#girl stunt reporters

[paullovescomics]

Non-fiction books read in the first half of 2024

Hidden Figures, by Margot Lee Shetterly

The Entrepreneurial State, by Mariana Mazzucato

The Myth of Persecution, by Candida Moss

The Scythian Empire, by Christopher I. Beckwith

Sensational, by Kim Todd

Survival of the Friendliest, by Brian Hare and Vanessa Woods

[wttcsms]

crownview country club ✦ one shot collection

welcome to crownview country club, one of the most premier country clubs in existence. whether you're savoring a round on our championship golf course, enjoying the serenity of our world-class spa, or indulging in gourmet dining crafted by our award-winning chefs, crownview provides a retreat like no other. as you navigate the greens, let the warmth of our renowned beverage cart girls, affectionately known as the club's crown jewels, enhance your experience. these girls are dedicated to providing exceptional customer service, and are here for your every need, on and off the course. alternatively: you — young, sweet, naive you — think you just won the jackpot by securing a job this summer break as a beverage cart girl at a country club you can't even dream of ever joining. how unfortunate that you just didn't know what types of customers you'd have to service and how far the club's "above and beyond" approach really extends...

ᝰ.ᐟ a nsfw longfic one shot collection featuring a sweet, vulnerable reader + a different archetype of customer who will always hold the power in this dynamic

✦ meet the regulars ✦

the new owner aka satoru gojo warnings power imbalance, dark content, degradation, extortion, misogyny

you're good at your job. you're hardworking and never let your smile slip off your face, even when the customers get too handsy or too condescending with you. you don't mess up orders, and you always maintain the position that the customer is always right. but with this new regular — who's arrogant and mean and downright nasty — you're not sure how long you can keep up with your fake smiles around him. little do you know, he's making a game of how far he can go before you break. oh, and that little stunt you pulled? where you tried to report his "awful behavior" to your manager? that was cute. really cute. but as the new owner of this country club, there's no one that can do anything about whatever he does. he owns this place, and by extension, that means he owns you.

the classmate aka kiyoomi sakusa warnings dark-ish content, manipulation, possessive behavior

attending your dream private college on scholarship comes with a lot more challenges than you anticipated. for starters, you don't fit in with any of your classmates and struggle to find friends. your scholarship covers tuition, and that's about it. while your peers are off on vacation, you'll be spending the summer break trying to save up enough money to cover rent and basic living expenses. it's shaping up to be a boring summer, until you keep running into one of your classmates: he plays on the golf team for your school, and apparently, he just can't get enough of the sport... or you.

the corporate powerhouse aka tetsurou kuroo warnings dark content, praise kink, degradation, dubcon, slight fear play, misogyny

one of the worst groups of men to encounter on the golf course? definitely the men who work in corporate. the ones who conduct client meetings on the course and definitely contribute nothing beneficial to society. to them, employees of the establishments they frequent are no more than "the help", but when you're a pretty young thing, whipping out the pitiful broke college student story, you end up sparking the interest of a ceo with a major savior complex.

the soldier aka caleb warnings age gap, size kink, possessive behavior, dark-ish content

forced to take a break from his special forces team, this soldier is restless and struggling to acclimate back to regular society. his old friends keep dragging him to their weekly golf meetups, but he can't see the appeal. that is, until he meets you. sweet and soft, the exact opposite of everything he's had to encounter these past few years, you are exactly what he wants — no, needs — in order to properly enjoy civilian life.

the not-so secret admirer aka yuuta okkotsu warnings yandere, babytrapping, obsessive&possessive behavior, dark content

you're used to rich guys who are major jerks, and as one of the wealthiest members of this club, you're certain that he must be no different. but then he surprises you; he is different. where others are cocky, condescending, quick to remind you of your place (beneath them), he's kind and a little bit awkward. shy, and always apologizing, worrying that he's bothering you. he's sweet. you like him, but maybe not as much as he obviously likes you. first comes the insane tips, then the extravagant gifts (that you're not allowed to refuse), and any resistance on your end has him revealing a colder side to him, an almost scary side, that frightens you into agreeing with whatever he tells you to do. he's so rich because he never gives up, and never takes no for an answer — and you'll learn this lesson, too.

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help. 

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away. 

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point, 

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so. 

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch. 

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

Part 3

[formulawolff]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪. setting it straight ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: idek tbh

warnings: age gap relationship, oral (f! receiving… toto is a munch confirmed) cursing, allusions to sex in public, toto being sexy, slight dom vibes (from toto), poorly translated german, probably some poor grammar, yadayadayada

a/n: i’m absolutely fried rn & it was missing toto and golden girl hours. i don’t apologize for this and will not be apologizing for how absolutely filthy it is!

his tongue drags.

it’s flattened against your soaked folds, carefully taking in the way your juices seep on to his tongue.

“t-toto,” the way his name falls from your lips is utterly sinful.

it’s a pant, a mere mewl brimmed with nothing but pleasure.

“what is it?” he’s nearly out of breath, intoxicated off your taste, “what is it, my love?”

“w-we shouldn’t,” your hips writhe, squirming as his hands envelop your thighs, tightening as the last few words tumble out, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“oh?” he cocks his head, “should i stop then?”

you’re teetering on the edge of cumming, just on the brink.

though, you don’t have to tell him that.

he’s well aware.

he can sense your ragged breathing, the way your chest heaves. how your battered clit throbs, swollen and engorged from his teasing tongue. your skin is nearly burning as the pads of his thumbs caress your inner thighs.

“please don’t stop.”

“are you sure?”

his mocha depths are almost a shade darker than usual, nearly an obsidian hue. they’re fiery with lust as he takes you in once again, absolutely soaked and aching.

aching for release.

he hums, prompting you to answer, “can i continue or are we done here?”

“you can’t just leave me like this,” you protest, shaking your head furiously, “please, toto. i need it.”

“and what do you need?” your jaw tightens as you notice the smug smirk, “tell me, baby. what do you need?”

“i need you to make me cum.”

“that’s all i needed to hear,” he clicks his tongue, obviously please with your answer.

there was really no explaining how you got to be in this position.

well, maybe there was.

it was a rough race weekend in spa.

with the disqualification, daniel’s little stunt, and your fourth place finish, it wasn’t really quite the weekend you had in mind.

you were over the moon for george of course. well, until the disqualification. that put toto in a pretty sour mood. not to mention the plethora of reporters and media following him around after that news broke. that really almost sent him over the edge.

and you didn’t want to him started on daniel’s little stunt either.

just before qualifying, you were in the garage with alex, recording a bit for your upcoming podcast episode. before you knew it, daniel was strolling in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, proclaiming how much he missed you and how he wanted to rekindle your friendship.

the entire thing caught you completely off guard, your mind reeling as daniel shot you a wink, waving goodbye as he exited the paddock. it only lasted about three minutes, yet felt like an eternity.

and the worst part about it?

a fan recorded daniel as he left the garage, promptly posting it to their tik tok page. that tik tok was then plastered all over instagram and x, sparking all sorts of rumors.

rumors that you were possibly cheating on the team principal with daniel.

the incident left you speechless, unable to string together an incoherent thought, let alone focus on qualifying. you ended up placing eighth, one of the lower finishes you have had in quite some time. it left james questioning your ability to make a podium, not to mention the thousands of posts bashing you, undermining your skills and credibility as a driver.

although toto could see right through daniel, you could tell it had pissed him off.

more than he would have liked to admit.

so the moment you were alone, you found him in your driver’s room, locking the door, practically pouncing on you.

he wouldn’t say it, but you knew what he was doing.

he was setting the record straight.

reminding you that you were his.

and only his.

the only way he knew how.

“you’re mine, you know that?”

you blink, registering that he’s still positioned between your thighs, on his knees, hovering at the edge of the couch.

“is this about daniel?”

“natürlich ist es das,” his tongue darts out, circling around your clit, “ich musste dich daran erinnern, wem du gehörst.”

“hör auf damit,” you tsk, rolling your eyes, “you have nothing to worry about.”

“i know,” his lashes flutter as he murmurs, his gaze fixated on your drenched core. he lifts a finger, the digit tracing along your folds, “it’s not you i’m worried about. it’s him.”

“aber du bist der mann, den ich liebe.”

his heart skips a beat, the team principal’s lust dissipating for just a moment. he couldn’t help but melt at the softness in your voice, at the sureness in those words.

fuck, did he love you.

oh so much.

propelling himself upward, a hand connects with your cheek, thumb trailing along your cheekbone, “i love you, my sweet girl.”

“i love you more, toto.”

shaking his head, the team principal can’t help but grin, dimples forming as he notices your beautiful smile take shape.

“and i love you most.”

[oh-obrien]

GRID ACE 0.4

Gamer Reader x Lestappen SMAU

AHHHH PART 0.4. Honestly this is helping me grow my creativity and learn to love a new fandom even more! Sorry for the brief disappearance, being an adult with a big girl job makes me cry sometimes hehe!!

As always all pictures are from Pinterest and reader has various face claims!

Please leave me requests.

I have a part five planned for this... one shot style

With that LET’S GO

Masterlsit / Previous Part / Next Part

F1forthegirls Fans seem to think the picture added to y/n’s story yesterday was considered a soft conformation of her involvement with both drivers and them arriving to the paddock together this morning is their first public outing

User1 The real question is did they all leave the same hotel together this morning?

-> F1forthegirls I hate to be that person but if they all arrived together this morning it can be assumed they left the hotel together.

-> User2 I’m staying in the same hotel as most of the crew and drivers and saw them leave together this morning! They got off the elevator together and Y/N was sandwiched between the two of them while they waited for their car.

-> User3 the plot is getting thickerrrrrrrr

User4 is anyone able to find details on if they all have their own rooms or not?

-> F1forthegirls we report on the information we are given, we will not invade the driver’s privacy to try and confirm an speculations.

-> User3 respectful queens

-> Xx.y/n.xX is it really respectful when every single move I make is currently being watched and talked about?

-> User4 OH MY GOD

-> Xx.y/n.xX I was actually being kind of serious but okay...

-> F1forthegirls If you'd like to reply to us directly feel free to DM us! We'd be happy to share your side also!

-> Xx.y/n.xX 🙄

User3 are we not going to talk about Y/N/ being annoyed in the replies??

-> User2 Like no girly you're the one who chose to step out into public with these men and post THAT on your Instagram story for the whole ass world to see

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

User5 WAIT this is INSANE, the FIA really said give the girlies what they want with COTA.

-> User6 NO because I NEED to know who's behind this tomfoolery. They really said HERE YOU GO when they gave us Lestappen pressers.

-> User7 Ferrari and RB are doing a fan event together later too.

-> User5 their media teams know what they're doing. You'd think they'd want to quash any rumors flying around. Two drivers in a relationship with the same girl???

-> User8 Not to be THAT person but they're potentially looking at pulling in a pretty new demographic to the sport and they'd be fans of arguably two of the most recognizable teams in the sport.

-> User9 No because that's smart... maybe this whole thing had been an RB pub stunt and Charles just got pulled in??? Lando too TBH.

-> User8 RIGHT??? Pulling in the gamer girlies with max and Y/N streaming together first and Charles and Lando just kind of got dragged into it.

-> User10 I feel like they were going for a love triangle and Max and Charles are just too nice for that and it turned into whatever this friendship is. Lando and Y/N just give sibling vibes, McLaren is bound to get some fans from that dynamic also.

F1forthegirls We would once again like to state that we personally will not speculate on the driver's personal relationships on this page, our twitter is purely for news. If you want a more in depth take on F1 news each week tune into our podcast that releases Monday at noon eastern time!

-> User11 we don't speculate on drivers relationships here but we will absolutely do it on our podcast. we love hypocritical queens. Please leave Max, Charles and Y/N alone.

-> User12 girl this is not a good look they're public figures

-> User11 Public figures who still deserve privacy

-> User13 I think they deserve privacy but if they are in a poly relationship I don't think y'all realize how good and bad this could be at the same time

-> User14 I don't think Red Bull and Ferrari of all teams would be overjoyed to see their two top drivers in a relationship with the same girl.

-> User13 But consider the fact that this would really be one of the first public poly couples of such a high status

-> User15 I work in marketing in motorsports and the teams would either dive head first with marketing or absolutely not allow it to be public.

->User14 From a contract standpoint they'd need to write in so many NDA's for Max and Charles so they can't share team information or anything.

-> User15 They probably already have those NDA's in place...

->Xx.y/n.xX do I get a say in this conversation or?????

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just added to their story

REPLIES ARE DIABLED FOR THIS STORY

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Tagged @ Maxverstappen1 , @ Charles_leclerc

Liked by Maxverstappen1, Charles_leclerc and 34,688 others

Comments on this post are limited

Xx.y/n.xX Mama told me to only date winners, so I picked two. As Miley Cyrus once said "It's a party in the U.S.A."

-> Yourbestfriend HARD LAUNCH OF THE CENTURY

-> Xx.y/n.xX 😘

Maxverstappen1 ❤️

-> Charles_leclerc 💕💕

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 Char put two hearts I think he wins

-> Charles_leclerc I also got first place in the actual race Max only got first in the sprint 🙄

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 he has a point Maxie

-> Landonorris ew save the nicknames please

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm sorry mister 5 second penalty I didn't say you could speak.

Liked by @ maxverstappen1

-> Danielricciardo C O L D

-> Xx.y/n.xX please Danny, it was a burn. I lit your ass on fire with that one @ Landonorris

User16 IM SORRY WHAT IS THIS HARD LAUNCH

-> Redbullracing an admin approved one 👍

-> Scuderiaferrari 🤭

-> User17 NOT THE ADMINS GIGGLING OVER THIS

-> User18 Admins commenting makes me think they aren't joking with this one

-> User16 No like the admins are literally insane for this.

User19 this is going to make or break the F1 community

-> User20 I just want to know the dynamic

-> User21 Lestappen girlies are QUAKING in the wake of this one

Danielricciardo SO I PUT MY HANDS UP THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG

-> Xx.y/n.xX THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY I'M NODDING MY HEAD LIKE YEAH

-> Danielricciardo I will make sure they play this BANGER at the afterparty

-> Xx.y/n.xX Like it isn't first on my list Mr. Ricciardo

-> Danielricciardo @ georgerussell63 @ alex_albon @ landonorris you British boys will be shaking in your boots hearing this one at the club

-> Georgerussell63 Yee Haw 🤠

-> Alex_albon please I'm a seasoned pro with this one

-> Landonorris you doubt my abilities when drinks, me and y/n are mixed together

-> Xx.y/n.xX 🫡

Oscarpiastri MOM, DAD... and dad??? YEAH.

-> Xx.y/n.xX SON

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ mclaren I like this one more tell Lando to go off track more often

-> Landonorris I'm not buying a round tonight now

-> Xx.y/n.xX please, as soon as T-Swift comes on you're a GONNER

User22 BUT WHY IS Y/N EXPOSING ALL OF THEM KIND OF HYSTERICAL.

-> User23 the girly we needed and never knew it

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Maxverstappen1 just posted

Tagged @ Xx.y/n.xX , @ charles_leclerc

Liked by redbullracing, Xx.y/n.xX and 56,678 others

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Maxverstappen1 that you COTA!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Charles_leclerc just posted

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Charles_leclerc BEST. RACE. EVER.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tag list : @that-one-little-soybean @menagerofmischief @delululeclerc @evermoreandroyalblue

[osachiyo]

✦ "open your legs for me, baby. I wanna see you." + n. chuuya ✦

✧ pairing ૪ chuuya nakahara x fem!reader

✧ content warnings ૪ nsfw content (mdni), brat!reader, sex toys (vibrator), tit slapping, like one spank, petnames, degradation, humiliation, office sex etc

✧ word.count ૪ 1.2k+

⇆﹒event details & m.list

"name-san, are you okay?" tachihara asked, brows furrowed in worry as you squirmed in your seat, looking distressed. "h-huh? oh− I'm.. fine," you somehow squeaked out, the vibrations between your legs unbelievably distracting. you shouldn't have acted out like that to chuuya, who was now having a whole lot of fun tormenting you in front of your co-workers. tachihara shared a concerned look with gin, "if you say so.." you nodded, trying your best to not look weird. unfortunately for you, though, you had to give an important report to your boss, mori. today. how in the fuck could you forget?

