frown softly. "

"Well I'm craving something sweet." He murmured leaning down staring at my lips. "You can help me tho."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"No."

"Yes."

Dammit.

He smirked. "Now now you can't back off can you, in the end you always end up what we want anyways." He smiled, and licked his lips. His eyes kinda vanished the way he smiled.

"Too bad I don't want you, nor I'll help you to feed you for your 'sweet treat' nor I'll share my cupcakes with you." I crossed my arms and looked at him.

Jimin yanked my closer with the hem of the collar shirt, i gasped softly.  I could smell his musk scent with a hint of something sweet. I looked up at his eyes.

"Aren't you talking back way too much?" He murmurs against my lips. He caressed my lower lips softly. "How's your project going?"

"It's going good." I said barely over the whisper, too bothered by the closeness. "Just good?" He demanded an answer, and wanted to know more. I nodded and gulped.

I nibbled my lower lips softly looking at him.

"Don't do that unless you want to be fucked in this goddamn kitchen." His jaw clenched and his voice came out strained and i know he wasn't joking around.

"You guys know nothing except that."

"When we have a woman like you in our life. We can't think of straight, baby."

"I wish I'd never met you, and them." I whispered, Jimin tucked loose strand behind my ear and caressed contour of my cheeks softly. Caressing them gently like I'm some delicate doll.

Jimin's lips brushed against my forehead "I'll meet you again and again if i have to. To see you, to look at you, to touch you, to drown in your hazel brown eyes. "

My heart thudded at uncontrollable speed.

I'm afraid he'll hear it, it was so loud. I could hear it in my ears.

"Can't stop thinking about you." His lips brushed against my cheeks. "Can't stop wanting you." He kissed my jaw. "Can't stop watching you." He kissed my eyelids. "You don't know what you're doing to me do you?"

"If you like me so much, then why do you and the other two act like this?" I asked softly and looked at him.

"Act like what?"

"You know what jimin."

Jimin looked away, not meeting my eyes.

"You guys act like extreme possessiveness, act differently then being gentle all of sudden. I feel suffocate, watched. Threatening me, and people who are trying to get close to me. Why?" I can't help but ask about these things, voice my thoughts that I always wanted to escape.

"You think we choose this? We chose to be like this? It happened angel eyes. Since the day you came — everything changed. And i know one thing. We are never letting you go. Ever."

Tears gathered in my eyes.

Gosh, i hate being so vulnerable all the time.

Before i controlled them, it rolled down my cheeks. Screw these hormones. Being vulnerable In front of this possessive jerks will only give them more power over me.

Jimin dropped his forehead against my mine, our breaths mingle together. "Always so pretty when you cry."

I gulped at his words.

"You're sick." I spat.

"Tell me something I don't know."

There was a small voice in the microwave, the cupcakes were baked. I wiped my wet cheeks and opened the microwave. I was about to take the container.

"Stop." Jimin suddenly said.

I looked at him with a frown.

"Where is the your fucking mind. Wear gloves, you were about to burn your hand." Jimin wore the baking gloves and took out the hot container.

The cupcakes were perfectly baked and smelling good. I sigh in relief and take out slowly each of them.

And Jimin watched me getting excited over the cupcake.

——

I was currently in university, me and Jungwoo were sitting together in our university class room hall. I was kinda nervous about our project - i just really hope that we pass and get points in our upcoming semester. It's almost like free marks and good for our GPA.

The professor was actually in a very sour mood today, he wasn't passing the students that easily. And i was really scared that he wouldn't pass our project either. Cause this is actually free marks.

And he even said if he liked one project a little too much, he'll add some extra marks with an announcement. I looked at jungwoo and he looked at me. He gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, partner. We got it." He said softly leaning onto him, showing his fist bump.

I joined my fist with him with a soft bump.

"This was the easiest assignment i gave you - everyone. And this is actually a very poor result. Only if you guys actually focused on it instead of doing the parties."

The professor tsked with annoyance. Everyone looked either disappointed or they didn't care. This university of Seoul is basically the university of 'brats' no one really takes study seriously here.

Except for scholarship students.

Me.

"Anyways, this student actually preformed pretty well. The names are."

I felt my heart thudding.

My heart on my throat.

"Soohee and kang minjung, Min-Hyuk and won-woo, Cyra and Jungwoo and jung minho and jihyun."

A gasped escape my lips.

Oh my god we passed?

I looked at jungwoo, who was pumping his fist in air.

"See i told you" he nudged his shoulder with me gently. "Yeah, you told me" i nodded. "Great work, partner." I smiled at him.

He flipped his imaginary hair.

A giggle left my mouth.

"Sohee and kang minjung and Cyra Maevie and Jungwoo lee. You guys did more than better work. And according to principal as we said about the extra marks for your GPA. He'll decide it." The professor spoke.

All of us nodded.

"For the winners, sir?" Jungwoo asked, and the professor nodded.

"I don't get the concept of this competition." I mumbled.

"It's just a free marks, some people don't give a shit about it either. I don't too, but being you as my partner. Now i do."

I smiled at his words.

"And why is that?"

"You're a nerd." He teases.

I frown. "Whatever you say, I'm better than you."

He gasped and mocked hurt placing hand on his chest. "You wounded me, partner."

"By the way - I'm kinda nervous." I spoke softly looking at him.

Jungwoo frowns and crossed his arms.

"Why? We passed anyways."

"Yeah, i know but standing in front of the hall and they announce the result. It's very - urm i don't know."