"t-that's all, boss," you stuttered, earning a raised brow from the doctor. "alright, you may leave now," he sighed, brows slightly furrowed and you hoped he didn't know what was going on− praying to god that he didn't notice the slick running down your thighs, forming wet splotches on your tights. walking out of his office, you finally felt like you could breathe− thighs trembling as the vibrations increased, was he trying to get you killed? you were about to take a step before someone grabbed you by your wrist, chuuya. yelping and letting yourself be dragged by him, you could see the cocky smirk on his handsome face− you wanted to slap it off his face so bad. he took you to his office before slamming the door shut, locking it with a click, "so? how're you holding off, baby?" he teased, snickering at the little pout sitting on your pretty lips, " 's not funny, chuuya!" you stomped your foot, making him smirk and hook a thumb under your chin, rubbing it gently, "oh yeah? was I too mean, sweet girl?" he mocked, tone dropping an octave to let you know he was still pissed off about your stunt last night. what were you thinking edging him for that long? "now...." he hummed, shoving all of the paperwork off his desk before pushing you towards it, the corners of the table digging into your behind, "why don't you show me how much of a mess you've made, doll?" he rasped, gloved hands massaging your soft hips. "open your legs f'me, baby. wanna see you," he groaned, large hands pushing your knees apart to gaze at the damp spot on your mesh black tights. he could practically smell your arousal and it had him salivating like a dog− you gasped as rough hands ripped a hole through your tights, cute lacy panties peaking through and he snapped.

he didn't even bother taking your clothes off− just ripping your tights further before pushing your panties to the side, rubbing your clit up and down, two gloved fingers slipping inside of you to reach for the vibrator, smirking when his fingers brush against it before pulling it out and chucking it to the side. chuuya shoved his fingers back into you, and you could feel your hips bucking, thighs about to close when his unoccupied hand cracks against your thigh, effectively keeping your legs open for him. he pulled his fingers out of your cunt once he deemed you're wet enough, sticking the soaked digits in his mouth and lapping your arousal up, groaning at the taste. "such a sweet fuckin' pussy, yeah? could just eat you the fuck up," chuuya growled, flipping you over so that your stomach pressed against the table now, perky ass facing him and he licked his lips. "you don't deserve it though, do you? fuckin' brat," he spat, fingers digging into your cheeks to spread them apart, slotting his bulge in between. you whined, feeling his hot breath against the shell of your ear, rough hands now gripping your hips as he slowly grinded into your ass. "nuh uh, wouldn't be such a mm!− brat if you paid more attention to me−!" you got cut off by a loud 'smack!' ringing through the office, a cry escaping your lips at the harsh sting on your ass. "shut up." he scoffed, ripping apart your panties and unzipping his slacks. a shaky breath left his parted lips as he rubbed the tip of his flushed cock on your slit, slapping it against your clit a few times before sinking into your gooey hole. your breaths grew laboured, perfectly manicured nails digging into the polished gabon ebony of his desk, leaving small indents on it. "yeaahh, good girl−" his forehead rested on your shoulder, "such a good fuckin' girl when you stop yappin' like a bitch, huh?" you could basically hear the cocky smirk in his strained voice, a gasp leaving his throat as you purposely clamped around him. his hand wrapped around your throat, putting enough pressure to leave you dizzy as he growls into your ear, "behave, brat." a smirk tugged on your shiny lips, taking pride in rendering a port mafia executive into a growling and grunting mess. it made you feel powerful, in a way.

but that smirk didn't last for long, as he reached for the vibrator again, an evil laugh leaving him at the wide-eyed look on your pretty face. "oh don't give me that look, baby. promise this'll feel sooo fucking good, okay?" he grinned, turning the vibrator on before reaching down and holding it down to your clit, hissing out a curse when you clench around him even more, back bent to a perfect arch and god did you look sexy. his hips finally started thursting, balls clapping against the plush of your ass as you tried your best to not fall on the desk− though it was getting harder by the moment.

your tits bounced every time he thrusted into you, the obscene sound of skin against skin filling the room, making you hope no one passes by chuuya's office right now− fuck, that would be embarrassing. the vibrations suddenly went up, abruptly cutting off your train of thoughts, while his hand that was previously on your throat moves to your bouncing tits instead, ripping the buttons before squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. he loved the way your tits basically spilled out of his hands, a whine escaping your throat when he slapped them around while chuckling cruelly. "what happened to that smartass mouth of yer's, huh?" each word was punctuated with a brutal slam of his narrow hips, fat cock hitting all the right spots inside your walls. the hand cupping your tit slapped it punishingly, tears starting to form on your glazed over eyes.

"dumb fuckin' slut just needed some good cock to fill her up? that right, baby? y-yeeaah−" he whined, thrusts growing erratic as he presses the vibrator on your clit harder, snapping the scorching hot rope of pleasure inside your tummy and you gushed− squirting all over his hand, cock and desk, mouth forming an 'o' shape as all thoughts but chuuya left your mind− the unbelievable pleasure dumbing you down to a shaking, moaning mess.

chuuya whined shamelessly, throwing the vibrator somewhere before slamming you down on the desk, his hand pressing down on the dip of your back to create a perfect arch for him and that was his last straw before pulling out− stroking himself desperately to search for his release. he came with a grunt a few moments after, spurting his seed all over your ass− some even landing on your pussylips, coating them with a milky sheen.

the only thing going through your head right now was− you needed to do this again.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

TAGS »»————> @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @lxverss @lynxxyyy @nanamibeloved

@sorahatsumi @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @hannzai @honeycombflowers @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch @chuuya-brainrot

[onceuponatown]

Elizabeth Cochran was born on May 5, 1864 in Cochran’s Mills, Pennsylvania. The town was founded by her father, Judge Michael Cochran. Elizabeth had fourteen siblings. Her father had ten children from his first marriage and five children from his second marriage to Elizabeth’s mother, Mary Jane Kennedy.

Michael Cochran’s rise from mill worker to mill owner to judge meant his family lived very comfortably. Unfortunately, he died when Elizabeth was only six years old and his fortune was divided among his many children, leaving Elizabeth’s mother and her children with a small fraction of the wealth they once enjoyed. Elizabeth’s mother soon remarried, but quickly divorced her second husband because of abuse, and relocated the family to Pittsburgh.

Elizabeth knew that she would need to support herself financially. At the age of 15, she enrolled in the State Normal School in Indiana, Pennsylvania, and an added an “e” to her last name to sound more distinguished. Her plan was to graduate and find a position as a teacher. However, after only a year and a half, Elizabeth ran out of money and could no longer afford the tuition. She moved back to Pittsburgh to help her mother run a boarding house.

In 1885, Elizabeth read an article in the Pittsburgh Dispatch that argued a woman’s place was in the home, “to be a helpmate to a man.” She strongly disagreed with this opinion and sent an angry letter to the editor anonymously signed “Lonely Orphan Girl.”

The newspaper’s editor, George A. Madden, was so impressed with the letter that he published a note asking the “Lonely Orphan Girl” to reveal her name. Elizabeth marched into the Dispatch offices and introduced herself. Madden immediately offered her a job as a columnist. Shortly after her first article was published, Elizabeth changed her pseudonym from “Lonely Orphan Girl” to “Nellie Bly,” after a popular song.

Elizabeth positioned herself as an investigative reporter. She went undercover at a factory where she experienced unsafe working conditions, poor wages, and long hours. Her honest reporting about the horrors of workers’ lives attracted negative attention from local factory owners. Elizabeth’s boss did not want to anger Pittsburgh’s elite and quickly reassigned her as a society columnist.

To escape writing about women’s issues on the society page, Elizabeth volunteered to travel to Mexico. She lived there as an international correspondent for the Dispatch for six months. When she returned, she was again assigned to the society page and promptly quit in protest.

Elizabeth hoped the massive newspaper industry of New York City would be more open-minded to a female journalist and left Pittsburgh. Although several newspapers turned down her application because she was a woman, she was eventually given the opportunity to write for Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World.

In her first act of “stunt” journalism for the World, Elizabeth pretended to be mentally ill and arranged to be a patient at New York’s insane asylum for the poor, Blackwell’s Island. For ten days Elizabeth experienced the physical and mental abuses suffered by patients.

Elizabeth’s report about Blackwell’s Island earned her a permanent position as an investigative journalist for the World. She published her articles in a book titled 10 Days in A Mad House. In it, she explained that New York City invested more money into care for the mentally ill after her articles were published. She was satisfied to know that her work led to change.

Activist journalists like Elizabeth—commonly known as muckrakers—were an important part of reform movements. Elizabeth’s investigations brought attention to inequalities and often motivated others to take action. She uncovered the abuse of women by male police officers, identified an employment agency that was stealing from immigrants, and exposed corrupt politicians. She also interviewed influential and controversial figures, including Emma Goldman in 1893.

The most famous of Elizabeth’s stunts was her successful seventy-two-day trip around the world in 1889, for which she had two goals. First, she wanted to beat the record set in the popular fictional world tour from Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days. Second, she wanted to prove that women were capable of traveling just as well as—if not better than—men. Elizabeth traveled light, taking only the dress she wore, a cape, and a small traveler’s bag. She challenged the stereotypical assumption that women could not travel without many suitcases, outfit changes, and vanity items. Her world tour made her a celebrity. After her return, she toured the country as a lecturer. Her image was used on everything from playing cards to board games. She recounted her adventures in her final book, Around the World in 72 Days.

In 1895, Elizabeth retired from writing and married Robert Livingston Seaman. Robert was a millionaire who owned the Iron Clad Manufacturing Company and the American Steel Barrel Company. When Robert died in 1904, Elizabeth briefly took over as president of his companies.

In 1911, she returned to journalism as a reporter for the New York Evening Journal. She covered a number of national news stories, including the Woman Suffrage Parade of 1913 in Washington, D.C. Elizabeth often referred to suffrage in her articles, arguing that women were as capable as men in all things. During World War I, she traveled to Europe as the first woman to report from the trenches on the front line.

Although Elizabeth never regained the level of stardom she experienced after her trip around the world, she continued to use her writing to shed light on issues of the day. She died of pneumonia on January 27, 1922.

[tonix3]

Larry 2024

(my recap of the most important moments plus a few comments here & there - for clothing stuff & everything music related I made separate categories & I tried to make the connections between some stuff obvious & also I included some of the things their familys/team/inner circle has done when I found it to be important/interesting - sources at the end)

Explanation: cursive = for other people,

{} = my thoughts/comments

January

- H is in Anguilla + pap shots on yacht (with Louis Shirt) + pics with stunt TR -> pap pic release 04.01.

- 06.01. Hs Mum on IG story writes on her pics 'This too shall pass..' + 'Force the smile take the photo ... Remind yourself you're ok'

- 06.01. Mirror posts article saying L and Eleanor are getting close again - Es actual boyfriend posts hot swimwear pic with her {lol}

- no mention of Fs birthday 21.01.

- 23.01. L tweets/answers his favorite snack is Chicken (and an ask about Fs bday 'it was lovely')

February

- H&L listed as partners on Google for the 3rd time

- 18.02 H doesn't attend TR stunts important event to watch football & it's a whole talk online about it

March

- 10.03. L likes post about Lime Bikes {LOL}

- 11.03 Lou Teasdale posts on IG story a meme of Ls Beatbox/Horsenoise Buzzcut interview {LOL LOL LOL}

- 17.03. Liam replies with heart to a comment on IG from @LarryStylinson_favtweets

- 19.03. L is in London with friends at John Mayer concert + H sighted at a flight to London

20.03. H (in L) papped with James Cordon/L MIA

21.03. L (in L) at sisters birthday party/H MIA

22.-25. both MIA

26./27. H in London (pap pics)

{-> TIME TOGETHER?! Pattern of one of them popping up while the other one goes MIA}

April

- 08.04. L non-denial interview using Total eclipse of the heart lyrics posted on Eclipse day -> Larry trends again, everyone falls down the Larry rabbithole, every news outlet reports about it {he also mentions for the first time in a denial that people are being unfair to his son F - OK}

- 10.04 Shania Twain posts TB from Hs Still The One (+ Anne reposts in her IG story)

- 10.04 Jack Whitehall (friend of H) posts a Tiktok in a teens room with H&L posters and says it 'looks like his bedroom at home'

- 10.04. Pleasing ad with white, orange, blue, green nails -> 'simple but effective' caption {baby boyfriends}

- 28.04. Anne on her IG story pic 'Kindness is my go to but fuck off is my wingman' {on the 28th how funny 😆}

May

- 13.05 Mark Tomlinson posts a pic 'My grandchildren' without F

- 15.05 Phoebe IG Story Chicken meal 'such a simple but effective meal' {OK GIRL WE SEE YOU}

- 19.05. after Tayrry BU articles drop Anne posts IG story pics with 'saturday night toast', 'off to the cinema' & happy sunday + H's photographer post champagne bottle in pool + Helen Seamons posts champagne & strawberries + Phoebe posts bathtub pic with 'End to a perfect sunday'

- 27.05 Anne on Podcast says 'my kid was happy as Larry' {what??? even if it's a saying in the UK}

June

- 11.06. Steve Aoki IG story selfie with streetmarket Art of queer legends/famous people H&L next to ea + tags L in the story

- 16.06 Daisy includes L in father's day collage + L posts about England & Jude Bellingham not even liking the post of Daisy

July

- 14.07 final of the euros in Berlin - both H&L attend -> pic with Ed, Lou & most likely H in the background photographed within reaching distance in the same room! For the first time in years! (+ Tumblr anon seeing them in VIP area talking about them meeting up, talking & splitting a few times!) -> media & fandom goes crazy {personally I find the pic of them a bit underwhelming because it's debatable if it's H}

August

- 03.08 L signs a fans midnight memories CD at a M&G on Harry {possessive much? Lol}

- 04.08 Charlie LeClerc (F1 driver) follows H on IG

- 09.08 in Lotties Book she talks about Lucky being her moms only grandchild wishing she could have met him (-> fandom & media goes nuts over excluding F/'confirming' F isn't a grandchild)

+ media article Lottie wrote herself confirms her wording

- Poster shows Homes Chapel 'Pride Street Party' is on 28 Sep🌈

- 28.08. 28clothing posts socks with 28 and a hand showing a rose ring on IG story

- 28.08 Team Ferrari posts Tiktok of Charles LeClerc with Harry's XFactor Audio 'I work in a bakery. I like .. serve'

- 29.08 L follows Charles LeClerc on IG {the following day of the Tiktok? LOL}

- 30.08 F1 makes Out Of My System Song of the weekend on their official Playlist

- 31.08 L attends F1 Grand Prix in Monza Italy & is photographed at Team Ferraris suite + commentator referred to L being in a band with H and mentions not being allowed to talk about Ls boyfriend {What the actual f#ck}

September

- 01.09. Charles LeClerc follows L on IG

- 01.09 L takes official pics with Author Tara Ramos whose book is named 'F1 Behind Closed Doors: Clown of the circus' {While smiling like a madman OK LOU}

- 17.09 Pleasing ad (with @elisasudara) same girl L was pictured in fanpic on beach in Spain {Wtf?}

October

- 12.10 Mark Tomlinson posts he misses Lucky and Olive no F

- 16.10 💔🕊️

- 27.10 Daisy includes F in a collage of Lucky's and Olives Halloweens

- 31.10. Mark Tomlinson posts only Lucky and Olive Trick or treating no F

November

- 01.11. Gemma posts a pic to her IG story with Lous 'It is what it is' (in the same font)

- 13.11. Harry Lambert/Helen Seamons (H stylist/L stylist) post the same Manet Shirt on IG storys

- 20.11 funeral ☁️ all boys attend, arrive separately & manage not being photographed together

December

- 05.12. Pleasing collab announcement ft. dick key chains (inverted colors are blue and green)

- H Fine Line anniversary video includes 3 clips of Harry's Kiwi performances (associated with bbg) Kiwi being a song on HS1 not fine line {🤔}

- 27.12. L in the background of Phoebes Snapchat

- 28.12. Daisy posts a pic from a bowling alley to her Snapchat including the name Freddi (people speculate if her and Phoebe babysit F because L isn't on the list of names) {is it even F? Where are the twins bowling - London? Doncaster?}

- 28.12. L is photographed + video in Doncaster restaurant/bar with different fans at least 5 times

~Clothing stuff 2024~

~ 03.01. H wears 'Louis' (Bode) Shirt in Anguilla

~ 25.01. H papped with LT Jacket and Tennis hat + 27.01. L attends Tennis event as a guest of queer friendly brand Piper Hideseick Champagne {supportive husbandsss}