Jungwoo held my hand under the desk, interwining hands with me. I gulped softly and looked at him.

"You don't have to worry okay. We are together in this, and trust me. We'll win."

Why this whole thing over a small project. I don't get it.

I heard from other students that, they have to announce some other things too. That's why they are doing this all together.

Makes sense.

Two our teams were standing on the stage, with everyone eyes on us.

I looked around and my eyes locked on Taehyung's.

He was sitting.

On the back, his both arm on his each thighs staring into my soul.

I gulped softly.

Jimin and Jungkook wasn't here. I don't know why tho.

I quickly averted my gaze.

"Good morning students", the principal spoke. The principal continued to speak, but my mind drift backwards to that incident of min-woo case scene.

I'm still very terrified, but I'm more terrified the fact. No one said anything about it. Not even principal. They brushed it off like it's just a normal thing.

No scandal, nothing.

I remember hearing a small news about it, that was an incident and other's were strictly forbidded to not talk about it any further.

An accident.

Nothing more.

That's what they all said.

"We won." Jungwoo shake me gently, i snapped out of my thoughts and looked at him.

"What?"

Jungwoo smiled widely and looked at me. "We won silly - we even won a laptop!"

I blinks slowly and looked around.

We won, we won.

I squealed left my mouth and my actions were impulsive.

Oh no.

I jumped in jungwoo's arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. Smiling, i felt him tensed in my arms by my sudden display of affection. I felt his breath caught in his throat.

Even my own heart skipped a beat.

Before i realized what i was doing, jungwoo's arm instantly wrapped around my waist and he lifted me from the ground with ease.

He chuckled softly against my ear. "We won."

I quickly snap out of my excitement Zone, i slowly get down and he gently puts me down. I brushed my bangs out of my forehead softly.

My cheeks flame. I can feel the exact heat.

Jungwoo showed me his palm, for a high five. Easing the awkwardness from me. I smiled gently and high five him.

My eyes locked on Taehyung's once again.

His eyes were darker than usual.

His jaw clenched. And eyes on mine.

I felt his lips moving forming some words, he mouthed.

"You're so fucking dead."

And i gulped.

My movements were quick and frightening. The ceremony continued to begin. I could still feel his eyes on me, but i just ignored it. I completely tried not to acknowledge his gaze that was leaving me bare and exposed.

I standing on stage with Jungwoo, couldn't help but feel the weight of Taehyung's dark gaze on me. As i remember my arms wrapped around Jungwoo in a spontaneous hug, i couldn't shake the feeling that her actions were leading them all down a dangerous path.

In the audience, Taehyung still watched my every move, his eyes filled with a darkness that both frightened her.

I know, deep down, that he was capable of great harm, his presence a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

My heart raced as i imagined the consequences of my own actions, the safety of Jungwoo hanging in the balance as i stood there, bare and vulnerable to Taehyung's consuming gaze.

As the performance continued, i felt naked, exposed, and entirely at the mercy of Taehyung's dangerous desire. I knew, in that moment, that i was in over my head, the consequences of my own actions too great to bear.

The students came down, and other students ceremonies began about their own other projects according to their majors. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I took it out and read the message.

<I won't say it nicely again, be a good girl and meet me in the car. We are going back home.>

My chest heaved, i looked across the room looking at taehyung. Who was staring at me with deadly eyes - there was no hint of any emotion inside his eyes. They were dark and drooling.

"Hey, you okay?" Jungwoo's worried voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at him. He looked down at me, i nodded and tried to smile.

"Jungwoo, i-i have to leave. Something came up." I quickly took a step back, not caring to explain anything. Before he asks any other questions. I turned around leaving the venue of the university hall.

I was walking down the hallway.

I was yanked off.

I bumped on his chest and looked up at him. Taehyung's grip on my waist and wrist tightened. I gulped and looked at him.

"Taehyung lis-" i was cut off by his walking, and yanking me off with him. "Taehyung, you're hurting me." I winced softly, trying to remove his grip from my hand.

"That's the point, flower. You love to get hurt right? - I'll show you."

We reached taehyung's car and he shoved me inside the passenger seat and buckled my belts.

Taehyung walked towards his driving seat, staring at the engine. He roared. He was practically driving so fast. Everything was so blurry around us, and so was my vision.

"Slow down" i whispered and looked down, tears rolled down my cheeks. I held the handle. Taehyung didn't slow down. Not even a bit.

I could feel his veins popping on his neck and forehead.

His veiny hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Please, slow down." I choked out.

He's mad.

We might die – the way he was driving.

there was always a weird kind of assertiveness in taehyung's voice whenever he voiced his love and craze for you. Almost as if this was normal, always as if he believes in his bones that you were meant to be his.

Like there was nothing wrong with the way they keep you. The way they treat you, locking up, every single thing. It was normal for them.

Taehyung wanted to set the world on fire, he will set that boy on fire, but what was he to do to you? Nothing? I mean why would he hurt his pretty little naive flower.

he was gonna teach you a lesson. And you got the hint of that with him speeding through the streets of Seoul like he owned them. He does own them.

"You're crazy."

"You make me crazy."

His voice was icy, not even a hint of mock, mischievous or anything. It felt like it was coming from a dead person.

As soon as we reached, taehyung dragged me inside. Taehyung shoved me on his bed, i clutched on the white sheets in the palm of my hand.

I looked at him, taehyung locked the door. He looked at me and smiled. That smiled terrified me - "why don't you smile and hug me too, flower?"