~ L Melbourne Merch is babyblue advertised with pink background then merch color changes to green for BNE, SYD is pink & displayed on babyblue background {Fine Line is associated with pink&blue - supportive husbandsss 2.0}

(~ 02.02 L wears orange shirt with laurels to SYD FitF)

~ 29.02 L wears Boyfriend Jacket 🫶🏻 at F1 event and concert

~ 20.03 H & James Cordon pap pics - blue greening with their sneakers (+ H carries flower on 'national flower day')

~ 21.03 L wears Jeans Jacket with big lettering to Twins Birthday Party -> 'you can tell me what to do, I just probably won't do it' {so sassy Lou, love it}

(- 03.04. L wears Burberry Laurels Shirt)

~ 06.04. L says in interview 'Clothes tell his story'

~ 11.04. - (first sighting of) H (after Ls non denial) he wears a dark blue shirt with a little L 💙

~ 02.05. L wears Tanktop from gay brand BDXY called 'The Stunt'

~ 04.05 H Umbro shirt over a hoodie being papped on a lime bike in London (wearing Sneakers called Halo - coincidentally like the Shipname Halo which came before Larry Stylinson)

~ 12.05. L wears blue green (back)GAP/PAL(front) Hoodie at airport

~ 04.06. H pink Shirt with 'TOP' {okay Harold}

~ 08.06 + 29.06. L Casablanca Rainbow Outfit {best fit of the year!}

~ 12.07. H sings as surprise guest with Stevie Nicks at Hyde Park (first show after a whole year) & wears a green shirt & bluegreen birdie pin

~ 21.07 first gig L plays after Euros he wears blue green Casablanca Jacket {Come on Lou!}

~ 10.08 (after Lottie/F Book thingy) H being papped with hat 'I am the eldest boy' + L on stage with black and yellow fit {bee reference for larries associating bees with bbg?}

~ 04.09. H takes pics with fans wearing Grand Prix sunglasses while also bluegreening (also 28 days before AIMH tweet anniversary) {after L was at F1 Grand Prix - I see what you did there H}

~ 10.09 H pic with fan wearing LT Hoodie

~ 13.09. H wears white strawberries pin (white strawberries have sexual meanings ranging from c*mming on someones butthole to other things) {Harold, oh my god! LMAO 🤣}

~ 15.09. H papped and fan pics with cardigan in babyblue & shirt underneath looks like it says 'H L paradise' (Japanese designer)

~ 28.12 L pics/vids with fans out in Doncaster wearing his Pleasures Skull Cardigan (backside says 'What happend to you? What happend to me? Pleasures is PAIN' sentences divided by green lines {of course green 😂}

~ L&H are seen multiple times with the same adidas sneakers (on stunt/pap pics) for example camel Adidas sneakers (L's insides are green Hs blue) but also other matching adidas shoe modells

×Music stuff 2024×

× 02.02. WMYB is played after Ls concert

× L Love him/hate it during festivals/concerts:

*30.01 (and mouthed 'that's right'? after)

*22.06 (at pinkpop)

*several other clips/vids of mouthing 'him'

× 28.03. L Away from home festival poster drops (without dates)- with aqueduct like Homes Chapel

× 29.03. L Away from home festival poster looks like door with starry sky & starts on the day (8th of June) of the pride festival in Merida, Mexico (Merida as in the Disney princess from BRAVE)

× 30.03. L has a 1h set but decides to include 3 1D songs + covers 7 (during 7 all lights were red except one single green spotlight), rainbows on screen during JHO, pointed to 🏳️‍🌈 flag with 'Always You Larry' written on, during BTY big HIM on screen with the lyrics of the song

× April - hotspot puzzle for Ls Live Album promo were all Hospitals or Helipads = giant H's

× 12.04. {few days after non denial} Dylan is announced as opener for Ls festival (famous song 'You're not Harry Styles' & covers Kiwi)

× 15.05. during 'Silver Tongues' after 'no one understands me like you do' L says ✨oBviOusLy ✨ + during Saturdays one single green spot on him (again 3 days later)

× 24.05. L (first show after Trarry BU) on screens giant H and S + he sings Lucky Again (after 236days)

× 03.08. Ls big screen showing his 28 tattoo covered with a rainbow🌈 + during Silver Tongues after 'no one understands me like you do' he says 'no truer lyric.'

(× 18.08 L skips Walls but covers 7 nonetheless (&WDBHG))

× 06.09. L has giant H's on screen during 7 cover + L says 'Thats real' after 'Larry called a lot of smoke in' (fandom debates what he meant) {kings of plausible deniability}

- 16/19 festivals L has done he covered 7 - Catfish & The Bottlemen 🎶

{16 times? 1+6=7 we love a good 7 moment}

- L singing Where Do Broken Hearts Go (1D song written by H) at every festival {Why this song Lou?}

___

Many crossovers with their stylists, photographers, friends & family mentioning each other, liking/sharing each others posts or attending events together = same circles

___

SOURCES:

Twitter: @BKatie167 & her awesome GoogleDoc (which should include everything I mentioned & more!)

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/15mUV3fMuiBfz4zl1TziMeGQKmBYt7s6dyMneHA2c7RE/edit?usp=drivesdk

Also everything mentioned was/is discussed by @skepticalarrie @twopoppies and shout-out to my Larry friend @fookinhellcurly

Tumblr/Twitter: @hldailyupdate @fashionlouist

You should find vids/clips & discussions for everything I mentioned with a quick Tumblr or YT search 🔍

[the-kr8tor]

So, you get a new request so. New news reporter R on an intership x actor hobie. Its where he is on the red carpet and r is trying to get a conversation with one of them but keeps getting pushed around and hobie takes notice and then you can choose what else to do. Just thought an idea for a starting point could help ya you know. You have free creative control :DDD

Hehehehe actor! Hobie hehehehe 😍 thank you for requesting muah 😘❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, actor! Hobie, actor au, brief mention of an injury, interviewer! R, fluff

Navigation

Your head swims with anxiety as you wait beside the red carpet. Camera flashes flicker in and out, the lights are brighter than the sun, making you think that it's daytime when it's already close to ten pm. Even the high pitched screams are ringing in your head.

When you first got there earlier than usual to capture some extra snapshots of the event and to get a place near the bannister separating the media and the stars, it was all exciting. Now you can't wait to go home and have a cup of warm tea and lay in bed. But alas, being new at your swanky magazine job means that you have to do all the grunt work. You're not the one going one on one with celebrities, or even getting a full segment with them on the carpet like a famous coworker of yours. No, you're on the side, pining for even a moment of the celebrity's attention while you're dodging the paparazzi’s huge camera lenses, and trying not to get your feet stomped on by other media competitors. You swear you're about to conk someone's head with your microphone when their shoulder bumps into you too harshly.

Sighing, your camera man, James, and a fellow new hire, looks at you like he's about to run away from the scene and go to the nearest chicken shop instead.

A cherry red motorcycle suddenly appears, parking near the entrance of the event. Its rider is wearing a sleek helmet dotted with stickers and spray paint. The crowd goes wild at the mere sight of him, already knowing who's getting off the famous bike.

“You better get ready.” James nudges you as he readies his camera. “All we had was an interview with a stunt double and the main girl's best friend.”

You clutch your mic tighter. “Trust me, I'm ready. Hobie Brown isn't slipping off my grasp—!” The rowdy crowd pushes and rams towards you, almost crushing you between James and the bannister. “Shit, calm down!” The screams get louder as Hobie takes off his riding gloves, and then his helmet, revealing his handsome face. You swear you saw him grimace at the frantic crowd for a millisecond.

“Hold on! Fuck!” James tries to shield you from behind as more and more paparazzi clamor to get a picture of him. “He's not all that!” He exclaims, lifting up the very expensive camera in his hands. “You okay?”

You've managed to wiggle your hand in-between your stomach and the hard railings. A desperate attempt to protect yourself from the onslaught of screaming fans and paparazzi.

“I'm—” you wince, getting pushed more towards the metal. “Fucking stop! Where's security!?” The pushing gets too rough, and the railings in front of you shakes under the weight, tethering close to falling over.

“Oi oi!” Hobie bolts towards the carpet, stopping in front of a distressed you, pointing at the crowd. “Stop that!” When no one makes a move to stop pushing, he pushes the crowd back by himself. Finally prompting the security’s attention for some crowd control. “You're bloody crushin' her!” Is he talking about you? You're sure he's talking about you.

You look at him through your lashes, seeing him up close and personal. Now you get why some people faint after meeting him in person. The spotlights shine behind him, his honeyed eyes are full of determination as he helps push people away from you without a single worry for his red carpet outfit.

Finally, after what seems like hours, the pressure behind you diminishes and you can finally breathe. James pats your shoulder, panting in place. You nod thanks to him as you catch your breath.

“You alright, love?” Your more famous coworkers weren't joking when they said that their legs turned to jelly when they first heard his voice. His palm rests gently on your bicep, eyes soft and concerned. “You want some water?”

You exhale, swallowing down your nervous laughter. “Y-Yeah, please.”

“I'll get you some—” he turns and there's already someone with a walkie talkie handing him a bottle of water. “Thanks,” he nods at them before turning back towards you and opening the bottle for you. “Perks of bein’ famous. Here.”

You take it gladly, his warm fingers brushing against your own. “Thank you, Hobie— Mr. Brown.”

“Do I look like a Mr. Brown, love?” He gestures towards himself, pointing out his very punk red carpet outfit complete with his signature leather and spikes. It's definitely something you don't see everyday on the red carpet, especially the fishnets.

You almost choke on your water, coughing and covering your mouth. “S–Sorry, Hobie.” Coughing some more, Hobie pats your back with a lopsided smile.

His eyes turn sharp suddenly at the man beside you, glaring at the stranger. “Get your bloody foot off of her.” He says in between his teeth. You didn't even feel it, but Hobie saw it, immediately pushing the man away before you could unscramble your thoughts.

James films on the side, grinning at the interaction. He's definitely going to get that promotion. Hobie turns to him while you're trying not to cough out your whole lung. His hand is still on you to the disappointment of his obsessed fans.

“You need water too, mate?”

“No thanks, unless you're signing it, Hobie.” James jokes, earning a chuckle from him.

“Just ask, bruv, I'll sign it.” Hobie cranes his neck over to you again, practically seeing stars in your eyes now that you've settled down. “There you go, love, you look stunnin’ when you're not gettin' crushed.”

You giggle nervously, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Um, can I interview for a second?” You mentally facepalm, you could've said something better, anything, and yet you chose that.

“I fancy a bird who takes the opportunity when it drops on her lap.” Hobie winks at you, at *you. You still can't believe it. The crowd behind you runs wild as if it was directed at them. “Ask away.”

You clear your throat and your thoughts. “Who are you wearing?”

“This ol' thing?” He lifts up the red plaid skirt like he's about to greet the queen. As if he'll do that. “A childhood mate of mine designed it for me. They don't want to be named though, said they're only doin’ it ‘cause I kept askin'” Chuckling, he leans against the railings to stay comfortable under all the scrutinizing eyes.

To your rivals’ dismay, he continues the interview with you and you only even when they're screaming to get his attention.

You smile gently at him, not the kind of polite smile you robotically give. But the kind you're genuine about, something that you give to close friends or family. “You two must be close.”

His eyes sparkle under the light, your question must've been a rare thing for him during these events when people only ask about him and rumours circling around him.

“Yeah, been mates since we were eatin’ glue.”

“You ate glue?” You joke, and he beams at your laugh.

“Who doesn't?” He feels comfortable and carefree around you. Unlike the other interviewers who only ask the same ten questions and make him feel bored out of his mind.

“I didn't.” You giggle, as if you're just joking with an old friend.

“I guess that's why you're smarter than me, the glue didn't reach your brain.” He taps his temple, all the while smiling at you.

“How would you know that I'm smart? You're the one with the masters.”

“I do?” He feigns naivete. “See, you know everythin'.”

Laughing with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. And he feels the same with his eyes crinkling in the corners and hand placed next to you on the bannister. But alas, the conversation had to end with his manager urging him to continue walking down the carpet.

“Wait, hold on, Ned.” Hobie keeps his eyes on you even though his manager is looking more and more irked. “Do you have a one-on-one with the cast later?”

“Uh no, that's not really my job. Not yet anyway.”

“What do you say that I slide you and your cameraman in, hm?” He hopes you'll say yes so he could talk to you more.

You swear your heart jumped out of your chest like in the cartoons. “Yes— absolutely that would be an amazing opportunity, thank you!”

“Nah, thank you, love, you're the only one worth talkin' to in this business.” He points at your microphone. “Good thing too, your mics off by the way.” With a smirk, he leaves, and the camera shutters follow him.

You stare in horror at the mic in your hands. “Fuck.” You whisper, and James tries not to groan loudly.

“At least we got the gig right?”

[hazelsmirrorball]

 Rockstar girlfriend II. | Hazel Callahan

Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x Popstar! Reader Summary: Hazel Callahan and Y/n L/n have to be in a pr relationship, but both of them can stand each other.  Warnings: Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Heavy makeout session,  smoking. English isn’t my main language  a/n: Wrote this in class so I hope you gusy enjoy! Plus I’m really grateful on all the love you gave to the last one 

part one. part three. part four. part five

Heart throb and Rock sensation, Hazel Callahan from the band ‘The Bottoms’ was caught making out with a C list celebrity.   

Every press was good press or at least that was something her manager tried to convince her that being associated with Hazel Callahan was a good thing for her career. She wanted to agree but seeing the picture stare back at her with that damn headline made her go insane. She couldn’t believe it was even possible to be more pissed off at Hazel Callahan, more than she once was. Hazel got praised for the things she did. Rock sensation and Heart Throb and what did Y/n get? C list celebrity? Was this some type of cruel joke? Did Hazel personally know the writer of the article? Was she fucking them? Either way she was on the editors good side and also on the press good side. 

The picture had gotten a lot of attention, like a LOT of attention. The publicity stunt had done its job  spreading like wildfire. Hazel’s ring covered hands gripping onto her ass while Y/n moaned into the kiss. Hazel white tank tops rose up whilst Y/n’s skirt was almost at her stomach.  Both of the girls' hair was a mess and both of them look like they enjoy the kiss. 

The picture haunted Y/n’s head, there was evidence that she was melting into her biggest enemy's touch. Everything was a constant reminder of that. Instead of Y/n falling asleep pissed out of her mind because of some random shit Hazel did now she found herself falling asleep flustered. The only thought running through her head was Hazel's hands running all over her body and her sweet kisses. She had heard through other celebrities that Hazel was a good kisser but never would it cross her mind that she was going to test that theory. When Y/n tried writing a song she would find herself unconsciously trying to find words that rhyme with Hazel. If the lingering touch wasn’t enough all Y/n could see was the damn picture of them making out. In very elaborate almost pornographic fan edits, news articles and magazines, t-shirts, everywhere. Even Brittney went to the point of making that picture her wallpaper to mess with her. 

Things were different now, not a good different, but different. She still despised Hazel; the only thing that had changed was the kiss between the two and the fact that people now knew that they didn’t hate each other. So their PR team was actually onto something because song streams from both sides were upping by the minute. Gaining followers left to right, both fandoms trying to uncover which song was dedicated for who. Every drama reporter and Late Night show host tried contacting their management team just to get the scoop on what was happening between the two. So management made it their mission to ride that heat of the moment.  

That’s how Y/n, Isabel and Brittney found themselves backstage in The Bottoms concert. Management wanted people to link Hazel with Y/n as the “Rock Star girlfriend” so after fighting for her manager for what felt like hours she found herself pushing past people to find Hazel. Her management team wanted fans to see Y/n wearing something that belonged to Hazel, so  they would think they were a couple. 

Y/n looked at the door in front of her, Hazel name written in her messy writing on a small whiteboard. Her hand reached towards the door handle, slowly opened the door to the dressing room. Y/n instantly scrunched up her nose as the smell of cigarettes overtook her nostrils. She looked around the dark room in front of her furrowing her eyes. The room was filled with half empty beer bottles, pizza boxes, several cigarette budds, dirty shirts and other things she couldn’t even understand what they were. They had only been here for a day, how was it possible for her to make such a mess. 

“Aren’t you going to say hi to your favorite girl?” A voice spoke, making Y/n turn towards the couch watching how Hazel inhaled the smoke from her cigarette. Hazel leaned back comfortably onto the leather couch, her leather covered legs spread open as she looked at her with barely open eyes. Y/n’s eyes followed her lips watching how the smoke slowly escaped her lips. She could feel her face turn red cursing herself for feeling like this in front of her. 

“Hello.” Y/n barely managed to get out, not knowing what to say. Usually she would bitch out at Hazel with ease. Going off for hours annoyed at the girl, but now she was a flustered mess, imagining those leather pants rubbing against her thighs. 

“L/n? You are usually very vocal? Ever since our little work session you don’t know what to say. My hotness finally caught up to you?” Hazel replied, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray next to her, stubbing it out. She sent a smile her way, running her now available ring-covered hands over her pants slowly. Hazel smirked watching how Y/n’s eyes didn’t leave her hands. 

“Shut up” Y/n mumbled, gaining her composure glaring down at her, her anger once again showing up. Hazel let out a chuckle not moving from her place looking at Y/n through her long eyelashes. Y/n noticed the hint of a mischievous look in her eyes. What was she thinking about? 

“What? Is my little D lister bitch flustered? Remember this is all professional, L/n. If it weren’t for this stupid contract I wouldn’t let you five feet near me. You are lucky that I even touch you.” Hazel replied tauntingly, sending a smirk her way. Her arms stretched against the backrest of the couch. Y/n lips scrunched up as she furrowed her eyebrows pissed off out of her mind. Y/n moved towards Hazel pulling her towards Y/n by the silver chain that adorned her neck. 

“Let me tell you something, Callahan. I don’t want this. If it weren't from my damn manager fighting with me to be here, I would be anywhere but here. So don’t get too cocky, like you said this, this is professional. So you can call me an actress, because your touch didn’t do shit” Y/n gripped on her chain harder as Hazel looked up at her fake shook covering her face. Her hands reached up in a defensive manner while her gaze turned in her usually cocky one. 

“They don’t call me a master with my hands just because I’m good with the guitar, sweetheart. I know how to differentiate a fake moan from a real one and what you did wasn't fake.” Hazel reached out towards Y/n pushing a string of her hair behind her ear sending a shiver  up  her spine.  Y/n searched for the words to say but she couldn’t find a word in the dictionary to make a comeback. Hazel hands reached towards her waist pushing Y/n down on her lap. 

“You look stressed, why don’t you take a smoke?” Hazel continued reaching for the table next to them, handing her  the box of cigarettes. Y/n looked down at the cigarettes in her lap and slowly looked up at Hazel taking in every inch of her. 

“I don’t smoke” Y/n replied, looking to the side. Hazel took the box of cigarettes in her hand, taking one out and placing it on her lips. She quickly bucked her hips up still holding onto Y/n with one hand to slip out her lighter. Hazel pushed  the end of the lighter against Y/n chin making her look at her. 

“You are tense, you need to ease down. So help me out, pretty girl” The said while gripping onto the cigarette on her teeth. Hazel handed the lighter to Y/n waiting for her to light it up. Y/n slowly leaned in, turning the lighter on the flame hitting Hazel’s skin making her glow. Y/n looked at Hazel’s closed eyes, the messy smokey liner surrounding her eyes caused a small smile to form on her lips. Hazel slowly gripped on her waist to make her continue. She slowly lights up the cigarette resting her hand on Hazel’s cheek. Turning off the lighter and placing it on the table next to her, not breaking eye contact with Hazel. 

Hazel closed her eyes inhaling the smoke for a few seconds keeping the smoke inside her mouth. She removed the cigarette slowly searching for Y/n’s eyes leaning towards, her lips hovering Y/n’s lips. Hazel placed the cigarette down on the ashtray slowly placing her thumb in between Y/n’s lips slowly opening them up. Hazel blew out the smoke on to Y/n’s mouth. Y/n closed her eyes, humming from the sensation. Y/n attached their lips together finding herself in the same predicament as a few days ago. Both girls fighting for dominance not wanting to lose the upper hand. 

But before Hazel could even do anything else, Y/n’s had moved her lips from hers and latched onto her neck. Y/n left sloppy kisses on Hazel’s neck, she kisses all over trying to find Hazel’s sweet spot. After a few seconds a soft whimper escaped from Hazel’s lips making Y/n smirk into her neck. She worked on that area whilst Hazel bit her lip in an attempt to cover her moans. 

“If you aren’t vocal, I’ll stop sweetheart” Y/n replied imitating Hazel's usual tone , blowing against the freshly done hickey. Hazel glared at her, taking her by the neck and pushing her against the couch pinning her down. Y/n looked up at her pissed out of her mind, while Hazel smirked her chain hanging against her face softly hitting her nose. 

“Never forget who’s in charge” She replied, letting go of her neck and moving off her heading towards the door. 

“Where are you even going?” Y/n asked looking up from the couch. Hazel chuckled turning towards her. 

“I’m going to do a show, so don’t miss me too much” and with that Hazel was gone. 

Hazel maybe had won the fight but Y/n was going to win the war. The next morning news articles made Y/n wake up in joy. Headliners making her go insane but this time in a good way. 

Y/n L/n, popstar sensation, making it known that her bass playing girlfriend is hers. 

...

Thank you for reading!

next part

[previous part]

[jesncin]

I hope Superman fandom as a whole will one day understand that if you truly want to commit to the immigrant allegory, scenes like Lois shooting Clark with a gun or her jumping off a building to prove he's Superman pair really badly with that allegory.

I know some fans like to say "Superman was always an immigrant allegory" and while I get the sentiment of retroactively looking at how the lives of his creators inform the character they made, we also have to acknowledge that the allegory was never consistent to begin with. The original Superman comics were fun gags and shenanigans. Superman Smashes the Klan wouldn't stand out so much if his immigrant identity was consistently integral to his character.

And if you're going to commit to Superman being an immigrant, then you've got to be open to changes on staple Superman lore. So much of this fandom is dedicated to nostalgia, references, canon events, "but Lois does that in the comics! It's not Lois Lane if she doesn't do crazy things to prove who Superman is!" without considering how that is contextualized in the allegory.

I still get so many comments on my Clois comics but especially the Private Interview comic saying "I've never seen Superman this way before" from even longtime fans of the character. Honestly, I never saw him that way until I read Smashes the Klan. Since then I want people to have that recognition of themselves in him too. But that means being brave with changes! Maybe it's okay for this version of Lois to respect Superman's boundaries. Maybe an Asian Lois can be more than an aesthetic shallow retread of white Lois.

These characters are more than callbacks and references. The reason they persist throughout many versions is because they hold themes. Lois isn't just "stunt girl reporter obsessed with Superman and THE TRUTH", she's also a jaded reporter hardened by life who finds hope again in Superman. Superman isn't just "save cats from trees" guy. He's an alien immigrant, and you can make a ton of new stories from that lens alone.

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ ii ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

warning/s: graphic description of blood and gore, body insecurity, lando might be a lil ooc

masterlist.

God bless Jinnie Jo and her overly prepared self because you thought you’d die when you got attacked by the damn shellfish allergy in the car on the way to the hotel. It's fortunate that Jinnie happens to carry around your allergy meds. You dry-swallow the tablets without hesitation, uttering your thanks to Jinnie.

“Song Dan-ssi gave me a list of your allergy meds before we left,” Jinnie tells you. Warmth floods your chest. Manager-nim may be in another country but he never fails to take care of you. You're definitely going to buy something for Manager-nim when you return to Seoul. A jacket perhaps?

The first thing you do the moment you enter your hotel room is kick your boots off, take a warm shower, and reunite with the love of your life—the bed. The mattress swallows you whole and you let out a content sigh as you allow your body to sink in it. Not even ten minutes later, you grab your bag, which you have haphazardly thrown on the bed, take out your phone, and open the X app. You type Lando’s name in the search box.

username1: i am disgusted by the people who still support lando norris like yall really support a man who got a girl pregnant and refusing to take responsibility? i just know mclaren is lying when they said he's not the father

username2: justice for the girl that lando norris got pregnant! he should be kicked out of mclaren!

username3: that girl lucky bc her baby daddy is THE lando norris. she should tell us how he fucks in great detail

You cringe. Your fingers tap the three buttons at the upper right corner and without hesitation, pressing report. You continue to scroll down the tweets, reading them one by one as the clock ticks.

username4: what lie will mclaren tell again to protect little lando norris?

Your phone pings. A notification bar appears on the upper portion of your phone screen. You have received a message. You stop reading the tweet and open your messages app.

unknown number: hey

unknown number: this is lando

unknown number: your boyfriend?

unknown number: the fake one

You immediately save his number in your contacts. You name him Lando Norris.

you: hey there

you: do i just call you lando or

lando: you can call me baby

You snigger at his flirting attempt. Ten points for trying, Lando Norris.

you: okay baby

lando: 😳

lando: okay

lando: we agreed on hard launching each other in socmed right?

you: yah

lando: i kinda don't have a picture of you?

lando: pr told me to ask you if you can send me one

lando: i’ll send you one too

you: i have an idea

you: put me on your story

lando: yeah im planning to do exactly that

lando: have you been listening to what we talked about earlier in the meeting?

you: then delete it after a few mins

lando: wait why

you: make it look like you did it on accident

Your first mistake in your first PR relationship with another idol is that you immediately hard-launched each other on Instagram after Dispatch released his pictures kissing a guy in a bar. People got skeptical and most of them called out your relationship as a PR stunt. They called you a cover up, which you were, but they weren't supposed to know that.

You're not going to make the same mistake twice.

lando: and this will work?

you: let's not shake the confidence i have

lando: 😂

you: people are already expecting mclaren to set a pr stunt so you can gain the public’s hearts back

you: u have to make yourself look like you never needed a pr stunt in the first place, that you’re not trying to win the public back

you: people will catch up if you suddenly post that you have a girlfriend in the middle of your hot issue

you: netizens are quickwitted theyre not as dumb as most of us think

You hope you're explaining it well. You're trying to make your point as clear as possible but it's hard. You forgot the other English words you’ve learned.

lando: okay i get ur point

lando: i’ll do what u want

lando: someone has to tell pr what u planned though

lando: it's not going to be me

Fuck the PR. You're not going to tell them and let them have a field day tomorrow. That's what they get for expecting you to sign that stupid first contract they made.

You open your camera app and take a quick selfie.

No. Your nose looks too big at that angle.

Again.

Now, your forehead looks like an airport.

Again.

Your teeth are showing. The coffee stains are visible.

Again.

Again.

Again.

you: *sent a photo*

lando: i

lando: help me with the caption? my braincells flew off

you: idk not good at captions

you: just say hello loml or smth

This is the story you want to tell:

You met Lando a year after you departed from ORACLE in Australia.

You have a mutual friend—named Tori Allen—who introduced you to one another. Tori Allen does not exist. She's just the fictional side character of your love story.

You started out as friends. Lando is freshly out from a breakup and you’re just trying to live a quiet life after your fall from grace.

You talked for months because of your mutual interest in cars. Eventually, you started going on casual dates.

You asked Lando to keep it secret. He said yes in respect to you. HAN Entertainment already released a press statement regarding your mental health status after the 2021 incident so the public would assume that this was the reason why.

The relationship turned serious three months before Lando’s scandal.

Lando never got the girl pregnant. He never touched that girl. He was loyal to you.

Jinnie almost breaks down the door the next morning. You open it before she can do so. She angrily stomps inside your room and you close the door behind her. Her face is red, her expression taut.

“It's seven,” your eyebrows crease together. You make a quick glance at the phone in your hand. 7:22, the clock in your lockscreen projects. “You told me we are supposed to meet at twelve.”

“McLaren PR called me up,” Jinnie informs you. You’re beginning to get an idea where this conversation is going. “You didn't do what we agreed on.”

“And what did we agree on?” you cross your arms over your chest. You flutter your eyelashes innocently at her.

“That you’re going to choose photos to post on each of your accounts and let PR handle the captions. Norris posted something immediately without PR checking it and deleted it!”

“Did he tell you that it was my idea?”

“No, but I know that it was and it turns out I’m right. You just confirmed it.”

“Did it work?” you question.

“I can't with you!” she throws her hands up in the air, frustrated. “We are supposed to follow orders!”

“No,” you say. “You are supposed to follow orders. That's what Yoon PD-nim told you. He told me to do what I believed was best.”

You open X. Lando’s name is at the top of the trending list. You press his name and read through the tweets that appeared.

username5: LANDO NORRIS WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR

username6: EVERYONE HERE ARE THE RECEIPTS *screenshot*

username7: is this what you call the freudian slip lol

username8: I AM NOT CRAZY GUYS LANDO ACCIDENTALLY STORIED HIS GF IN HIS PUBLIC ACC

username9: he deleted it so quick too 😭 im sure the man panicked

username10: HE CHEATED ON HIS GF AND GOT A GIRL PREGNANT??!?

username11: for all we know he didn't even bang that girl 🤷 his girlfriend’s pretty hot he’s definitely not cheating on her

username10: men cheat on their pretty wives and girlfriends all the time

username12: not lando norris that man’s in love LOVE can u see his caption

username13: the caption??? lando’s pretty smooth with his words

username14: he’s taking smooth operator lessons from carlos

username15: im crazy but what if this is just a pr stunt 🤔

username16: girl he won't delete the story in a panic if it's a pr stunt

username17: he was definitely going to post it in his priv and made a mistake 😭

username18: very lando of him

username17: he stronger than me bc if my girlfriend was that pretty, her face will be flooding my instagram

username19: ignore lando, his girl tho 😳

username20: he called her loml omgggg

username21: booo luisa’s prettier

username22: fok off and move on

username23: lando can you fight? meet me at the kfc parking lot and let's fight

username24: probably not but he can run you over with his car

username25: i swear ive seen that girl before i just cant pinpoint where

username26: IT'S [NAME] EX MEMBER OF ORACLE WE HAVENT SEEN HER SINCE 2021

username27: so he bagged a kpop girlie??? lando got game dayummm

username28: isn't [name] an illegal street racer? that's why she got kicked out of the group right?

username29: an f1 racer and a street racer couple 😳 omg what in booktok is this

username30: she's not a streetracer she only watched the street race

username28: she told you that herself?

username30: her company did

username31: THEY CANT BE DATING OMG LANDO YOU CAN DO BETTER SHE DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE A WAG

username32: and u think ur better than her?

“It's working,” you state. You turn to Jinnie, raising your phone in the air and waving it. A smug smirk spreads to your lips. “It's working.”

Nobody is doubting the relationship like the time with Minhyung. This is a good start. Now, onto the next part.

“So are we really going to keep having lunch dates until your race?” you poke the shrimp on the plate with your fork. You're having pasta again. In the same place, too. It sucks but you swallow the food and smile as if you’re enjoying the meal.

For today's outfit, Jinnie chose a Valentino Garavani black midi dress paired with Jimmy Choo Antia leather sandals. Lando matched your outfit with a black silk button up and off-white pants. You’re both playing the “looking like a couple” card well.

“I believe so,” Lando says. You mentally count the days of the calendar in your head. The FP1 is scheduled to begin in two days. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask….”

“Hm?”

“The team didn't scold you a lot, did they?”

“They didn’t,” you give him a tight smile. Did he worry? For you? That's very sweet of him. “Why would they? My plan went great.”

Lando nods, “It did. You’re good at this.”

You smile at his compliment, shrugging a shoulder. I’m supposed to be good at this. I have no other choice.

“Let's show them our story,” you say. “Show, not tell. People are more inclined to believe actions rather than words. Show them the story we want them to know and we don't answer their questions early so we can keep the attention and the curiosity on us. Once the timing is right, you answer their questions, one by one. This is risky because if we don't act right, we’re done….”

You set the fork down and finally stop terrorizing the poor shrimp. It's completely obliterated now.

“But I believe we can act right,” honesty bleeds through your words. “You're lovable and you already act like a sweet boyfriend without trying.”

Lando purses his lips and averts his gaze. You see pink dusting his cheeks.

“I try.”

“Nice try,” your words come out dry. You give him a thumbs-up. “Also, I’m full.”

“You only ate half your plate,” Lando points out.

“The portion is too big. I’m a light eater.”

HAN Entertainment is partly to blame for that. You got accustomed to their extreme diets and small meal portions that you cannot even eat more than a small bowl of rice.

“Do you not like the food?” he asks, concerned.

You don’t answer the question. Instead, you lace your fingers together and rest your chin on them, leaning slightly forward.