I crawled backwards, he grabbed my ankle and yanked me closer to him. "You never listen do you? We tried everything. We tried to be polite, gave you space, freedom - treating your fucking grandma."

Ny lips trembled.

Only if i could fight, slap or do anything but i can't.

My grandma was under their protection.

"What if i told them to stop the surgery and let your grandma die?" He whispered in my ear, kissing my temple.

No, no.

"P-please, don't." A choked sob left my mouth, "she's the only one i have." I whispered, taehyung licked my tears that were rolling down my cheek.

He hummed, pretending to think.

"You don't want that, right?" He raised his eyebrows. Looking down at me. I nodded almost pathetically.

"Spread your legs for me."

It's always give and take.

Always.

"Beg me to fuck you, beg me to make love to you. Show me your fucking affection. I crave it like a fucking starving man." He growled against my lips, and bit my lower lips.

I gasped softly.

Taking the chance, his tongue slipped inside my mouth. His lips moved fiercely against my lips. He devoured me furiously and angrily. Pouring out his pent-up frustration, jealousy.

His kiss consuming. Taking out every breath inside my mouth, leaving me breathless.

Deadly.

My hand quickly flies towards his chest, trying to push him. But he grabbed them pinning them over her head.

Taehyung spread my legs, his cloth hard bulge pressed on my clothed core. I nibbled my lower lips softly and breathed softly arching my back.

Taehyung kissed my throat.

"You make me go crazy, flower. I can't think of anything else. I can't do anything. I can't eat, i can't think. You. Fucking. Consumed. Me."

I closed my eyes, I don't want to think of anything else right now.

Taehyung's hand went to my pants, he leaned down slowly. He pulled my zipper down with his teeth and whispered kissing my clothed core - "this is mine, you're mine."

He yanked the pants off discarding them on the floor.

"I want your time, i want your affection, i want you to smile at me like you were smiling at the fucking jungwoo." He rasped, his hand went to the hem of my shirt.

"I want to feel your body on fire, i want to feel your heart racing. I want you to kiss my cheek, kiss my lips, kiss my body." Taehyung desperately kissed me again.

Taehyung's voice shaky "I'm so fucking in love with you, cyra. So desperately - so so desperately." He whispered.

"This isn't love." I pants softly against his lips. Looking at his dark eyes with my teary one.

"Call whatever you want. i desire you" taehyung removed my panties and slid his two fingers at once. I whimpered. "I need you." He said desperately.

"I burn for you." He kissed my cheeks, and temple. Burying his face in my neck. His actions were furious with gentleness as well.

"H-hurts."

"That's the point." He whispered in my ear, licking the earlobe.

"You know what? Jungkook was right — we should have killed him long ago. We were being patient." He said calmly like he isn't talking about murdering someone.

This is the last thing i want.

Someone being killed because of me.

I looked into his eyes – "don't do this, please."

He smiled tilting his head left almost dangerously staring into my eyes. "You're sexy when you beg." He placed a gentle chaste kiss on my lips.

Almost like a caress.

He worshiped my body, on his knees. His curled his fingers inside my pussy along sucking on my clit. My mouth fall open softly, my chest heaved as i stared at the ceiling.

Taehyung's hand continuously moved in and out curling inside — making me go towards the edge. A breathy moan left my mouth, no matter how much i control it. He sucked harder on my clit making my hips buckle again on his face.

"T-taehyung i-i-" I couldn't even complete my own sentence, my abdomen churned. I was close to an unknown pleasure threatening to come out.

"Come for me, flower." Taehyung whispered against my pussy. And i let go. My chest heaved, desperate pants left my mouth.

Taehyung sucked me off.

Every. Single. Drop.

He crawled upwards. "Taste yourself." He smashed his lips, kissing me fiercely. I could taste my own arousal on his lips. On his tongue. My sensitive pussy suddenly ached. More.

I want more of him.

He rubbed the tip of his angry cock on my clit up and down. His own pre-cum meeting my sensitive pussy making me arch more.

He pushed inside.

A loud mewl left my lips. "N-no pull out p-please." I pleaded, more like above the whisper. But my pleas went deaf to his ears.

"We're not even half inside, flower." He chuckled darkly against my ear.

Suddenly.

He thrust all one go.

My scream got muffled by his kiss, he instantly grabbed my legs putting over his shoulder. And groaned loudly. Taehyung thrusted in and out in animalistic speed.

His hand went to my nipples, flicking it. His mouth captured the right one.

I gasp.

He squeezed the left one, giving the same attention as right.

He placed another kiss on my throat, inhaling deeply.

His cock didn't stop going in and out, he slowed down his movement then going back in with deep and powerful thrust. Making me arch back.

A sob left my mouth.

Taehyung, filled with rage and a twisted sense of possessiveness, drove himself into me, his anger coursing through his every move. He lied against my neck, his hot breath a stark contrast to the cruelty in his words as he spoke of a love that was anything but pure.

His actions were not a result of love but a mere manifestation of his dangerous obsession. His large cock, thrusting in and out of my pussy with savage intensity, punishing me for even daring to look at other men, let alone hug one so intimately.

He drove himself deeper, using the memory of her affectionate embrace with Jungwoo as fuel for his unwavering anger.

  Despite the pain and shame, i couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of regret for her previous actions, knowing that they had led her to this dark and dangerous place.

Taehyung grabbed my hair yanking me up on his lap, i yelped softly against his lips as he settled me on his lap. His cock was still buried inside me. "Ride me." He rasped, he grabbed my hips and made me move back and forth.