“I have another plan. Wanna hear it?”

You still don't like having attention to yourself. The feeling of having eyes watching your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake still terrifies you. But attention, the right kind especially, is a weapon. You need a weapon to fight this war. A war to build your career again.

“Keep them on their toes,” the instructor of your PR training class once said. “Give them what they want piece by piece, just enough to keep them wanting more, but never give them everything.”

Until now, you still abide by her teachings. God bless Kim Gaon-ssi and her big brain, wherever she is now. She resigned from HAN entertainment a year ago.

It's been a few days since Lando pulled that stunt in his Instagram story and yet, the attention you're receiving from the fans is not simmering down. You didn't expect anyone to be this involved or curious about a driver's love life but here everyone was.

You wake up at seven and then proceed to spend an hour on your phone while lying in bed to push all the sleepiness away from your system. You leave your bed at nine, change out of your sleeping wear, perform a whole morning ritual inside the bathroom, and by eleven, you send Jinnie a message to get brunch and invite her to eat together inside the privacy of your hotel room. She arrives after fifteen minutes with hotel service food. You eat until twelve thirty and after eating, you begin to get ready.

The free practice session is at 5:30 PM. You can afford a bit more time to get ready so you shower again. It took you nearly two hours. In the meantime, Jinnie prepares your clothes.

You mentally thank the heavens when you see trousers neatly folded on your bed. If Jinnie forces you to wear dresses again, you’re going to lose it. You're conscious of how big your thighs look. You don't even have a thigh gap. Big thighs, small ankles, and muscular calves. They're just a few of your numerous bodily insecurities.

Jinnie pairs the Moon Choi black back pocket trousers with a Dior Toile de Jouy Sauvage silk top. For the shoes, she chooses a pair of white Fila chunky sneakers. She helps you apply your makeup and fix your hair. To finish the look, you grab your black cross body bag, smart watch, sunglasses, and a black ball cap.

Jinnie snatches the ball cap from your hands and replaces it with a McLaren ball cap. A tacky orange with the number four. You raise your brow at her. She gives you a pointed look, a look that says: don’t even try to protest. You sigh, resigned, and pull it onto your head.

She scans your appearance, dragging her coal eyes from the top of your head to your toes. She huffs, satisfied.

“You look perfect.”

Perfect is the goal.

Jinnie drives you to the race venue. She drops you off at the parking lot. She's not happy with it. Jinnie wanted to come. You told her no. You can handle this little act alone. You don’t see an ex-idol with a manager, do you?

The moment you exit the car, you slip on your mask. Figuratively and literally. You tip your ball cap upwards to scan your surroundings, searching for the way in. You carry your phone in your right hand and your paddock pass in the left. Lando gave it to you during dinner yesterday.

A racing event is crowded with people. That's a given. Perhaps not as crowded as a concert but still crowded nonetheless. A stage will not separate you from the people nor a barricade. Unfortunately. You have no bodyguard, no manager, no HAN Entertainment staff.

You're not here as ORACLE’s [Name] but as Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

Your feet lead you to a path where there are less people. You message Lando that you’ve arrived. He replies in a matter of seconds.

lando: ill come and get you

lando: wait for me

You remove your cap, fix your hair, before pulling the cap on. You spot a man with a Nikon DSLR standing a good distance. He is wearing a cord around his neck. The word MEDIA is printed in bold white letters. Your lips curl a little underneath your face mask.

It is show time.

During your trainee years, acting classes are mandatory. You know the basics. You're confident that you're good at acting. If you weren't, the company wouldn't have pushed you to act in two dramas as a side character during your rookie years. You received a reward for your performances, too.

To look lost, you have to keep glancing around you as if you’re contemplating which way to go. You have to look unsure of your actions. Hesitant. You have to constantly look at your phone as if you’re reading directions in it or texting someone to tell you where you should be going. You have to scratch your nape a few times to express nervousness. You're in a place you don’t know, it’s natural to be nervous.

Someone is bound to approach you and help you. When they do, you remove the cap but not the mask and then hope they know who you are. When they don't, well…. that's a problem for future you. You haven't thought that far.

“Hi, excuse me, do you need help?”

You perk up. Orange fills your view. A group of four girls have approached you and they all wear twinning McLaren merch. You can see that three of them sport the number four in their shirts, Lando’s race number. You involuntarily swallow.

There was a case once where a rookie actress got beaten up by her idol boyfriend’s fans promptly after the release of their dating news. Fans can be so jealous to the point of violence. It's a toxic fan culture. That's why so many Kpop idols resort to keeping their relationships private and secret. You hope you won’t get beaten up.

But also, given that they’re McLaren and Lando fans, there is a high possibility that they’ll recognize you. Which is exactly what you wanted. So you push that stupid fear aside and keep the show going.

“Hi, uh,” you remove your cap and lower your face mask until it's bunched up below your nose. “I’m kind of…lost? Do you know the way to the, uh…”

You forget what it's called. McLaren garage? You don't remember the exact word Lando used. You're still not confident that you know the difference between a paddock, a garage, and a livery.

“Wait, I know you!”

You purposely widen your eyes.

“You’re Lando’s girlfriend!”

You smile sheepishly, scratching your cheek with your finger.

The girls break out into loud and high-pitched squeals. Their voices are so shrill that you cannot help but wince. You motion for them to quiet down. Inwardly, you want them to keep being loud. Loud enough to warrant the attention of the photographer, your target.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, we absolutely have to take a selfie!”

You barely understand her rapid spitfire of words until she takes out her phone. Panic instantly swells within you.

This is not the plan. You only wanted one person to take the necessary picture. Not this.

You hastily slap your hand over the lower half of your face. You stagger backwards and stumble against a sturdy wall. Your hands fly out to your sides as you feel yourself lose your balance. Two hands grip your shoulders and you hear a surprised woah! from behind you. You lift your head.

It's not a wall. It's Lando.

His beautiful, beautiful eyes gaze down at you. The colors look lighter under the sun. His thick brows are furrowed together, his forehead creasing.

Lando spins you around so you're face-to-face with his hard chest. You squint at the multiple logos printed on the long-sleeves he’s wearing. Is this what he wears when he races? He swiftly takes the McLaren ball cap off your hand and puts it on your head. His hand remains tenderly flat on your shoulder blade, the other lays on your cheek as if he's trying to cover your face. You tug your face mask up and rub your throat.

“Hi,” Lando greets the girls sweetly. This causes the eruption of another wave of high-pitched squeals. “I’m sorry but do you mind if we keep the cameras away? Our relationship isn't out and as much as possible, we’d like to keep it that way. Can we respect my girl’s privacy please?”

He sounds exactly like a male lead in a romance Kdrama. You know it's fake, that the both of you are playing roles, but his words and the way he delivers them so effortlessly makes you momentarily doubt if he's really acting. It causes a butterfly to flutter in your stomach and your pulse to steadily accelerate. His hands are large and warm and for a moment, it makes you wonder if this is what security feels like. If this is what it feels like to be loved.

Then, you get reminded that it is all an act.

How can actors not fall in love with their co-actors when acting can feel this real at times?

“Thank you,” you hear Lando say. You miss the previous parts of the conversation because of the thoughts that invaded your mind.

“You look so cute together, oh my god. I’m going to die,” the fangirl adds. Lando’s chest vibrates as he chuckles, the sound deep and warm.

“We need to go, sorry. Enjoy the race today.”

He taps his thumb against your shoulder blade and he starts walking, his hands not detaching themselves from your skin. You keep your head low as Lando guides you away. In your peripheral vision, you see the photographer’s camera pointed towards the two of you. A self-satisfied smirk plays on your lips.

“How did I do?” Lando asks the moment he removes his helmet. He is sporting a bright grin, so bright that you're sure it’s going to make the sun envious, as his fingers comb through his damp curly hair. A few stray strands are stuck on his sweaty forehead. You feel the urge to sweep them aside for him.

You search through your mental thesaurus for the synonyms of the word amazing and have chosen: “Impressive.”

Light beads of sweat trickle down his face and neck. A McLaren staff member comes and hands him a towel to wipe them off. Lando thanks her and she leaves. He thrusts the towel towards you. You blink in confusion.

“Will you do the honors?”

“Can't you do it yourself?”

“But you have to play the part of a sweet girlfriend, am I right or am I right?” You roll your eyes at his cheekiness, rising to a stand. You place the McLaren jacket in your hands on your chair. Lando handed it to you before he climbed into the car. You don't know the reason behind his action. Nevertheless, you held the jacket for him.

You take the towel from his hands, your fingers grazing with his. Lando’s smile threatens to split in half as he puts his hands behind his back, parts his legs a little, and then bends down so you won't have a difficult time wiping his sweat for him. You're not that much shorter than him and your height difference is perfectly reasonable and comfortable but you're still grateful that he's doing this for you.

You don't wipe his sweat. Instead, you pat them out. Patting is gentle on skin. The towel will simply absorb the sweat on his skin. Rubbing the skin can lead to skin irritation and inflammation. Lando’s eyes flutter close at your actions and you swear you see him leaning against your hand.

“You raced good today,” you praise him.

You have zero idea on what happened in the past hour. The cars went around in circles. Then, they time their laps. They’re not even racing each other. You thought they would.

In all honesty, you think the entire thing is a bore. The street races you went to when you were a teen were more fun. A minimum of three drivers gets injured every race and it's highly likely someone ends up dead, which is your messed-up definition of the word fun.

You’re more interested in the special guest who decided to grace the track with its great reptile presence. A dinosaur. Kidding, it's just a lizard. It looks like it was surveying the scene and strategizing a great dinosaur invasion.

Lando's chest swells, “Well, I have to impress my girl.”

He opens his eyes and they meet yours. They're twinkling with mirth.

“Color me impressed then.” Despite your words, your tone is unimpressed.

He smiles impossibly wider, now showing his full set of pearly white teeth. He bites his bottom lip. You stop patting his sweat and lower your hand to the side.

“You don't have any more races tonight?” you question. Lando straightens.

“Later at 9 PM.”

“That's quite late.”

“It is?” Lando’s head tilts to the side a little. “Do you sleep early?”

You hardly sleep at all. You have a hard time maintaining regular human sleeping and waking hours. Like the other half of the world population.

“That's not it,” you shake your head. “I kind of just expected that the next practice session would be tomorrow morning.”

“Singapore usually holds night races. Track temperatures are low and the organizers can broadcast the race during peak viewing hours in European time,” Lando explains. “And they hold two practice races a day because it only lasts an hour.”

“That makes sense.”

“Are you hungry?” Lando questions, smoothly redirecting the conversation to food.

“I could eat.” You're not particularly hungry. You're not full either.

“I know a good place that sells these amazing wraps.”

Wraps sound enticing. You can't remember the last time you've eaten one.

“Lead the way.”

You chew on your beef wrap slowly as your eyes focus on the screen of your phone. The voices of the sports announcers live broadcasting the ongoing race fill Lando’s driver room. After buying the wrap, he brought you to his driver room so you can enjoy the privacy as you ate. You appreciate the thoughtfulness. You don't think you can eat outside. So many people can see you.

username33: LOOK AT THESE PHOTOS I AM GOING FERAL

username34: HOLUP LANDO'S GIRL WAS IN THE PADDOCK??? ON THE DAY I DECIDED NOT TO GO?? EVJSNSVSISKS

username35: girlie was hiding 😭 she deliberately went through the back of the paddock so no one can see her going to the garage

username36: my friends and i met her today! she looks like she's lost and as fellow mclaren fans, we went to help her and she was so sweet omg and so so shy too. we tried to take a pic with her but lando arrived and told us to respect his girl’s space

username36: and i quote “do you mind if we keep the cameras away? our relationship isn't out and we’d like to keep it that way. can we respect my girl’s privacy please” WHEN I TELL YOU I MELTED ON THE SPOT

username37: girl he really said that???

username38: i’m her friend and yes he really said that 😭

username39: little lando norris is not so little anymore

username37: pls tell me you backed off immediately

username38: we did!! we kinda feel bad now that we discovered she's been battling anxiety since 2021 and that she doesn't like having photos of her taken

username40: NO BECAUSE THE WAY LANDO IS SO PROTECTIVE OF HER?? THE WAY HE SPUN HER AROUND AND PULLED HER TO HIS CHEST?? THE PROTECTIVE HAND ON HER BACK?? HIM COVERING HER FACE?? WE ALL KNOW [NAME] HASN'T BEEN IN THE PUBLIC EYE SINCE 2021 BC OF MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES AFTER HER SCANDAL AND LANDO REALLY TRIED TO PROTECT HER

username41: bae i think you forgot that he's also the reason why [name] is gaining attention again bc he accidentally storied her in his insta

username40: that's why i said tried bestie

username42: i cant believe im crying over this LANDO NORRIS U BETTER TREAT OUR GIRL [NAME] RIGHT

username43: im waiting for @hanentertainmentofficial to say smth

username44: girlie’s career flopped and now she's leeching off lando’s money smh 🙄

username45: bestie she never needed his money she’s already rich from being an idol

username44: correction ex kpop idol, her money’s probably already running out

username45: bestie she's still richer than you while you're 14 (your bio says your 14) and still living with your parents

username46: AND THAT'S VERY SLAY OF HER,, YOU CAN'T EVEN GET A RICH MAN TO LOOK AT YOU

username47: that girl who claimed that lando is her baby daddy is suspiciously quiet rn

You turn your phone off and toss it inside your cross body bag. A sigh flies past your lips as you lean against the back of the couch, setting your unfinished wrap down. Your eyes flutter close. They're beginning to sting. Too much reading.

Sleep latches its claws on you and you allow it to take you.

You stand in darkness, allowing the deafening silence to swallow you whole. Suddenly, a thousand eyes appear. Unblinking. Bloodshot. They're bulging out of their sockets. In unison, the eyeballs move and lock on your figure. Judging. Judging. Judging. Your body trembles at the weight of a thousand gazes. You can’t breathe. You can't speak.

Please stop looking at me.

Please.

I’m begging you.

Stop.

The eyes slowly became bigger and bigger. Then, they disappear. You let out a shaky exhale. You turn around and the world becomes a blinding white.

Cameras. Thousands. No, millions of them. The loud clicking noise fills your ears. Your hands stretch in front of you, trying to cover your face and your body from them. You can only squeeze your eyes shut.

Silence.

The scene changes.

You register the feeling of sand getting stuck in between your toes. Your eyes slowly flutter open. The overcast skyline and the rising tides, the telltale ingredients of a brewing storm over the horizon, can be spectated from the shore. You recognize this place. This was a place you swore you're never going to step foot again.

Jeju.

You hear your mother’s gentle voice whisper your name behind you, causing goosebumps rise on your skin and your entire body to stiffen. It's not the name you own now, but the name you were born with, the name she gave you, the name you lost when you moved to Seoul.

She calls your name again. Again. Again. And again. You ignore every single one.

She stops.

You slowly turn around and you see your mother standing there, a few steps away, barefoot like you and wearing a dress. You remember this dress. She wore it when she was pregnant with you. She keeps the photo in her wallet.

No Eun Ha looks as beautiful as she was in your childhood memories. You greatly resemble her. The eyes most especially. That's why looking at mirrors feels more like a punishment to you more than anything else.

The word “Eomma” rots inside your mouth.

Your Eomma smiles at you. It's empty, her smile. When she smiles, they never reach her eyes. That's the way it has always been. For a second, you consider apologizing.

Eomma, I’m sorry that you have to raise a child you didn’t want. I’m sorry for stealing the light in your eyes.

You don't grow the courage to say it out loud.

No Eun Ha remains smiling. You notice that the edges of her lips curl higher and higher until the smile begins to look unsettling and sinister. Then you see the skin on her cheek tear apart as her smile grows and grows. Blood drips down slowly to her neck and stains the top part of her dress. She opens her mouth into an inhumane size and you see a thousand razor-sharp teeth lining up inside it. Everything is a gory red.

You scream in absolute terror.

She says your name again, her voice this time is not as gentle as you remember.

You wake up screaming and in cold sweat. You fall from your bed and onto the floor on all fours and begin vomiting your guts out. Nothing comes up. Only saliva. You break into pathetic sobs on the floor. Terror is a familiar feeling but you will never ever get used to it.

You don't know how many hours have passed. The floor used to feel cool against your skin but now, it's never been warmer. You still don't possess the strength to leave the floor. Your body feels as if it's being anchored down giant stones.

You're exhausted. You’ve done nothing but you feel exhausted.

You want to run.

You want to run away from this pain and exhaustion.

You need a life where you're no longer exhausted.

Desperately.

A sudden shriek interrupts the silence that wraps the air. A woman's. You don't even flinch. You know it’s just Jinnie. She's the only one who has access to another keycard of your hotel room.

When Lando’s panicking face comes into view, you are shocked. So shocked that you involuntarily raise your arms and accidentally hit him below his jaw. He stumbles backwards, not expecting the blow. He let out a pained groan, hand clutching the area you hit. You quickly rise to your feet, a thousand apologies already on the tip of your tongue. This action, however, triggers a wave of vertigo. Your vision blackens temporarily, your knees giving out at your own weight. Reflexively, you grab hold of the nearest thing beside you, the mattress to soften your fall, before your shaking knees meet the floor.

“[Name]!” Lando’s voice is so loud, you flinch.

When your vision returns, his face is the first thing you see.

“Good morning,” your voice is flat and rough.

Lando hisses and his large hands cradle your cheeks. You're suddenly made aware of how large his hands are. They can cover your entire face with how big they are.

“You're pale,” his voice wobbles. “Shit.”

You want to pass out again. His hands feel so, so comfortable and so, so warm that you want to sleep with this feeling.

“Hey, hey, don't close your eyes. [Name]—” Lando hands move swiftly. One second he’s holding your face. The next second he’s lifting you up in his arms. “Jinnie, call an ambulance!”

The word “ambulance” causes you to wake up. Like really wake up.

Oh, shit.

You struggle in Lando’s arms, “Andwae! No ambulance!”

You pry yourself away from Lando, hopping down to the floor, but the man doesn't retract his hands completely. He still holds onto your forearms to support you as you try to stand.

“No. Just no. I’m fine.”

“[Name]!” Jinnie scolds. She's finally functioning again. She froze in shock when she saw you earlier.

“I’m fine!” you shout. “I’m fine! Really!”

When you get caught that you're weak, you retaliate.

You grit your teeth and clench your jaw.

“I’m. Fine.”

They don’t believe you. You can see it in their eyes. However, they're not going to argue with you. You know they won't.

“I’m going to shower,” you announce. Lando’s grip on your forearm tightens just as you pivot your heels to head to the bathroom.

“I think it's best if you stay today.”

“We all agreed that I’m going to be in the paddock from the practice sessions until the race night.”

“I’ll tell the PR team that you won't go today.”

Your brows furrow.

“Just… Rest for today, okay?”

You turn quiet. Hesitantly, you nod.

“Thanks.”

He turns to Jinnie and tells her, “Take care of her for me. I’ll visit after the qualifying.”

And like that, Lando Norris leaves the hotel room.

[sunshine-daisies-library]

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it. 

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink. 

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama. 

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it. 

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” 

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.” 

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.” 

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.” 

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question. 

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless. 

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.” 

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched  off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.” 

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.” 

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.” 

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?” 

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.” 

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.” 

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed. 

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.” 

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.” 

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?” 

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath. 

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.” 

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame. 

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back. 

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back. 

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you. 

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan. 

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile. 

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway. 

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws. 

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness. 

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed. 

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory. 

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled. 

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity? 

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.” 

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” 

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.” 

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it. 

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned. 

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle. 

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.” 

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one. 

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated. 

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.” 

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career. 

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.” 

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you. 

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear. 

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!” 

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in. 

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was. 

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food. 

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.” 

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations. 

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all. 

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.” 

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned. 

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.” 

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back. 

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face. 

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home. 

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.” 

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed. 

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before. 

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed. 

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror. 

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold. 

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi. 

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though. 

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?” 

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?” 

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun. 

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics. 

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.” 

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with. 

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way. 

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties. 

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?” 

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought. 

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.” 

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation. 

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.” 

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.” 

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media. 

 “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head. 

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult. 

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.” 

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview. 

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon. 

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that? 

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.” 

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.” 

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.” 

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst. 

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them. 

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology. 

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?” 

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too. 

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–” 

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.” 

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.” 

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.” 

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern. 

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park. 

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention. 

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground. 

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.” 

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling. 

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.” 

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.” 

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!” 

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public. 

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!” 

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted. 

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds? 

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.” 

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least. 

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster? 

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break. 

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked. 

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost. 

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting. 

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.” 

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create. 

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.” 

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.” 

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit. 

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.” 

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.” 

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.” 

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.” 

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s. 

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were. 

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you. 

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space. 

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.” 

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.” 

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside. 

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse. 

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?” 

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?” 

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.” 

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.” 

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.” 

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly. 

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.” 

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.” 

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”  

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?” 

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.” 

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink. 

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish. 

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.” 

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

– 

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability. 

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself. 

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why. 

 The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding. 

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable. 

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage. 

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains. 

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more. 

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you. 

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole. 

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding. 

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?” 

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you. 

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first. 

You felt your Ashton. 

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure. 

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself. 

“What are you–” 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.” 

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour. 

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?” 

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?” 

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face. 

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert. 

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more. 

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained. 

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away. 

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied. 

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.” 

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.” 

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.” 

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries. 

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.” 

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest. 

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.” 

--

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[artiststarme]

Come to Poppa

Based on a prompt sent to me awhile ago from @yaoiprofessoryuki. I'm sorry it took so long but I hope you like it!

~*~*~*~

Steve was never close to his dad, not like a father or son should be. They never played catch in the front yard or camped out in the woods. They certainly never talked about sports or girls. The closest they ever got was performing elementary science experiments at the kitchen table until his mother scolded them both over their own laughter. One day though, everything changed. Out of nowhere, Steve became less of a son and more like a roommate that coexisted in the same house.They lived in the same house and their paths intermittently crossed when they were both in the house at the same time, but their relationship was gone. 

Nevertheless, all Steve wanted after fighting the demogorgons with the kids was to see his dad. He craved the comfort that only a dad could give through all-consuming hugs and emotionally stunted advice. His dad was a scientist, surely he could ask him just what the fuck those monsters were. If anyone could understand, his dad would. 

But after waiting up all night and into the next day, his dad didn’t come home. His secretary didn’t pick up the phone when he called and the hospital had no records of him. His dad was just gone, disappeared just like all the evidence of the demogorgons. Steve’s mom filed a missing persons report with the Sheriff’s office but even their investigations were moot. It was like his dad fell off the face of the earth. 

***

After their 1984 encounter and getting the absolute shit kicked out of him by Billy, the kids start hanging out at his house. His mom had taken to leaving for weeks at a time at the drop of a hat to avoid thinking about his father and Steve was climbing the walls in order to escape some of the oppressive loneliness that the house seemed to ooze. He thought the kids would find it fun to have a big house to themselves to make a mess in and just be kids away from the responsibilities of the Upside Down. He was wrong. 

Eleven froze as soon as the door swung shut behind her, her eyes on the family portrait that hung in the living room. In it was a sixteen year old Steve, his mother in her nicest dress, and his graying dad. It was one of the last pictures that they all looked happy in. But Eleven wasn’t looking at the picture in happiness or curiosity, she was looking at it in horror.

“El? What’s wrong, what’s going on?” Mike stood between her and the photo, his hand comfortingly rested on her shoulder.

All the kids surrounded her and Steve just followed her gaze and looked at her in confusion. When Dustin saw him looking back and forth, he snuck a peek before his eyes widened in sudden realization. “Holy shit, guys! Look at the picture! Steve, how the hell do you know Dr. Brenner?”

Steve’s eyes scrunched in confusion, “what? I don’t know a Dr. Brenner.”

“There’s a picture of the two of you right there!” Lucas flailed his arm towards another picture of the two of them in black suits at his cousin’s wedding. 

“And right there,” Max added, pointing at a picture of Steve holding a report card with straight A’s and his dad beaming with pride to his left.

“That’s not Dr. Brenner, that’s my dad. Martin Harrington, not a Brenner,” he said while rolling his eyes in exasperation. The imagination of these kids was going to make him lose his mind one day. 

“No, papa.”

“Eleven, that’s not the man that hurt you. That’s my dad. He was boring and dorky, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Papa!”

“I think she would know who experimented on her for years,” Lucas said, rolling his eyes. 

“Not if she thinks it's my dad!” Steve was really reaching his limits. He’d just wanted the kids to have fun for a day, he hadn’t expected slander against his dad. 

“What if it's the same person? Your dad and Dr. Brenner,” Dustin pondered. 

Steve just shook his head. “There’s no way, my dad worked at the Department of Energy for the government. He ran research experiments on electricity and water and shit. He never worked with kids!” 

“The Department of Energy was just a cover up for the experiments on kids!” Mike screamed.

That was the last line for El. As soon as Mike raised his voice, she flinched and threw the family portrait to the ground with a flick of her wrist. The frame splintered and the glass shattered upon contact with the fireplace tile. Most disturbingly to Steve though was the long tear in the photo separating his dad from him and his mom. An unfortunately positioned shard of glass had separated his dad from his family in the portrait just as an unknown force had in reality. 

“Hey! That’s one of the last pictures I have of him! He disappeared last year and you just ruined our last picture together. Fuck Eleven, he’s not your papa.” Steve dropped to his knees next to the broken frame without regard for the glass and fretted his hands over the portrait. 

“He’s a monster!” El yelled, an accusing finger pointed directly at the ruined canvas in his hands. All of the pictures on the walls fell to the floor with a deafening crash. In a single moment, all remnants of his dad were erased from the living room. 

“No! You’re ruining everything, stop! My dad was just a nerd that loved science. He might’ve been a little strict about grades but other than that, he’s a good guy!”

“Steve, we are telling you that that is Dr. Brenner. I don’t know why he has a different name at work or why you don’t know what he did at work but it is him. We met him last year and he’s missing because… Well, we’re pretty sure El killed him or at least really hurt him. That’s why he didn’t come back.” Dustin delivered the news as gently as possible but his words still registered like a knife in the back. 

“What.”

Suddenly, Steve saw everything differently. The missed basketball games, the unexplained absences and late nights at work, the weird interest in his experiments. It felt like the loving dad that he grew up with was a stranger he never knew at all. The kids didn’t seem to notice his shock or the fact that they had just ruined his life. They continued arguing amongst themselves until Steve tuned back in. 

“What if Steve knew about it? For all we know, he could've had a part in it! Maybe that’s why he wanted to join the Party. He could be reporting back to Dr. Brenner right now!” Mike ranted. Jesus Christ, Steve hated that kid.

“You really think Steve had something to do with it? I’m pretty sure he’s failing at least three classes right now. There is no way someone would use him as an accomplice in a conspiracy this big,” Dustin shook his head and sent a wink at Steve as if he was defending him. But Steve didn’t take it that way. 

They knew about his dad’s disappearance and were now insulting him? Fucking shit, he’d risked everything for these kids; his reputation, his old friends, his relationship with Nancy, his life! And they still doubted him and saw him as an idiot. They saw him as a traitor that would work as an accomplice to torture other kids. Fuck it. 

“Get out.”

“Steve, Mike didn’t mean-”

He cut Lucas off with a glare. “Get out! I don’t want you here. Just get out!”

They all walked out with varying degrees of guilt until Steve was left alone with nothing to do but look at the ruined family portrait with its shards of broken glass and cry about the injustice of it all.

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[fr0mthefires]

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 3

In which you're down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you're not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: alcohol use, death, blood, gore, sexual content, mdni, not beta read

~7k words

part one part two

Three weeks.

It’s been three very long weeks of pretending, walking on eggshells, and avoiding. After Kai Chisaki almost made you the next name on his victims list, things have been… weird, to say the least. The group has more or less been avoiding you, besides Toga. If anything, she’s been more attached to you than she already was. The rest of them, though, seem to prefer pretending you don’t exist unless interaction is absolutely necessary.

You’d like to chalk it up to everyone being a little traumatized by what had almost happened to you on your first night on the job, but you know better. You haven’t outright confirmed it yet, but all the signs are there, and it’s not hard to guess they’ve all seen worse than a girl they hardly know almost getting kidnapped. More importantly, you know where their loyalties lie, and it sure as hell isn’t with you. 

Their loyalties lie with the red-eyed asshole who’s apparently decided he hates your guts. He’s avoided you like the plague throughout all the shifts you’ve worked since, either staying holed up in that mysterious back room upstairs, lingering in the shadows where he knows you won’t be, or just straight up glowering at you on the rare occasions you do happen to cross paths.

You’re not sure what exactly you did to warrant such disdain besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth, or maybe his little stunt in saving your life caused problems for him in the aftermath. That wouldn’t be surprising, considering what you’d seen on the news two days later.

“A prominent figure in Japan’s crime syndicate, Kai Chisaki, has been found deceased in Shinano River. While law enforcement has declined official comment to Juko News, we were able to discern from credible sources that his death was a homicide. His remains were spotted by a night fisherman around three in the morning on Saturday, October 17th. Investigators recovered his body and his arms, bafflingly separated from his torso, but have yet to find Chisaki’s hands. This gruesome act was likely carried out by a rival organization to the Yakuza, as the sheer brutality of the murder seems to indicate. Law enforcement encourages…”

You had stopped listening after that. The mental picture of the scene was more than enough.

So yeah, it’s not really a stretch to think he hates you because you’d been the catalyst for him fucking murdering and dismembering someone. You haven’t exactly confirmed that yet either, but you’d be the biggest idiot on the planet to not put two and two together on that one. Tomura is a killer. There’s blood on his hands, and for all you know, Chisaki wasn’t even his first. The brutality of how he’d done it makes you think he’s no stranger to violence. 

Tomura is a killer, a killer who loathes you, and he makes it a point to let you know that in however many silent ways he can, considering he hasn’t actually spoken a word to you since he’d demanded you run upstairs to Toga that night. That fact should really concern you a lot more than it actually does. You should’ve packed up your shit and left the country the moment you’d heard that sleazy reporter say those words. But… he’d killed for you. He severed a man’s arms from his fucking torso just for choking you a little bit, and in your trauma-riddled brain, that surely means he’s not all bad.

And maybe you hate yourself for caring so much about what a murderer thinks of you. You had stupidly thought - well, you don’t know what you thought, exactly. Are you really so lonely, so starved of basic human decency that you think someone swooping in and saving your ass from being kidnapped and murdered means something? Apparently so. Anyone would have done that, wouldn’t they? But in a place like Nine Lives, you doubt it. Nobody else in the vicinity had been primed and ready to rescue you from those psychos. Nobody but him, and he was nowhere near you. That, at least, you’re certain of.

You could have sworn there was something, something in his eyes and on his face when he looked at you for the first time. Something a far cry from hatred. You had felt it too, after all. What exactly it is, you haven’t figured that out yet, but it was profound enough that you’re fucking dreaming about him now. Just barely there glimpses at first, so fleeting when you woke up you didn’t even realize what it was about. Now, however, you’ve dreamed of Tomura Shigaraki an irritating total of eleven times across the last three weeks, each more vivid than the last. At least they replace the usual nightmares you’re used to.

The most recent one from last night has stuck with you all day, even now as you stupidly get ready for another shift. It started with a pair of glowing red eyes peering at you from the darkness and nothing else. You remember clearly how quiet and empty it felt, like you were suspended in a void. Nothing but those eyes you know were his and the overwhelming silence. And then he got closer and closer, until he was right in front of you, staring into the deepest depths of your soul. He stared and stared, and there was the lightest of touches against your hand, so fleeting and hesitant. Then, he seemed to phase through you, into you.

Dream you became something else, then. Someone else. The inky black was slowly replaced by moonlight fading in, and all of a sudden you were on what you think was a rooftop. You were staring up at the stars, but it wasn’t you that was seeing them. You were seeing through someone else’s eyes, feeling emotions in a body that wasn’t yours, thinking things in a mind that wasn’t your own. It felt so cold, so empty and angry, so sad. A melancholy kind of longing that makes your own chest ache even now, fully conscious.

You were no longer just you, but both of you combined somehow. Your own thoughts and feelings were still there but dulled, eclipsed by his. The one time you tried to reach out throughout the dream, it felt like hitting a wall, and then you were thrown back into that void space. You felt a flicker of yearning before it was all over, those eyes gazing into you one more drawn out moment before he slowly retreated with one final graze against your hand. 