He did all the positions. Every single one.

Our breaths mingle together.

Taehyung joined forehead against mine, staring at me.

Locking my every expression, every tear in his twisted, unhinged mind.

He left a mark on neck, dark and prominent. Clearly showing everyone that she's his — and theirs.

"I." Thrusted upwards. "fucking." Thrusted upwards. "Love." Thrusted upwards. "You."

We both came together.

His seeds filled inside me once again. They will leave me pregnant for sure.

Making me carrying another monster like them.

My eyes slowly drool, exhaustion took over me like a warm blanket. I whispered my last words. "Don't hurt him please." It was a mere whisper, above it.

"We won't — not yet."

And everything turns black.

[ivystoryweaver]

Summer Project Brothers' Best Friend!Santiago Garcia x Younger Sister!virgin!Reader

Issue #1: Three Rules...or Four?

Summer Project Masterlist

Summary: Santiago Garcia is lifelong friends with your three very protective brothers, who happen to be the Millers: Will, Ben and (new character) Jace. You’re home for the summer after your college graduation and you have a little project in mind for you and Santi.

Overall Story Content: legal age gap - reader is graduating college and about to start grad school, much younger sister of Ben and Will Miller, so Santiago (in this story) is about 15 years older than her. Brothers (particularly Ben) call(s) reader Ducky. Family angst and drama, romance, fluff, loss of virginity, kissing, grinding, dry humping, p in v, fingering, hand job, nipple play, oral-m and f rec., language, not beta'd

wc: 3.8k

"Duckyyyyy, there she is!" Your brother Benny called with a boisterous laugh before scooping you up in his massive arms for a big hug. He twirled you around just enough to slightly annoy you and make you a little dizzy.

"Stop it, don't call me that," you giggled, pounding on his arm and motioning for your big brother Will, to rescue you. Although he was a couple inches shorter than Benny, he was no less strong.

"Don't pretend he listens to me," Will shrugged, folding his arms over his equally broad chest.

Benny finally set you down so you could hug Will, who welcomed you with open arms and a quick kiss on the top of your head.

"Where's Jace?" You inquired about your middle brother, who exemplified "middle child" in every possible sense of the term.

Benny, technically also a middle child, rolled his eyes. "Who cares?"

Fair point. Jace tended to bring a little storm cloud with him to preside over every event he attended. He wasn't quite as smart as Will, or as athletic as Benny. He was far shorter and more scrawny than both of them. Both Will and Ben were tall, muscular and handsome with dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes, while Jace's light brown hair, green eyes and lanky frame made him the odd man out. Not to mention he had no sense of humor, and your other two brothers were constantly joking around.

Still, he never let anyone forget that, at 5'10", he was still taller than their best friend Santiago Garcia.

"Be nice," you admonished Ben, giving him a playful (but pointless) shove as your eyes quickly darted around, looking for the rest of the boys - Frankie Morales, Santiago, your next door neighbor Diego - all of whom were at least ten years older than you.

Your high school besties would be joining the party in a couple hours, after they finished up at their little sister's graduation party.

You headed upstairs to your old room to stash your suitcase, happy to be home for the summer before you went back out of town for grad school.

Benny and Will grabbed the rest of your luggage and brought it up for you while you quickly freshened up before joining them all in the backyard.

Salsa music was playing, drinks were being passed around and you could hear laughter which gave you a homey feeling right away.

Since your dad passed away right after high school graduation, the boys had all been taking care of you, sometimes a little too much. Your mom died when you were in elementary school, so four men in the house, plus Frankie, Santiago, and even Tom, before he passed away, was more than enough supervision, not to mention your neighbor Diego.

They were all amazing in their own way, but you had to get out of state and spread your wings for college. Now you were finally graduating and ready to spend time with them this summer, however overprotective they might be.

You also had a little...project in mind. Something you'd been pondering for months and months. Your eyes landed on Santiago's back as he manned the grill.

The shortest of the bunch, he more than made up for it with charisma, charm and personality. You watched the muscles of his back flexing through the thin fabric of his gray t-shirt. His backward baseball cap almost covered the scar on the back of his neck. Even the movement of his tanned arms as he flipped burgers was mesmerizing.

You licked your lips without realizing it, but Frankie busted you.

"Hungry?" He bumped shoulders with you, granting you that big goofy smile you loved. His warm brown eyes twinkled at you from underneath his Standard Oil baseball cap he rarely went without.

"Hey, Frankie," you quietly greeted him, giving him a side hug. "Where's the kiddo?"

"Angelica ran back home because we forgot his damn pacifier. He fell asleep in the car seat, so she's just circling the block until the little demon wakes up."

"Do not call that baby boy a demon," you swatted Frankie's arm playfully. "He is an angel."

Frankie shrugged. "Not without a nap, he's not."

Santiago must have heard your voice because he whirled around and waved his spatula at you, flashing you a knee-weakening grin. Your cheeks heated as you found yourself beaming, pushing up on your toes as you waved back.

"Come here." He waved you over, still using the spatula as an extension of his arm.

With a giggle, you bounded over to the grill, a little caught off guard as Santi set the spatula down and wrapped you up in a big hug.

"There's my girl," he breathed on your ear. Releasing you after an indulgent moment, he gave you a once over before winking. "Been waiting for you. Got the burgers almost done medium, just how you like 'em, with garlic and Worcestershire sauce."

"Perfect, I knew there was a reason to invite you over today," you teased.