It was so fucking bizarre, but it was so real it’s like you were actually experiencing it all in real life. You can still feel that emptiness and anger and yearning echoing in your chest, can still feel those cold, careful touches against your hand like it really happened. Maybe you really had finally lost your goddamn mind. You can’t entirely rule out that possibility at this point, especially when you’re once again walking through the doors of Nine Lives when you know in your bones you should never come back here again.

***

“Are you excited? I know I am! And you look incredible!”

You wince, Toga’s eager voice so loud in your ear even over the music blaring through the speakers. Somehow, you’d survived to Halloween, and even more surprising than that, you’d willingly agreed to work the event they were putting on for the holiday tonight. It’s abundantly clear this is one of the busiest nights of the year, the space more packed than you’ve seen it yet. Who knew criminals cared so much about Halloween?

Someone - likely Toga - has decorated the space aptly, fake spider webs strung up in the corners, black and orange drapes hanging from the rafters, bats and skeletons dangling from banisters, everything you’d expect from Halloween. The usual strobe lights have been replaced by purple, red, and white lasers waving fluidly in time with the music, the way they pass through the thick fog rolling through the space making everything appear in slow motion.

There's a surprising number of people in the crowd dressed in costumes, most of them scandalous enough that even you almost clutch your pearls.

You’d gone simple. And by simple, you’d gone with the best of what was left of the meager selection when you’d panic-bought your costume two days ago. You’d done your makeup a little more dramatically, a sultry smokey eye and winged liner that left a heap of smudged cotton swabs on your bathroom counter. Pair that with a red corset, a black leather miniskirt, and some little red horns on your head, and you’ve got the best last minute devil costume this place has ever seen. It was either this or the cowgirl, and you’d rather die than be caught in cow print assless chaps.

Toga has opted for what you think is a hero costume of sorts - a black full-body suit with pale pink accents, boots and a headpiece to match. The others, of course, are nowhere to be seen, likely hiding upstairs with your number one fan.

She seems to take your silence as enthusiasm, her own excitement growing as she continues. “It’s gonna be suuuper busy for the next few hours, but once it starts to level out some, we can join in the fun!” For once in the last few years, you’re not entirely opposed to the prospect of letting loose a little.

The past few weeks have weighed on you significantly more than they should - almost getting assaulted and murdered, a man's blood on your hands, another man who looked at you like you'd created the world in six days that now seems to despise your existence, still feeling drawn to him despite that - and the idea of letting all that go even for just an hour has some of Toga’s optimism rubbing off on you. You decide right then your mission for the night is to forget all about Tomura Shigaraki as easily as he seems to have forgotten you, even if you have to pretend.

***

A few hours ends up feeling like a few fucking years with how non-stop it’s been the whole night, and it’s not until almost 1am that it starts to mellow out enough for you to finally take a step back and bask in some of the fun you were promised. At least you’ve made more than a decent amount of money in tips. That alone makes the ache in your feet worth it.

You let Toga know you’re heading out into the crowd, but she doesn’t let you leave until you down enough tequila shots with her to leave you sufficiently warm and more than a little buzzed. She kisses you on the cheek as you’re sputtering for breath after the last one then disappears into the fray herself, and you’re on your own. You laugh to yourself after you recover, feeling light as air for the first time in years. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to be drunk.

You stagger unsteadily into the sea of bodies, giggling as you try to find your footing. The song playing is one you've heard a lot over the last few weeks, a dark, haunting beat that seduces you into moving with the people surrounding you. Your eyes slip closed, your hips start to sway, and your thoughts of a certain someone drift away with the rest of you.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that, hypnotized by the atmosphere and the alcohol, but when you open your eyes again the crowd has thinned a little bit. There’s hands on your hips that weren’t there before, a chest behind you pressed against your back, a man swaying in time with each of your movements.

He’s breathing against your neck, whispering something about how sexy you are and how he couldn’t resist approaching you. You’re too far gone to care about the fact you really shouldn’t let any man that frequents this place touch you, let alone like this, and the contact feels nice.

So you let him stay, let him keep his hands on you and his body pressed against yours, and you move.

***

Three weeks.

It’s been three very long weeks of pretending, avoiding, and coveting.

So, so much coveting.

Tomura doesn’t know what to do with a feeling like that. He doesn’t know how to process anything that’s not black and white, cut and dry, familiar territory. It’s been decades since he’s wanted anything other than blood and violence, and it’s been even longer since anger wasn’t the front-running emotion in his still heart.

But you, you’ve crash landed into his life, and now all he does anymore is want. Wants so many things he can’t even begin to understand. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t truly allowed himself to want anything since childhood, back when Father had broken his arm because he’d said he wanted to be in the military like grandma. He was only five years old.

You should be no exception to the No Wanting Things rule, but you haven’t given him a goddamn choice.

~~~

“What?”

“He said she’s-”

“Shut up, Jin.”

Perhaps the only time Dabi had been helpful throughout the entire time Tomura’s known him.

Tomura had stared blankly at Kurogiri then, his already deathly white complexion paling further. He’d heard what Kurogiri had said, but he couldn’t process it. How the fuck could he, when that disaster of a sentence had been dropped on him like an anatomical bomb?

“It is true, Tomura. The girl is tied to you, and you to her, though not completely. Not yet.”

Kurogiri had kept talking, as if Tomura wasn’t one more syllable away from hurling himself off the Harukas Observatory.

“I do not fully understand it myself, but you are connected to her beyond mere emotion. She can see as you see, feel as you feel, and you through her, if you should will it. It is incredibly rare for our kind. Our Master had one, long ago. I have yet to see it myself throughout my decades, until now. Other species like ours refer to such partners as mates. Whatever term you choose to use, with what you have described, she is yours, linked by your very souls.”

Tomura had slid down to the floor at that point. Or had he already been there? He can’t remember.

“It is not fully solidified yet, not until you drink from her, and only if she willingly offers her blood to you. Only then will the bond be completed. But even now, the connection is there, brought to life when she met your eyes and saw you as you truly are without judgement or fear. It was made stronger when you halted Kai Chisaki’s attempt to harm her, protecting her life with your own.”

He had stopped listening after that, the ringing in his ears making it too hard to distinguish anything else, anyway.

~~~

That was three weeks ago, right after he’d slammed the door in your face. He’d hate you for it if he wasn’t so consumed by pressing need every time you’re within fifty fucking feet of him.

He did his best to pretend you didn’t exist after that talk with Kurogiri. In his mind, if he avoided you, it’d go away on its own. He’d done good for the first week; glaring at you the one time you tried to approach him, holing up in his room on the nights you worked, shutting down Toga anytime she was about to bring you up. But then that second week started, and he’d felt you for the first time.

He remembers it being around one in the morning, in the middle of destroying the enemy’s Nexus on League, when he’d been temporarily blinded. He initially thought it was a new symptom of not feeding for so long and had stood from his gaming chair so fast it crashed into the wall behind him, frantically feeling his way around his room to go feed on the first living being he came across.

He didn’t have a chance to make it to the door before he started to make out shapes through the darkness. He could tell right away none of it was real, and then began to assume he was hallucinating instead of going blind. His hand was on the doorknob, his focus redirected to finding Kurogiri, but as soon as he made it into the hallway, the shapes finally took form.

He knew it was you, even appearing to him as a child. It’d be hard to mistake those sad eyes. You looked to be around six or seven, and you were staring into a mirror while crying. There were bruises on your face and arms, a bit of dried blood on your bottom lip. He’d frozen in the middle of the hallway, his body as still as a statue as he slowly began to realize what was happening.

You cried and cried while you wiped the blood and tears away with a dirty towel, and then you screamed so loud his hands flew up to his ears on instinct even though this was all happening in his head. Someone was beating on the door, and he couldn’t see you anymore because you’d presumably turned to look that way. Cracks started to form in the dry rotted wood until it broke down completely, and then you’d ran to hide in the closet.

He could hear you shaking and sniffling, and he could hear whoever was coming for you walking across the floor. It was deadly quiet for a moment, and then the door was ripped open, and you screamed again, louder than the last. He thinks he may have yelled then, too; for you, to you. The person wasn’t distinguishable, just a black shadow with a wide, grotesque mouth, grinning down at you. And then they yanked you out of the closet, and you were gone.

He came back to reality by Shuichi shaking him violently by the shoulders, Kurogiri standing behind him, looking at Tomura like he already knew what had happened. It was the connection Kurogiri had told him about, how he could see through your eyes and feel as you feel, presented to him in a dream you were having. Kurogiri had figured your mental walls had come down in your sleep, and Tomura’s had been down because he’d been playing fucking League of Legends and didn’t realize he had any to keep up in the first place.

So, yeah, he couldn’t ignore you anymore after that. It felt wrong to, knowing what he knows now. It wasn’t hard to piece together you’d been abused as a child, something he can relate to more than most. He knows it’s not his fault he saw what he did, just as much as it’s not your fault for barging into his mind in the first place, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little grateful for a small piece of insight into who you are even if it feels dirty to know something so vulnerable about you without your consent.

Kurogiri had given him all the knowledge he had about how Tomura could keep that from happening again if he didn’t want it to. It was on Tomura’s own time that he slowly figured out how he could visit you. He wasn’t good at it at first; only able to linger in your unconscious mind for a few moments at a time, and unable to really manifest anything other than one part of himself at a time. But the more he practiced, the better he got, and by the time he tried again last night, he was able to fully show you what he wanted you to see.

He’d been up on the roof of Nine Lives, a rare night where it was relatively peaceful and quiet, no police sirens or screaming arguments from the street below. He thinks that may have made it easier since he could fully focus on you, his hearing not picking up any overly distracting sounds. He doesn’t know if you meant to - likely not - but he could make you out this time, too, waiting for him in the darkness.

He took his time, allowed himself the opportunity to just look at you, appreciate you. Even in a suspended space, you were beautiful, staring at him like you were waiting for what came next. He liked that idea, you waiting for him. Liked that you saw him. He approached you through the darkness and dared to brush his fingers over your hand one time. He had to feel your skin at least once, even if it wasn’t necessarily real, but fuck, did it feel real.

And then he’d pulled you into his mind, into his consciousness, and looked up at the stars so you could see how peaceful it was. So he could see how it’d feel to have you with him on a night like that. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming desire then to have you fully next to him in person, feel your warmth against his side as you watched the sky change with him. Then came the sadness, knowing he could never have that. He could never really have you, not with what he is, who he is. You deserved more than what he could offer you.

He’d felt a flicker of something warm, like you were trying to reach out to him, reassure him maybe, he wasn’t sure. It had startled him so much that you even tried, that you’d wanted to and that you’d figured out how to, that he’d pushed you back into your own mind on impulse. He wasn’t ready, but he knew his time was up, so he’d selfishly touched your hand one last time and then he’d left you.

It’s not something he can do every night. Some nights he’s busy, or some nights your mind is completely closed off to him somehow, but he does it every chance he gets. Anything he can do for you indirectly to relieve your suffering, even if it’s just keeping a handful of your nightmares away. Anything he can do to have even the smallest part of you in his life, even if it’s just in your dreams.

***

“Tomura, I wouldn’t-”

“I don’t care if she’s still here.”

“No, that’s not-”

He turns to glare at Jin, who mercifully stops talking, despite the anxious look on his face. They all of course know about you and what you are to him, the goddamn gossips, and they definitely all know how he can get when he obsesses over something. He can’t tolerate your name coming out of another man’s mouth, even the ones he’s known for decades, and he definitely can’t stand the thought of any of them talking about you or to you when he can’t even do that himself. 

The one time he'd seen Dabi talking to you on your first shift after that night, it took Jin, Atsuhiro, and Shuichi to hold him back. He’s not sure what he would have done if they didn’t. Toga is the one exception in talking to you, and even she pushes it sometimes.

He feels a little guilty about that, mostly because it’s not hard to tell that it upsets you when everyone ignores you. He wishes he could tell you it’s not personal, that they’re only doing it to save themselves from being torn apart and set on fire. It’s hard enough to restrain himself from ripping apart every man down there that dares to look in your direction every fucking night you show up to work looking too alluring for your own good.

He starts down the stairs under the guise of finding Toga, to tell her that Atsuhiro is looking for her, but he’s pretty sure everyone knows he just wants to see you from a distance, make sure you’re okay, that you’re still just as perfect as you were when you came in. Watching over you from the shadows has been his favorite pastime as of late.

It’s busier than even he’s ever seen it, his lip curling up in disgust from the sight of just how large the crowd is. He’s always hated Halloween, and the fact that it’s going to be that much harder to catch a glimpse of you makes him hate it even more. He has half a mind to barge into your consciousness and see where the fuck you’re at that way, but it’d be too risky. He can’t chance it when you’re fully aware.

It doesn’t take long to determine that Toga has abandoned post for the night, if the current free-for-all at the bar is anything to go by. Likely off gorging on the blood of whatever sorry assholes she thinks are cute and entertaining enough to toy around with. He scowls, assuming that means she’s told you to leave for the night, too. He’s missed his chance, then. He’ll have to wait until later, after you’ve fallen asleep, but the dejection bubbling up inside him tells him it’s not the same.

He’s just about to turn around and stalk back to his room, fuck around on Valorant for awhile to take out his frustrations, when he feels it. You can’t be doing it consciously, seeing as you don’t have the slightest clue about any of this shit, but he can feel a euphoria that he knows doesn’t belong to him. Like you’re on cloud fucking nine, wherever you are. It’s strong, stronger than any emotion he’s felt from you yet.

Kurogiri had said it’s heightened the closer you are, so maybe…

He gets deja vu when he scans the horde much like he did that night three weeks ago. It’s a lot easier to find you this time than he expected, maybe because he’s more in tune to you, or maybe because he can feel you mentally. You’re facing towards him from where you are below, not far from the bottom of the stairs on the outside of the crowd. He almost laughs when he sees the devil horns on your head, but it dies in his throat when he sees the rest of you.

The top you’re wearing lifts your chest in a way that has his gaze stuck there for longer than he cares to admit, the shape of it highlighting your curves. The scrap of fabric clinging to your thighs is so short he could see everything if you bent over, a fact that both enrages and arouses him. He’d do just about anything right now to see you bent over in that, just for him. Your eyes are closed, your hands are sliding up your body, and your hips are moving so hypnotically in time with the music he thinks he’s gone into a fucking trance.

He already knew your body was perfect, but seeing you like this, you’re a fucking divine gift from the gods themselves, one he wants to unwrap slowly, piece by piece, until you’re bare before him. He can’t tear his gaze away, can’t stop watching you move, his eyes following the path your hands are taking down, down, down…

And then they grab another pair of hands, hands that have settled on your hips.

He should just leave, go upstairs and pretend he never saw this. He should let you do whatever you want, with whatever trash you choose. He should -

He’s down the stairs and through the crowd in three seconds flat.

***

“Man, what the f-”

You’re so lost in your own little world that it takes a few seconds to register that something is happening. Your eyes blink open slowly, the world spinning for a moment before it rights itself. The hands you’d been holding are no longer there, your fingers grasping nothing but empty air above your hips, and the warmth that had been pressed against your back is gone. There’s a few heads turned your way, but they’re not looking at you, they’re looking at whatever’s happening behind you.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Huh. That sounds like the voice that’d been murmuring nonsense into your ear for the last - well, however long it’s been.

“Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t even look at her.”

And that sounds like the voice that’s been the star of most of your thoughts lately.

You sober up impossibly fast, whirling around to confirm your ears haven’t failed you. The scene you’re met with reminds you too much of that night, except you hadn’t been in danger this time. Had you? Maybe you had been and hadn’t noticed, because why else would he look like he’s about to rip this guy to shreds right here in this sea of witnesses?

Any lingering confusion is replaced by fear. Not of him, no, but fear for the guy that’s still standing there, stubbornly holding his ground.

“Last I checked, she was enjoying herself. Ain’t that right, sugar?”

You remain silent, your gaze shifting between him and Tomura, who hasn’t looked at you yet. You stare at his side profile, silently begging him to stop and look at you. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle tick, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with murder, his body so rigid you wonder how it’s possible to remain that still.

“Tomura,” you breathe, so quiet you don’t know how he hears it, but he does. His posture relaxes so minutely you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already staring at him, his body shifting slightly towards you, his gaze sliding to you out of the corner of his eye. His jaw unclenches when he turns to look at you fully, the intent to kill in his eyes simmering down to something a lot less concerning.

And then you’re stuck again, that feeling resurfacing, trapped under the full weight of his gaze, his pupils dilating and eclipsing the crimson of his irises the longer he stares at you. His eyes travel across your face, scrutinizing every feature, and you do the same, taking in every detail of him you didn’t get the chance to last time. You’re once again struck by how attractive he is; even the scars only seem to accentuate his features.

He’s dressed in all black; jeans and combat boots, a compression shirt and a long, stitched jacket with gray details to match. You get the impression he’s not one to try or care about his appearance, but even with no effort, he looks fucking incredible.

You’re vaguely aware of the guy yelling, some inarticulate string of words thrown either at you or Tomura, you aren’t sure. You don’t care.

“Get the fuck out.”

Tomura says it without taking his eyes off you, his voice low and dangerous. It sends a shiver down your spine, and not one of fear. Something else that you don’t want to put a label on.

The idiot sputters, goes to say something else, and Tomura tears his gaze from yours to look at him before he gets the chance to.

“Do you want to find out what happened to the last one that put his hands on her? I’d love to show you.”

He grins, wide and wild, and your heart skips a beat. The guy finally takes the hint, maybe even looks a little scared, before he spits a nice little “fuck you” at the both of you and turns tail into the crowd.

Then it’s just the two of you, and the rest of it fades to background noise.

***

He can’t help himself. Not when you’re right there, just two steps away.

He knows he should leave now. He’s made enough of a scene, crossed the one boundary he’d set for himself, and now he should leave before the line is gone entirely.

But he’s always been a little selfish, and you’re staring at him like he put the fucking moon in the sky. The stars in your eyes outshine the ones he’d shown you last night tenfold.

***

“Come here.”

It’s a command, one you don’t hesitate to follow.

You take one step, then two, and then you’re right in front of him.

“Turn around.”

You do. And then you wait, your body trembling with anticipation.

He’s careful at first. Hesitant, almost. Two of his fingers brush over the back of your hand, and you’re transported back to your dream from last night when he’d done exactly the same thing. That had felt so real, but you know now it pales to reality. They trail up your arm so slowly, over your shoulder and then your neck to brush your hair out of the way. His other hand comes to settle on your hip, his thumb caressing the sliver of exposed skin there.

Hadn’t he hated you? Hadn’t you hated him just a few minutes ago? Your mind spins, the whiplash of the whole thing making you dizzy. He killed a man for you, then avoided and ignored you for weeks, and now he’s touching you so carefully it’s like he thinks you’ll break. And you’re letting him. You need to push him away, stop playing whatever game this is, get answers to -

“So soft,” he whispers in your ear, his voice husky. He tugs you backwards in one fluid motion, so fast it momentarily startles you, until your back is pressed fully to his front. “So delicate.”

Maybe answers can wait. Maybe you can let yourself enjoy whatever this is for now and yell at him later. You owed that to yourself, right?

Your heart is in your throat, your lashes fluttering with each whisper of breath against your ear. He leans down, his nose trailing along the expanse of your throat, strands of his hair tickling your neck.

“You smell so fucking good. So sweet.”

Had you put perfume on this morning? You can’t remember. Can’t process anything other than his voice and his touch.

His fingers trail down, back over your shoulder and down your side until they curl around your other hip.

“Little devil, hm?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your pulse point with each syllable. He inhales an unsteady breath, long and deep. “How fitting, for what you’ve done to me.”

You shudder, unable to fully comprehend what he means but liking the sound of it regardless.

“Now move.”

You hesitate, unsure of what he’s asking for. He growls in your ear, a deep rumbling in his chest vibrating against your back, and his hands squeeze your hips once, right on the edge of painful. You like that much more than you should.

“What, you can do it for him, but not for me?”

He sounds angry, jealous. It dawns on you what he means.

You don’t make the mistake of hesitating further. You’re a little off-kilter at first, a little off-beat, too overwhelmed by what’s unfolding that your movements are more jerky than they are fluid. It takes a second to find a rhythm, but when you focus on how good his hands feel on you, how good the weight of him pressed against you feels, it’s as easy as breathing.

His grip tightens with each pass of your hips against him, his fingers digging into your skin, and you can feel a rumble of approval resonating in his chest. No man's touch has ever felt like this, so right, like everything's as it should be. His hands fit against your curves perfectly.

He doesn’t move with you, just lets you sway on him, breathes you in where his mouth is pressed against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You can feel his teeth scrape against your skin, but he doesn’t bite down, and you’re taken aback by how badly you suddenly want him to do just that.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his voice so strained it almost makes you stop, but he pulls you back even tighter against him as if reading your thoughts, a silent way to tell you to keep going. And how could you not, when praise sounds so fucking good coming from him?

It only makes you more bold, only makes you want to please him more. One of your hands comes up to rest against his own on your hip, the other traveling up your body to reach behind you until it settles against the side of his neck. He freezes at the contact, his body going inhumanly still like you’ve stunned him. You go to pull away immediately, but his free hand flies up and presses your hand back down before it leaves his skin completely.

“Touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He sounds pained, like it’s hard for him to say those words, but it’s all the encouragement you need. He slowly lifts his hand, like he’s waiting on you to try to disobey, but once he’s sure you’re doing as he wants, it returns to its previous place on your hip, his fingers splaying wide. You tentatively caress the side of his neck, and he exhales a deep breath, his weight relaxing against your back.

You wonder how often he’s touched like this. It can’t be much, if he reacted like that. Then you realize how much you hate the thought of anyone else being with him like this and abandon the thought altogether.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, moving against him while he just breathes you in, and you don’t care. You’d stay like this forever if he’d let you. When you open your eyes again, his arms are constricted around your waist, and he’s glowering over your shoulder at someone you assume looked in your direction a little too long. It should probably concern you how possessive he is of you, but the way your body reacts to it tells you all you need to know.

You’re in deep shit.

***

Mine. Mine. Mine.

His throat is on fire, and his brain is fried, whatever primal fucking animal you bring out of him begging to just sink his teeth in, drag you away to his room and never let you out again, but he knows he has to do right by you, by whatever this is, even if it kills him in the process. You’re the one thing he can’t just take simply because he wants to. He shouldn’t even be taking you at all.

But he’d already crossed the line. Dumped gasoline on it, tossed the match, and let it burn to ashes, and now it’s too late. He has you in his arms, has your scent burned into his nose, the imprint of your body against his, and now he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to ever let you go after this. He’d fucked up, monumentally. No, he’d been fucked as soon as you breathed his name like that to keep him from killing that worthless idiot.

He can waste his time on the should haves and could haves all he wants later, but having your ass swaying against his dick for the last half hour makes it pretty difficult to have regrets right now. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is for you, if you know what you do to him, the effect you have on him, but he’s pretty sure you don’t know the goddamn half of it. 

You get to be blissfully unaware, meanwhile he wants to scream from the fact you’re tied to him in ways he still doesn’t fully understand, and he can’t even tell you. Not if he doesn’t want to scare you away. It’s too much too soon, and despite how content you seem to be right now, he can’t trust that you won’t run for the hills as soon as he clues you in to just how deep all this really goes. And he can’t have that. Not now, not ever.

So he just takes what he can get, for now. Inhales deep breaths of you even though his throat burns more and more each time, his body singing with the desire to taste how sweet he knows you’ll be. Grazes his teeth over the fragile skin of your neck even though they ache so badly to just break through, mark you so everyone knows you’re his, take your blood so you’ll be tied to him forever. Stands there while you grind against him even though his cock is already so painfully hard it’s truly a miracle he hasn’t busted in his jeans yet.

You’ve awakened so many desires in him in such a short period of time that it’s hard to keep up with them all, things he’s never cared about until now. Sure, he’s been horny before, but he’s never actually wanted a woman in his bed, at least not to this magnitude. He’s never wanted to sink more than his teeth into anyone, but fuck, he’d move heaven and earth to sink his cock into you, to feel you quivering around him and hear you moaning his name. He’d have to get himself off to that image later, at least for now until he can have the real thing.

Hadn’t Master said once that good things come to those who wait? Tomura had thought it was total bullshit at the time, just another one of Master’s nonsense philosophies, but now it’s starting to make sense. You’re the most good anyone like him could ever hope to get, so he’d wait. Bide his time, keep visiting you in your dreams to sway you even more, spend more time with you in reality after tonight, and then he’d reveal his hand, show you all the cards on the table when he’s sure you won’t run away from him. 

He’s not sure he’d have it in himself to let you.

***

note: sorry this one took a little longer, hopefully it's worth the wait. there's a lot of POV switching in this part, but I wanted to give perspective on everything that's unfolding from both sides so things hopefully make a little more sense.

as always, thank you so much for reading and for being here. it means the world to me that even a few of you spend your time reading things that I write. <3

see you in part 4.

[kaizsche]

in my dreams, you love me back

a starlight/homelander fic set during s3e06, a missing scene (kind of) inspired by red velvet's in my dreams.

warning: delusions. angst. more delusions and more angst.

note: thank you thank you thank you so much to DelightfullySad and @finnismyoriginalsin for being the numero uno numba one enabler. if it weren't for them i wouldn't be here writing for starlander. i owe them my life. period.

crossposted on ao3

He felt the absence of her presence like a phantom limb. 

They have been inseparable the past few weeks. Ashley had coordinated their schedules to accommodate their PR relationship stunt. Where he went, Starlight naturally followed. Silly interviews about their relationship and public appearances were staged. 

He even began to enjoy her company despite her corpse-like enthusiasm. The moment he realized this, he began seeking more of her. His lips lingered long after their perfunctory kisses and his hands, he found, if not at the small of her back, were either wrapped around her waist or intertwined with the softness of her hands.

There was an odd moment of embarrassment but also smug satisfaction when a reporter wrote an article about them. How sweet! Homelander can’t keep his hands off his girl!

John supposed his recent business venture as the new CEO of Vought made him forget about everything else. He was lost in the technicalities and in turn had lost sight of what was important. 

Starlight. Annie.

To make matters worse, Soldier Boy rose from the dead, his appearance a cause for immediate concern. Nobody at this moment would be able to make the connection that Soldier Boy was behind all the explosions but the instant someone did would be ruining everything he worked hard for. 

Before that could happen, he needed to kill Soldier Boy. Fast. 

That was when he remembered. 

“Don’t you think that maybe the best way to handle this is to find him?”

If there was anyone who had information about Soldier Boy, it was Annie. Though, if it had been a day since she hadn’t reported back to him on the matter, maybe she wasn’t better off.

Her apartment was empty, much to his confusion. He was under the impression that she was scheduled to shoot an advertisement for a skincare company and yet her costume sat idling inside her walk-in-closet. 

For a moment, his traitorous mind entertained her connection to Soldier Boy’s reemergence. 

What did you expect, you fucking idiot! A distant voice in his mind screamed for attention. You killed her ex, you think she wouldn’t retaliate?

John whimpered, But she did it first. 

Just shut the fuck up and let me think.

He spied his gleaming reflection off a white telephone and dialed Ashley’s office.

She answered on the first ring. “Starlight? Where the fuck are you—”

“Where’s Starlight?” He questioned, ignoring the sudden spike of her heartbeat at the sound of his voice echoing from Starlight’s telephone. In Starlight’s room.

Ashley answered with a long suffering sigh, “I don’t know, Sir. She just took off without informing anybody.”

He drummed his fingers in silent contemplation, his eyes taken to examining every intimate detail of her room and stopped, glaring lasers at the offending image positioned right next to her bed.

“Alright. Call me when she comes in.”

He left the comfort of her room not before accidentally bumping into her framed picture with Hughie.

You’re acting like a spoiled brat. 

John dismissed the voice as he retreated to his quarters. It continued to whisper nasty things in his ear that Annie was likely an accomplice. He knew how much Butcher and his skinny side-kick Hughie (who happened to be her boyfriend) detested him. John wouldn’t put it past them to summon Soldier Boy in an attempt to level the playing field.

The voice grew louder, snapping insults in his ear about his weakness—that he had too much humanity in him. That it was disgusting and he was absolutely embarrassed to be him. 

He grabbed for the remote blindly in an effort to distract himself. 

“...he children had all signed a letter thanking Starlight and Homelander for their generous donation to the hospital. Starlight met with patients with kidney failure whose lives were dependent on machines. They are on dialysis three times a week for four hours — until they can have a transplant. The process, however, takes years because of a shortage of donors.”

Annie sat cross legged, surrounded by children. She held a children’s book in her hand, reading to them in silly voices. Different camera shots of children bursting into laughter at her antics flashed through the screen, some of it even catching teary-eyed parents. 

The scene changed. Annie was speaking to a kid with sunshine locks and blue eyes. 

“Dominic for instance has been…”

A lump formed in his throat at the sight of her arms around the boy. The screen transitioned to another shot of Annie cradling him in her arms like a babe as she spoke with a doctor. 

What the fuck? Get your shit together, man!

He closed his eyes, lost in the image of Annie and the boy.

John you fucking halfwit! Get back here! I’m not done with you yet! JOHN! YOU MOTHERFUCKER—

He stirred to the faint sensation of being rocked to consciousness. 

“Dad!” The voice screamed. “Wake up! I’m going to be late for my recital!”

John stuffed his head deeper in the sinking softness of his pillows. A hand snatched it out of his chin, his forehead making contact with the headboard in a loud bang.

“Wha…” A woman mumbled beside him. 

“The fuck?!” He exclaimed.

“Mooooommm! Dad said a swear word!” Before he could recover from the damage upon his forehead, there was another blow to his head—too soft to ever bruise him but a hit that took him off guard.

He rose to meet the attacker, the heat of his lasers igniting the low rage simmering within him. 

And stopped at the peculiar yet welcome sight of Annie’s bed head and her legs tangled in cream sheets. A smaller figure dressed in pajamas blocked his figure, meeting his rage with a smug smirk so reminiscent of his own. 

“Pay up!”

He blinked. His throat was so dry he was simply unable to respond. Bewildered, he sought Annie’s help. 

She frowned, but complied nonetheless. Annie laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, her voice raspy in the quiet morning. 

He was unable to follow their conversation for he had been occupied with the room he seemed to have been sleeping in. It was a modest bedroom, he noted, filled with mementos. There was a compilation of images of his unlived life with Annie.

His temple throbbed with the effort of remembering. A continuous ringing occupied his hearing the more he examined each picture. Memories flickered in his mind like sifting sand through a screen.

What is reality and what is not?

At the center of the images was a baby girl swaddled in his colors. 

Something itched at the back of his head, a memory long forgotten.

“Wendy?” He tested.

His daughter faced him with a beaming smile, her lips thinly pursed like his own but she had her mother’s nose. 

“Are you—”

John tackled the two of them in a tight hug, dotting kisses to whatever part of their faces he could reach. Twin echoes of shrill laughter brightened the morning as they struggled against his sudden display of affection.

“Dad, stop! It tickles!” His daughter cried, short of breath. 

He pulled away, reluctant to not be within her presence but remembered the urgency of the situation. “Chop chop, ladies! We don’t want to be late for the recital!” 

Annie smiled at him with a question in her eyes once Wendy left to go prepare for the big day. 

“What was that all about?” 

He leaned to press a gentle kiss against her lips but moved to her cheek at the last second. Somehow he knew she didn’t like to kiss with morning breath. 

“It was nothing.”

Her soft fingers gripped his wrist, “Are you sure?”

John chewed on the inside of his cheek in contemplation. Should he tell her the truth? That he wasn’t the man she married but a fraud? A momentary lapse of insanity to give peace to his troubled mind? But doing so would be akin to ruining the dream. 

John wasn’t quite sure he was ready to face the world just yet.

And so, he said, “I love you.”

“I love you t—”

His consciousness spoke to him in loud banging noises. Like what he did as a child when he begged for any scrap of attention. 

Welcome back, you fucking pussy. I’ve taken the liberty of actually getting our shit together. This’ll be the last time you do this to me. Do you hear me, you absolute piece of—

John heard her before he saw her. He had locked on to the gentle cadence of her heartbeat drowning all but the sound of her.

Annie sat down, sighed, and cleared her throat.

He moved without knowing, driven by the remains of his dreams, seeking her touch. The comfort, the soothing balm she alone could provide. 

“I’m really glad you’re here.” 

When all he wanted to say was, “I love you.”

He continued, driven by the questioning look in her eyes so reminiscent of the wife in his dreams. 

“I missed you.”

When he wanted to tell her, “In my dreams, you love me back.”