"Damn straight, someone's gotta bring talent and looks to this party," he fired back, chomping on his gum, which he somehow made look so sexy.

Your heart flip-flopped. "Did you bring your guitar?" The thought of Santiago singing did things to your insides.

He winked. "You know it. Drunk karaoke after sunset."

You rolled your eyes. "You think my brothers are gonna let me get drunk?"

"Fuck 'em. You're graduating," Santi reasoned, which made you chuckle.

"I've been an adult for over four years," you reminded him. Which made you remember your whole predicament:

you were still a virgin.

And it brought to mind your summer goal: to leave for grad school not a virgin.

Speaking of missed opportunities, Santiago eyed you carefully. "Where's the boyfriend?"

You groaned. Santiago knew very well that you and Marcus had broken up after Christmas. "Who knows? Maybe I'll meet my next one this summer."

"Good luck with that," he laughed, flipping a few burgers. "With all of us circling." He nodded toward the back door, where Jace was finally arriving to the party. He made his way straight over to the grill.

"Hey sis," he casually greeted, stuffing his hands into his khaki pants and barely giving Santiago a nod. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay, hi," you breathed, giving him a quick squeeze.

"Just in time to help with zero suitcases," Benny guffawed, squeezing his older but smaller brother's shoulders from behind before playfully grabbing him in a chokehold. "Lazy bum."

Jace was not amused.

"Aw, leave the little guy alone," Will teased, joining your group by the grill. He ruffled Jace's thin hair, messing it up, before doing the same to Benny.

"Can you guys not?" Jace groaned, shrugging them off, which sent them stumbling into an impromptu backyard wrestling session.

Jace shook his head and turned to you. "How are we related to those two animals?"

Santi motioned to Jace with his spatula. "Good point. You're adopted, right?"

Great, it was starting already with these guys.

Thankfully your high school besties arrived and took your mind off all these men for a while.

"Girl, you haven't been with anyone since Marcus?" Your friend Anna questioned, flopping onto your bed dramatically. Her dark waves fanned out on your favorite pillow as she held one hand above her face to inspect her manicure. The three of you had grabbed a drink and headed upstairs to catch up and get out of the heat.

"No, the final semester kicked my ass. I barely had time to text you guys, let alone go on a date," you explained, settling into the oversized, cozy chair in the corner of your room.

"Still, you can have fun, blow of steam, right?" Anna's sister Fiona chimed, grabbing one of your fluffy throw pillows and sinking down on the edge of the bed, her short, brown curls flopping in the process. "Unless you're still... you know..."

"Wait a second, oh my god, you are not still a virgin," Anna gawked, sitting up on the bed and reaching for your favorite stuffed animal - a stuffed duck with faded yellow fur. She squeezed the scruffy little guy before turning it around, as if looking to its eyes. "Who am I kidding, of course you're still a virgin."

"Her dad gave that duck to her," Fiona reasoned, whacking her sister with the throw pillow. "Don't be a dick."

"Not that it's anyone's business, but yes, I am. And yes, that's why Marcus dumped me." You sighed, taking a swig of your beverage, thankful for the sting of alcohol. "I just...it didn't feel right. I wasn't ready."

"That's because you're secretly in love with me," Fiona giggled, tossing you the throw pillow, which you barely swatted away from your glass.

"Dream on," you quipped. "I like men."

"A word that definitely does not describe Marcus," Anna groaned. "I only met him twice, but he was an infant. You need a real man."

"A woman does not need a man to find happiness," Fiona defended.

"I'm not talking about happiness, Fi," Anna protested, "I'm talking about sex." She motioned to you. "Unless you really aren't into men?"

"I'm into men," you confirmed. "I don't know why it's taken me so long - "

"You don't have to explain it. It's not like it's a bad thing," Fiona reasoned. "Maybe you just want someone to feel safe with."

"Knock, knock."

Santiago's voice rang through the crack in the slightly open door as his knuckles wrapped gently.

"Come in," you chimed, beaming at him.

He poked his head in, errant streaks of silver littering his dark curls as he smiled charmingly. "Ladies, dinner is served. Come get your meat." He winked and retreated, sending your friends snorting in amusement.

"Oh my god he is such a dad," Anna chuckled.

"He is not a dad," you reminded them. "That's Frankie."

"I know, I wasn't being literal. He is old though."

"No he is not," Fiona argued with her sister. "He's hot. And don't get me started on Frankie - an actual DILF."

"Oh god," her sister groaned. "Her undying, unrequited crush on Francisco Morales."

"As if you have any room to talk, 'Mrs. Benjamin Miller'," Fiona mocked.

"Whatever, I was in eighth grade when I wrote Benny's name on my notebook!"

The sisters got into a swatting match, reminding you of their own version of Benny and Will wrestling and half-seriously arguing.

"They're too old for us anyway," Fiona finally acknowledged, as the three of you stood and started making your way back downstairs. "Unfortunately. Your hot brothers and their hot friends. If only..."

"They're not that much older," you found yourself blurting, quite without thinking first.

"Babe, come on, Benny is like, what, ten years older than us and he's the youngest one! Is Santiago the oldest?" Fiona questioned.

"Nope, that's Frankie," you explained. "Frankie is 18 years older than me, Santi is 15, Will is 14, Jace is 12 and Benny is 10 years older. And Diego next door is the same age as Will."

"See? Old," Anna shrugged right as Benny walked in the back door, headed for the bathroom.

"Who you calling old?" He winked at her and she made a mildly embarrassing sound.

"Okay, well we know who Anna likes the best," Fiona giggled, "and we know I have it bad for sweet, married, dad Frankie, but what about you?" She pointed directly at you, now that Benny is out of earshot. "Who's the hottest of your brothers' friends?"

"What, I don't know," you tried to laugh it off, stopping in the kitchen to deposit your empty glass in the sink. "I'm related to half the group and feel like I'm practically related to the rest of them. Besides, Diego is getting married this summer."

"So...Diego then?" Anna teased.

"No it's Santiago," Fiona decided, folding her arms over her chest. "Diego's basically her fourth brother. That leaves Santi and Frankie. And Frankie's all mine."

"Mystery solved," Anna agreed.

"Yeah, okay, I'm definitely into Santi," you laughed, if only to cover your actual real and consuming interest...in Santiago Garcia.

"Somebody looking for me?" Santi piped, right on queue, hauling dirty, barbecue sauce covered trays in from the back yard to deposit into the sink.

"Yep, we were just rating who's the hottest guy here today," Anna tried to convey seriously, but her sister was already making her giggle. "We narrowed it down to Benny, Frankie and you."

Santi turned to you and narrowed his eyes. "This is a contest? With your brother?"

"Do not look at me, I am just an innocent bystander," you laughed, holding your hands up in a surrendering pose, even as your face heated under his scrutiny.

Santi stepped in close to you, shaking his head condescendingly but playfully. "Only two choices for you then. Me or Frankie." His tongue swiped over his lips as he winked. "Good luck to me, I guess."

As he barreled through the back door, out into the yard, Fiona let out a dramatic sigh. "Maybe I picked wrong. He is so hot. I don't care how old he is."

Dinner was delicious, plenty of alcohol was consumed (although Will did literally take two drinks out of your hand. Frankie sneaked them back to you though), the sun set and you had a pleasant buzz going by the time Santiago took out his guitar.

Jace rolled his eyes, accusing Santi of being a showoff under his breath.

Santiago kicked things off some Bruce Springsteen, followed by a crowd favorite, and soon enough, everyone was singing along and acting ridiculous. You found yourself laughing and so glad to be home.

Your friends' dad picked them up since they've been drinking and Frankie and Angelica got the baby home while he was just the right amount of sleepy.

Santi was all smiles and charm and eventually got everyone singing at one point or another, even Jace.

Diego went home next. His fiancée was flying in the following day to do some more wedding planning. Jace went to bed, leaving you, Benny, Will and Santiago to hang a while longer.

Will finally got tired, so the four of you decided to call it a night. While Benny shut everything down and locked up, you pulled Santiago aside.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asked you seriously, steadying you by holding onto your forearms.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Little buzzed," you admitted with a chuckle. "Can I talk to you about something?" With slower reflexes, you got lost for a moment in his soft, syrupy gaze, his dark eyes raking over the contours of your face.

"Yeah, sure what is it?"

"Not now," you swallowed hard. "Later. Maybe at your place?"

"Okay, is everything all right?" Those piercing eyes shifted in concern.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, it's just kind of personal."

Benny walked in, tossing a blanket at pillow at Santiago, which sent him stumbling back a step. "I saw how many you had, Pope. Lay your ass down on the couch, you're going nowhere."

Scrubbing his hand over the nape of his neck, Santi shrugged, too tired and drunk to argue. "Thanks, dad."

You couldn't linger any longer and try to talk to Santi alone. Too suspicious.

So you wished them both goodnight.

The next day, you slept off your buzz, took a long shower and headed over to Santi's to tell him about your summer project.

As you knocked on his front door, you shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, almost convincing yourself to turn around and leave before you embarrassed yourself.

"Heyyy, there's my girl," he greeted you with shower fresh damp hair, a thin white t-shirt and shorts with bare feet. "Come in."

As you walked into his home, you realized you'd never been here alone. You couldn't even believe you were here now. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you chewed on your lip as he opened the fridge an fished out the orange juice.

"Thirsty?"

If he only knew.

"Uhm, I'm fine, no thanks."

Noticing your trepidation, he set the OJ carton on the counter, inching closer.

"Sweetheart, you okay? What did you wanna talk to me about?"

Exhaling loudly, you started to lose your nerve with him gazing into your eyes. It was now or never.

"What is it?" His dark eyebrows shifted in concern. "You can tell me."

Drawing a deep breath, you decided to go for it. "I'm gonna ask you something. A favor. It's big."

"Okay," he nodded sincerely.

"But if you don't want to do it, you have to promise to say no and I won't be mad. And you have to swear not to tell anyone."

He eased around the kitchen counter to stand right in front of you. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

Your heart swelled, seeing his concern. "No, it's not like that. It's just a favor. But you have to swear this conversation never happened, especially if you say no."

He shook his head, confused. "Okay..."

"I was wondering if I could get your help with something. But it's...it's big." You exhale loudly, hardly able to believe you're asking him this. You've rehearsed the speech in your mind so many times. "See....I'm graduating college and I have a little problem I want you to help me with."

"Tell me what it is," he insisted, a bit more emphatically. "Like, a party? Or..."

"I'm...still a virgin."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your face went hot and you clenched your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. You had to do this. Better to get it out in the open and have Santi reject you, than wonder all summer if he would've said yes.

You watched the confusion, then realization, then shock register on his face. Now it was out there, might as well.

"This summer, I wanna....I don't know, not be one - a virgin, I mean, by the time I go to grad school, and so, I was wondering if you would maybe...help me out?"

Santiago frowned, shaking his head slightly. "You want me to help you find someone to hook up with?"

Oh god. This was coming out all wrong. Feeling overwhelmingly flustered, you shook your head. "Nevermind, forget it. It's stupid."

But Santi didn't let you get far, gently grasping your shoulders to steady you. "Wait, sweetheart, you mean..." He pointed to himself. "You mean me?"

You closed your eyes and held up your hands defensively. "Look, Santiago...I get it. You probably don't see me that way at all. You probably never could. I just, I trust you and I thought I would ask you first because... well...I don't know." You took a step back, to safety, bracing for inevitable rejection. " You can just say no and then we can forget I even came here today 'cause I don't want to - "

"Yes."

Your eyes went wide, your nervous rambling coming to a halt.

"I'll do it. If you're sure." His eyebrows shifted questioningly.

You swallowed hard. "I'm sure. Are you sure?"

He licked his lips. "Definitely."

Your stomach flip-flopped as he stalked toward you with slow determination.

"O-okay. I have rules."

He smirked. "Rules?"

"Yes. They're for our...mutual protection, let's say. If you don't want to hear them, or do them, just say so now. They're not negotiable."

"Okay, shoot." Santiago folded his arms over his chest smugly. He was enjoying this.

The shock of the situation was starting to wear off a little, so you dove in. "Okay, the most important rule by far is: my brothers cannot know. They can never ever know."

He quickly nodded. "Good point, I enjoy being alive."

"Exactly."

"'kay and number 2?"

"Obviously this goes without saying for both of us, but, we have to be safe and that includes either one of us being able to change our minds at any time."

"Obviously," he agreed, "Next?"

You took a deep breath. "No feelings."

His eyebrows shot up, the corner of his mouth following. "Feelings?"

"Right. No feelings. Just...sex."

He swallowed hard, his eyes traveling down the shape of your body. He nodded, his eyes flickering to your mouth, then back into your eyes. "Just sex."

Pacing away and back, he had a question of his own. "So, how do you want to do this?"

You paused. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Santi chuckled. "Believe me, this is something I can definitely do for you. And like I said, I value my life, so I won't be telling your brothers."

"Good."

"Do I get to have rules?" He returned, eyes meeting your challengingly.

"Huh?"

Licking his lips, he shrugged one shoulder. "If i'm participating, do I get to make any rules?"

You wryly smiled. "I doubt it, but if you can think of any, let's hear it."

"Okay," he agreed. "How about, I set the pace. Obviously, rule 2 applies. You can stop anytime, and we never have to go any faster than you're comfortable with. But if this is about you not being a virgin anymore, are you thinking 'one and done' or - "

"Santi, are you asking if we're gonna be fuck buddies all summer?"

"Hey, you said it." He winked, making your cheeks heat as you sheepishly giggled.

"But seriously," he went on, easing into your personal space, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "I mean, have you...done stuff before? Anything?"

"Yeah, I've done stuff. Some stuff." You squirmed under his undivided attention - something you'd never had fully, ever before.

"Okay, that's what I mean." Leaning in, he locked eyes with you. "I want to sort of...do it all. Everything. I want to figure out what you've done and what's new for you." Your eyes flickered away, but he chased after your gaze. "I wanna learn what you like, what gets you going... I want it to be good for you."

Your mouth went dry, but just hearing those words from him, directed at you - not everything was feeling so dry at the moment. "Right, so..."

"So, when do you wanna start?"

"As soon as possible," you blurted. Shaking your head, you tried to regain some control over the situation. "But not today."

"Tonight? Tomorrow? I'm ready right now."

You slugged him on the arm, putting you back on what was your normal dynamic with your brothers' friend.

Santi grinned. "Hey, a beautiful woman wants to sleep with me. I'm not hesitating...unless she wants to, of course."

"Okay, tomorrow," you agreed.

"But no sex tomorrow," he insisted. "Not yet. I'll make dinner."

Before you protested, he clarified, "Not to make it a date, just to set the mood. It'll help if you're comfortable. No sex. First base only." He winked. "Maybe second."

"Oh god," you groaned, the sound coming out as much more of a moan than you intended.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Santiago Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my tag list

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[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

transmasc vetinari fic is UP!!

featuring:

the icon herself, lady roberta meserole

downey thinking vetinari is a bastard but not because he's trans

rufus drumknott being another trans icon

vimes being vimes

vaguely formed play/script metaphors

mirrors

[wackywatchdotcom]

to me ragatha is the most tragic blend of fawning and wanting to be liked and being terrified that the people around you are going to die at any moment and a desperate desire for things to turn out okay and more and it makes me distraught

[queeringclassiclit]

congratulations to Anne Shirley and Diana Barry who now hold the top three highest 'no' votes this blog has ever seen. a rare win for the straights <3

[the-alan-price-combo]

60 years ago - on November 16th, 1964, the Animals recorded "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"!! 🐾✨️

[freshthoughts2020]

[captmcgiddyface]

Agent Minnesota but all she is is passive aggressive and makes some mean tater tot hotdish and snicker salad.

[project-sekai-takes]

Destination Caucasian is fire!! It got me to use it as an interrogation method!! (Alongside the AkiAn GimmexGimme cover)

In reality though I listen to it maybe once in a while just to wonder how Taiga won… that… which shouldn’t have happened but you know, he had to cause of plot 😭

also how they handled An’s reaction to Nagi being dead (mainly at the back end of the story) is… depressing and was too fast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a card that sad and then switch to “Alright guys I’m better!” within the span of maybe two minutes killed me inside

.

[rockintapper]

ummmm. blorbo cover time

cecils voiceclaim made by the ✨illustrious✨ @watashime-ciel [UPROARIOUS CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]

[wundrousarts]

The Wintersea Republic and the Free State: Different Age lengths?

I was going to save this until my Hollowpox reread post, but I’ve hit a snag in my eternal reread and now I don’t know when I’ll share that. This is something I noticed that I didn’t fully realize before. This is specifically about post-Massacre Ages. Pre-Massacre stuff is still currently a Wild West of unknowns.

The Wintersea Republic seems to have consistently had 10-12 year Ages since it was formed. This lines up with the amount of Ages it has had and how long it’s been around for. This consistency is also how Squall establishes the “curse.”

I had always assumed that Ages were consistent among the Realm, so that Nevermoor has also been experiencing these same Age lengths for the same amount of time. This is because at the beginning of the first book we see that their Morningtides align. This is where my theory about Wundersmith deaths or Wunder irregularities causing Eventides at the end of years comes from, because it seems likely that that’s what triggered this Eventide and likely all the ones related to the “curse”.

However, in ch2 of Hollowpox, Jupiter says the following:

“Golders Night,” Holliday echoed, and her expression grew thoughtful. She tapped a finger against her mouth. “There’s a thought… what’s it been, twelve years since the last one?” “Fourteen, I believe,” said Jupiter. “Spring of Seventeen in the Age of Poets. ”

So, 14 years ago, Nevermoor was in the midst of an Age that was at least 17 years long? Now I'm less sure what triggers Eventides/new Ages, especially in the Free State...

I find it unlikely that the Republic also experienced this same 17 year Age, as the fairly consistent Ages seems to be how Squall establishes the Eventide Curse... HOWEVER..... Morrigan turns 13 in Hollowpox... so this would have been the Age before her, and it might've actually been more like 18 (or 19? I'm bad at math) years long? Maybe Squall did something new the Age before Mog, like tried to take on an apprentice or two before her, or carry out some plan (or study?) with the other cursed children. The abnormally long Age could be balanced out by some of the earlier Ages in the lifespan of the Wintersea Republic being considerably short in comparison.

I would love to hear anyone's own thoughts on this! It's something I realized and now am trying to figure out how it fits with everything because I never really thought about it before.

[localcryptic]

7 and 29 for Ripley and Tal? :]

ooooh these are two of my favorite questions from the list >:) thank you for asking!

7: Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Tal: i would describe them as a paranoid vengeful ghost. they very rarely feel 100% real/grounded/connected to the world, and i wonder what they think their life will be once they're done with their unfinished business? i doubt they've considered it at all.

tal doesn't like to talk about themself, and they would make a lot of excuses to not do so, but after some thinking they would settle on tired, hardworking, and anxious.

Ripley: i see ripley as defiant, terrified, and passionate. he puts his whole heart into everything, which only makes it more terrifying when everything goes wrong. better to push everyone away and never face the vulnerability than to risk that heartbreak again.

if you tried to ask ripley to describe himself in three words, first he'd tell you "No," (probably while flipping you off), then he'd try to get out of it like "okay, three words: 'some fucking guy?' is that good enough? how about 'self proclaimed cunt'." with a lot of complaining and eye-rolling, he'd say "pissed-off, tired freak." (he's not good with words. and did i mention the defiance? yeah.)

29. What recurring dreams do they have?

(other than the sidestep typical recurring dreams, of course.)

Tal: tal dreams of faceless people and body-less hands. they dream of being the last person on earth. in their dreams, they always run too slow and speak too quietly, and even when they try to scream, it comes out as a stage whisper. they dream of glass boxes, display cases, a Los Diablos out of a museum diorama where the clouds are too fluffy and the light is too fluorescent. the people are plastic and the eyes are gawking back at them through the glass.

on the rare occasion they have a good dream, they dream of Ortega. simple pleasures. skin against skin without fear. on a good night, they could feel her hair in their fingertips as they braid it. hear her laugh recorded in a memory and remember the warmth as they press their lips to the back of her neck. on a good night, they could feel vivid, real and whole for a moment. but mostly, in their dreams, they are nothing. faceless and static and alone.

Ripley: ripley is especially prone to nightmares. being trapped. restrained. paralyzed. nightmares about the buzz of hot metal against his teeth, about freefall. the suspense of weightlessness, and the dread, because he knows what will come next, by universal law. he dreams of falling. falling. falling. a landing that knocks the wind out of him, hitting his head against the cold exam table beneath him, writhing, strapped in place. he dreams about blood in his mouth and a smile on his face.

he dreams of an endless cycle. trapped → escaped → free → captured → trapped. he isn't sure which part of the cycle he is in by the time he wakes up. he dreams of cinderblocks. and running. running as fast as he can, as far as his legs will take him, hoping those familiar restraints don't come for his ankles, dragging him down. dragging him away. dragging him back.

in his good dreams, he feels powerful. he has sunlight on his face and wind in his hair. his lungs are full of fresh air and he doesn't have anything to be afraid of. he still runs in these dreams- he can't imagine a life where he isn't running from something. but his weightlessness is ever fleeting joy and pride, without all the weight of guilt and anger he's used to. he wakes up from these dreams just as shaken as he wakes up from nightmares.

(sorry for the unbelievably long answer and THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING!!! the ask list is here!)